Peace to you for Christmas

pray peace by Cheryl Lawrie

peace does not always come in the shape of a baby
in a season that abounds with fertile miracles
pray peace for those for whom every breathless, wondrous mention
of babies born
will bring only unspeakable pain.
pray peace for the Elizabeths who will not get pregnant,
for whom no miracle will occur, at any age
who know themselves only as cursed.
pray peace for the Marys who are pregnant and who do not want to be
for whom every movement inside is a reminder of fear and despair.
pray peace for the Marys whose partners say ‘no’.
pray peace for the Rachels whose babies have died
and whose cries will go unheard
in the clamour of christmas bells and carols.
and pray peace for the unnamed women
whose stories are not spoken out loud in the bible
the women who ended pregnancies
the women who miscarried
the women who will never have the chance to have children
pray peace for the women for whom this Christmas story is only a reminder
of the inadequacy
and failure,
the grief
and the guilt,
they feel every month.
peace does not always come in the shape of a baby.
peace does not always come in the shape of a baby.

A fellow spiritual caregiver in hospice shared this today...

A Blessing for One Who is Exhausted
by John O'Donohue

Original Language English

... When the rhythm of the heart becomes hectic,
Time takes on the strain until it breaks;
Then all the unattended stress falls in
On the mind like an endless, increasing weight,

The light in the mind becomes dim.
Things you could take in your stride before
Now become laborsome events of will.

Weariness invades your spirit.
Gravity begins falling inside you,
Dragging down every bone.

The tide you never valued has gone out.
And you are marooned on unsure ground.
Something within you has closed down;
And you cannot push yourself back to life.

You have been forced to enter empty time.
The desire that drove you has relinquished.
There is nothing else to do now but rest
And patiently learn to receive the self
You have forsaken for the race of days.

At first your thinking will darken
And sadness take over like listless weather.
The flow of unwept tears will frighten you.

You have traveled too fast over false ground;
Now your soul has come to take you back.

Take refuge in your senses, open up
To all the small miracles you rushed through.

Become inclined to watch the way of rain
When it falls slow and free.

Imitate the habit of twilight,
Taking time to open the well of color
That fostered the brightness of day.

Draw alongside the silence of stone
Until its calmness can claim you.
Be excessively gentle with yourself.

Stay clear of those vexed in spirit.
Learn to linger around someone of ease
Who feels they have all the time in the world.

Gradually, you will return to yourself,
Having learned a new respect for your heart
And the joy that dwells far within slow time.

Choice C: Neither Evil Queen Nor Innocent Maiden

I love watching these old fairy tales I learned thorugh Disney's distorted eyes be reinterpreted and given twists to keep the story fresh. Watching Snow White and Huntsmen sparked reflection about gender roles and Disney princesses. The most basic theme to draw from this movie is that the only power females have are purity and beauty. And the ultimate power is to have both. Purity and beauty is the inspiration for men to war, for people to unite, and the only way hope transcends despair.

That in and of itself is enough to make watching a beautifully put together story torture. But I started wondering  what the allure was for watching Disney princesses as a young girl. I remember the stories taught me a very twisted view of gender roles, one that I thought empowered me and made me truly stronger and more powerful in my submissive and secondary status.  Brute strength and domination were okay for men, because, really, they can’t help themselves. I was taught to almost feel sorry for the simple and primal natures of man and celebrate how women can be above such earthly things.  Women gain power and control through purity and beauty. The catch is, of course, neither of these things are always in our control, are they? A man can force himself on a woman and her purity no longer exists and preferences for physical beauty are at the whim of those who control public favor. And while men and boys are comparing themselves against an impossible caricature of physical strength bringing them power, women are striving to perfect some ideal of beauty and/or purity that society told them would also bring them power.

Today, we recognize, yet are still trapped within, the twisted and tangled  sexualization and objectification of such roles and desires.  But, as a young girl, I wasn’t thinking with my hormones, I was thinking with my heart and my mind. I wanted acceptance and love. I wanted respect and attention, and I was learning how to achieve those things through mimicking the role models given to me. In Snow White, the two women are both beautiful and gain power from the inspiration such beauty gives those around them. However, the impure Queen has an insatiable appetite for strength over men and being in control,  while Snow White is the epitome of purity suffering through darkness and wins the hearts of men through selfless acts of sacrifice and goodness.  The righteous and pure woman who has beauty and desires to never have power will be given the most power and respect. Snow White did not earn her throne, it was given to her by those who felt she was worthy, while the Queen stole the throne from the King by killing him.  A woman who is empowered is impure and evil. Snow White's more acceptable journey into queendom is through maintaining her innocence despite temptations and exposure to reality. She woos men of all kinds with her innocence and beauty, the power she holds with these  traits conquers the evil of an empowered decisive woman destroying the kingdom.

 Keep your head down, work hard, be pretty but not slutty, be selfless and compassionate to the point of self-harm, and never expect any good to come to you… and then all the riches of the kingdom, all the loyalty of men and society will be yours. How in the world does that make sense? And, yet, ask many of the women raised on these Woman's Day post-World War Two emphasized gender roles, and they will recognize this twisted sense of shame and subversive empowerment.  Not that this illogic doesn't run farther back into the past, but these are the current interpretations.

 

So they can put Snow White into pants and armor, they can even give her a sword so the huntsman can spank her behind with it, but the story doesn't really change. Women have their roles to fill and men as well. Women and men can both have power, but the only good power women can have is through beauty and purity, never through intelligence, strength, or control, all of which will corrupt girls and women. That is the lesson these stories teach us.

 As a young girl, I already realized that those stories of princesses were a fantasy that did not match reality. I already had learned that we do not always control things such as beauty and purity. I learned hard truths that gender roles others may want us to have are not conducive to survival or real life. Women must take care of themselves, must protect themselves, and make decisions that are not always sweet and innocent. But, oh, how I longed for them to be true! I longed for there to be a dashing Prince Charming that would take all my cares away, if only I could live up to that ideal of perfect beauty and purity. And, oh, how easy it was to embrace the simplicity of such a way of thinking, a way that explains why it felt like no one loved me or paid attention to me… because I'm not pretty, special or sweet enough. Such twisted logic provides meaning and purpose without having to do any real thinking.

 The question is, then, how do we fight such pervasive models within society? Like a cigarette ad implying that smoking will bring you sex appeal and fortune, these gender roles both are persuasive and appealing -- even though they make no sense.

While it may seem that media has all the power over our self-image, the most influential voices in our heads and hearts are those we know, those who tell us repeatedly the same message. Our families, especially our parents may help lay the foundation. However, those of us that do not meet other's expectations will often seek out those examples that model who we feel  most comfortable being. We are not passive sponges that can only take the feedback that is offered to us; we are able to take active roles in developing who we want to be. Granted, fears of judgment and rejection are mighty strong barriers, but they are not impenetrable. And there are choices that are out of our hands,  parts of our lives we are just born with or which are determined by others.

I had no choice  in second grade when my counselors pulled me from the advanced math curriculum but kept me in advanced reading. Instead of addressing the issues of my home life, they saw my flagging grades as a sign I'm not interested or perhaps even capable of keeping up with advanced math. But I did have a choice later in high school, when I took the advanced and accelerated math classes and finished high school with college credits in calculus. The class was overwhelmingly male and we all fit stereotypes of nerds and geeks in one way or the other.  But we thrived in a place where we were encouraged to be different. Such an experience helped me to embrace parts of myself other experiences told me were not important or desired in young women.

 Another instance where  I stepped out of my comfort zone, the role as the klutzy non-athletic bookworm, began in college. I took a self-defense class to for practical reasons and discovered true talents and skills in martial arts. I spent my entire life up to that point convinced that I would never be accomplished in any sport or exercise, that I not only lacked the coordination, but also the discipline and desire. But witnessing the 4 women with black belts teaching the class, realizing each one not only was a misfit physically, but also highly skilled and confident in her art, made me realize I could be as well.  Years later, I proved my decades old self-image wrong by obtaining my black belt.

Grief overwhelms me when I think of the tug of war that every child and adult experiences between self-definition and society's definitions. It's not by any means a new struggle. And I'm afraid that it will never disappear, either. But, oh, how I rejoice when I see a child discover the strength of her difference, realizing that which sets her apart is not embarrassing or shameful, but helps define her as important and valuable.

 

Still, the world has changed since I was a child. Embracing diversity and uniqueness are traits present in our society. There are many groups out there that support our struggle for self-definition free of society's pressures. For example, The Princess Free Zone encourages parents and other adults to let their children define their own gender roles instead of assuming the standard is what they are or want to be.

 

 

So while reasons for my grief still exist, there is also hope- hope that we can surpass the easy route of assumption and judgment and embrace values that hold up our unique complicated selves as important and valuable. 

Re-Gifting the Spark: A Theology of Co-Creation for the Infertile

My last entry described a process I went through after a moment of grief I had upon watching the movie Brave. That moment not only helped me to let go of some of my guilt for stopping fertility treatments, it also helped me contemplate how to find my place as a co-creator when my body cannot create life. It is a question about identity, but it is larger than gender or sexual identity.

The reason I love the images of co-creation in theology is that it is active, life affirming yet in an empowering way, not one of dogma and doctrine. Many popular theologies are passive, waiting for or learning how something or someone acts and interpreting how we should react. My identity as a co-creator with God, as a crucial part of creation but also only one piece of an infinite puzzle, means that I am actively seeking my way in the world, actively seeking meaning and purpose, and also actively living my faith, promoting the goodness I desire to see in the world. What challenges this type of theology is in the more corporeal aspects of creation, the primal and practical aspects of survival in a very vibrant and visceral world. The desire to conceive and birth new life is about as primal and visceral as it gets.

For some people facing infertility, it is enough to realize that they are redirecting their love and energy towards raising adopted children as their own. Or at least that is what people tell me I should feel, so I assume someone must take comfort in it somewhere.

 On that night of cogitation, I berated myself, asking why I couldn't just let go of the birth obsession and focus on how I could love and raise some of the beautiful children in the world? Surely  it is a simple answer for a disciple of Christ, a minister whose life's work is to help reduce suffering in the world. Does it really matter if my children have my DNA or someone else's? Of course not. But…. I still feel betrayed. I still feel like my identity was snatched away from me.  I am not alright with God.

  If God is the ultimate Creator of all life and I'm made in the image of that, why is it I cannot create life and others can? If that is the truth, then I must be flawed, broken, and not truly in the image of God. Is that punishment? Is that deliberate so I make sure to realize that God holds all the power  and I'm really powerless?

Either way, I'm not convinced that the phrase "made in the image of God" really explains who we are or who God is. What I do believe is that our ability to be creative, unique, and complex reflects how creative, unique, and complex the entire universe is.

So, here I am, a person who will not conceive life in my own body. Let's imagine that the potential for life is within me; that potential is creative energy. Yes, I can redirect my creative energy to other forms of creating, such as writing. Yes, that creative energy can be directed towards other relationships and the creation of bonds between myself and others. But how can any of those compare to the energy and process of creating life? I don't believe they are even close. Yes, it all has value, but we must acknowledge the unique and complex process of creating life and the sacredness of such creativity. We cannot deny that all life is sacred and that the ability to create it is sacred as well.

 My undergraduate studies were in biology, especially biochemistry and developmental biology. I spent a lot of time contemplating the origin of life, how life evolved, and wanting to understand the mystery of existence as a sentient living being. My questions were not always so popular to my scientific-minded professors and  I discovered that the fundamentalist church I grew up in is not the only population to live with cognitive dissonance.

 I mention all this because when I studied biology and biochemistry, it fed my desire to understand and revel in the mysteries of life as a creative and distinctive process. It laid the foundation for my understanding of who we are and how we relate to God and the world. What happens when someone with such a foundation finds out that she is not part of the cycle of life, that her unique existence will not be contributing towards the building blocks of future generations? There will be no tangible contribution that will continue on after I'm gone. A piece of writing or the influence I have on people's hearts or minds is not the same as that. It is so different. Notice, I'm not placing a hierarchy of value on any of them, only pointing out that recognizing and valuing  the difference between them is important.

 So, where does that potential for life go if not utilized by my body? Creating life is a different energy than creating ideas or caring for others. One could argue that the particular form of energy for creating life can be transformed into a different kind of energy. That there is a way to change it within myself, like making a specialized cell convert back into an undifferentiated cell (think stem cell). Perhaps it sounds beneficial in the long run. But I'm not sure it is very efficient, let alone even possible.

 So, what I imagine is that this energy to create life is within me, I just don't have the working parts to go through the process. While I have limited control over whether my body can generate new life, I do have control over how that life creating energy is used. Instead of transforming it into the creation of inanimate or intangible things, I want to release it. I want the creative energy within myself to be used elsewhere, within someone else. I want that energy to still be used to create life, the mysterious and miraculous unique process of creating a human being. I don't want to transform it into writing a dissertation or developing better skills as a chaplain. I want the distinctive spiritual energy that sparks life within another to be gifted back to the universe, to be redirected to another who will create a beautiful soul.

  Then as I accept that my genetic material will not be part of the future, I can envision that the spiritual energy, the spark that starts life, is out there, somewhere, conceiving and giving birth to an amazing life. The energy within myself is not wasted or minimized or made to be something it is not. I can choose to gift that energy out to the universe, back to the Creator, and ask that it be give to someone who needs it. I can still be a part of the cycle of life. Yes, it is still as intangible as ideas or feelings, but it makes more sense to me.

 I choose to release the life creating spiritual energy back into the world. When my husband and I adopt, I choose to receive and accept back the miracle of life reflected in someone else's genetic makeup, but perhaps with the spark that I helped form and create.

  I find this concept also helps me contemplate how I will talk with my future adopted children about how I became their parent. I will not just say that I had love to give and chose to give it to them. Instead, my body could not make a baby, but my spirit sent out not only the desire to have a child, but the actual spark that helped create a child's spiritual self. OK, I won't say it like that, but that is what I will mean. I gifted my creative spirit to another so they could be born, or so another child could be born for someone else who greatly desired a child. And maybe, just maybe, the energy that sparked my own children's lives will be from me.  Either way, the potential for life is not really wasted. My power as a co-creator is not diminished because of an inability to conceive. Perhaps this perspective doesn't make sense to anyone else but me. Perhaps someone has already said it better than I. Or perhaps when I go back to school and analyze it under a hermeneutical microscope, there will be no shred of logic, no shred of philosophical thought that will back this idea up. I don't mind. Because it works for me. Because I now feel affirmed and reassured of my role as a co-creator once more.

Sacrifice, being brave, and letting go...

My husband and I went to watch the Disney movie Brave. The story triggered a moment of grief. When I saw the mom defend her daughter no matter the cost, even at the risk of her own death, I had this sudden realization. I would never get the chance to prove that kind of love for my own birth child. Why can’t I have that chance? I would willingly sacrifice myself for my own children. I would fight, kill, and use the last breath in my body to make sure they are safe. The sorrow is so profound at those moments. One more thing about being childless that limits my world experience. The question here is not about whether I can have children by means other than through my own body. It is about mourning the possibilities, the future that held my birth children in it, the future that says I will sacrifice everything for them. I cannot conceive. In the car on the way home, as I'm silently crying my heart out, I thought," Did I really do everything in my power to conceive and carry my child?"

 I chose to stop after 2 years of fertility treatments. That is not a long time compared to some. We chose to stop with IUI, artificial insemination, instead of continuing on with IVF, in vitro insemination. It was extremely scary for us to make such a decision. I had desperate moments where I even considered moving to a state that requires health insurance to cover IVF. I thought about weight loss options that I NEVER considered to be healthy options. The truth I took so long to process is that I was compromising my own ethics and morals. In fact, I was already uncomfortable with the amount of resources I spent trying to force my body to do something it did not want or was not able to do.  It’s not about God’s will or fate or destiny. It is about the simple fact my body can’t do something.

 I do have choices and options, many more than the majority of people suffering with infertility. Am I cheating the lives of my future children by not pursuing these options regardless the consequences? The decision I made for myself, the choice my husband and I chose for our family, is that not only am I not cheating them, I am choosing to protect them. The drugs and procedures I used on my body have consequences on my own body. Besides the risks involved in prolonged fertility treatments, there is also the issue of my overall health affecting my pregnancy and the health of my child. Granted, all the potential issues I may have can be managed well most of time with advances in science. However, NOTHING about my situation is "most of the time."  I no longer assume the statistics are in my favor.

 So, while I started out tearing up my soul with thoughts I didn't do enough, I eventually came to the conclusion that I committed the ultimate sacrifice a future mother can make… I chose to stop. The genetic makeup of my children is not significant enough of an issue to torture my body, risk the future health of me, my children, and our family. I realized that I did limitless amounts of research, that I spoke with at least a dozen health professionals, addressed every obstacle and health issue that blocked our road ( and what a relief to finally KNOW  and be able to treat what chronic illnesses I have), I went to counselors, specialists, dieticians. I realized  that I did do everything in my power to conceive and give all that I had to those future children. And when faced with a choice of how far I would go, out of love, I chose to let go.

 Bravery isn't just about facing an obstacle and conquering it. Sometimes bravery is about choosing another path. Sacrifice isn't just for  something  or someone you already have in your life, but sometimes, it is for something or someone you may never meet.  So, thank you, Disney, for helping me realize that I'm not a coward, that I'm not weak, and that I chose a path that causes me more immediate pain, but has great potential for a wonderful future.

My ruminations did not end there, however.  But, enough writing for now.

Heavy hearts exist in chaplains too

My heart is heavy today. It has been a week of loss at hospice this week. That sounds redundant, but honestly, hospice is about living, not dying. It is about quality of life and comfort, of course, but it is also about acceptance, normalization of something that can be scary, isolating, and miserable, something that is a part of every living being's existence and yet we as a culture and as individuals try to deny its power over us... death, ending, beginning, loss, change, transition, absence, limitations, waiting and more waiting, anticipation, regret, the list is endless, just as endless as our experiences.
My heart is not just heavy over the loss of the person, but for the heartache left behind, for the misery leading up to the death. I have been in hospice for 5 years now. I have met hundreds of people who have died and even more of families who remain to grieve for them. I miss them all. I'd be lying if I said that I don't miss them. The laughter I share, the tears, the songs and whispers, the hugs, hand holding, prayer sharing, tear-wiping, humble-inducing meaning of life, what wisdom and what courage, what inspiration these wonderful people give me.

My heart is also heavy with the burden so many caregiving professionals carry... the burden that there will always be more that I could have done.. It sounds so trite, but honestly, I was not present at any one of these deaths and it weighs on my heart. Five years is a long time in hospice. I'm considered a veteran of hospice, how funny is that? I would not have made it this far if I hadn't learned boundaries, if I didn't have faith that no one is ever alone in this world, that not only my team look after these patients and families, but also the workers at the facilities they live in. I watch those new to hospice struggle with where to place those boundaries, with the burden of "just one more thing, or just one more visit, or just a few more minutes" and my heart aches for them... while at the same time struggling with guilt and wondering if I'm burnt out just because I set boundaries and stick to them most of the time.

I put in a long day yesterday, 7 visits... including explaining hospice to a man going on service and to a son putting his actively dying mom on service, and 3 people I visited can no longer speak to me and the other 2 have declined significantly. I'm not using that as an excuse, but as an example of when, even with good boundaries, the sorrow seeps into my bones. Tomorrow I will sit with a woman who wins blackout at bingo or smiles for the first time in months to the hymn I'm singing her and I will be healed.

My Clenched Fist and the Seed I Wish to Hold

• A year before I started self-defense and karate, I would have laughed in your face if you said I could ever be graceful and skilled enough to do martial arts.
• A few years into martial arts, and I would have laughed at you if you suggested I would ever become a black belt, train hundreds of kids or teach battered women at half way houses.
• A year before high school graduation, I would have laughed at you if you said I’d ever walk into a Christian church again.
• A year into college, I would have laughed in your face if you said I would stop working with wildlife and never work as a scientist.
• A year after college, I would have laughed if you said I’d be a scientist ever again.
• A year into seminary and I would have laughed at you if you told me I’d never work in campus ministry, but become a hospice chaplain and love it.
• A year into seminary, I would have laughed if you suggested I'd consider any PhD work in Pastoral Theology and not Biblical Studies.
• A year into seminary I would have laughed at you if you told me someday I’d feel compelled to choose between academic goals and starting a family.
• A year before I graduated from seminary, I would have laughed in your ear if you said I'd be married a few months after graduation.
• Two years ago I would have laughed in your face if you told me I would let go of my dream to be pregnant.
•  A year ago I would have laughed at you if you suggested that I may be able to go back to school for my PhD.

What isn’t in between those lines of incredulity is the turmoil of blood, sweat, tears, laughter, pain, sorrow, joy, loss, gain, and ever continuous cycle of change.

I don’t think that as a young idealist intent on changing the world I had any clue the amount of heartache change entails. When I look at this list, there are goodbyes and heartache cracked through all the accomplishment and growth. There are life-threatening diagnoses that resolved but left ghosts behind, there are relationships born and relationships shattered. There are epiphanies of great transcendence and epiphanies of profound despair. I see the world through fresh eyes every day. I see with increasing clarity and increasing murkiness the tension between how finite and limited our experience is and how infinite and expansive the universe is.

We all make choices about how our life will proceed, even if by passive means. However, I’m not sure I ever chose a passive way to discern my life’s path since I was born. I fight and struggle and attempt to make meaning in places no seed would normally grow. Each of these milestones that seemed so impossible is stacked on top of hard life experiences, lessons that left profound influence upon my soul. To become empowered and grow, something else had to be released, let go.

As I face my current life change, there is a difference. I had no qualms about the choice I made to start a family. I knew that I wanted to have enough time outside of my career/calling to focus on my personal commitments of family and community. But so many of the options were eliminated from my list of choices until it felt there were no choices left to be made.  I would trade the heartache and despair I feel  instantly for the my denied dreams of a life filled with meaning from hands-on ministry and hands-on birthing and child-raising. I would give up in a heartbeat the thoughts of PhD work, the path of growth and discovery this will bring if I could just have the dreams of feeling a baby grow inside me, the sight of a child with my husband’s eyes and ginger hair.

But first we must unclasp our grip around the emptiness it held to be open to receive the gift we will be given.

Oh how much time and sorrow are wasted on clasping our fist around emptiness, nothingness, the if-onlys and why-nots, the lack of choice, banging our head on the impenetrable wall blocking our path. Imagine the tension, the energy exerted to keep a fist clenched. Imagine how much more it cramps without anything to hold onto, the nails biting into the palm of your hand. Imagine the slow burn of releasing cramped muscles, the amount of effort it takes to relax them and release that tension. It is painful, but it is also a release from pain. It burns and aches and bites. But oh, how much sweet relief there is upon loosening it, unfurling the fingers and stretching the hand. The muscles are not used to it, though. It is so easy to close that hand again to grasp at nothing, to grasp too soon or to flinch at contact.

So now I place the idea of pursuing my academic dreams in my palm, like a beautiful seed. I hold it and observe how light it feels to me compared to the clenched fist, how right it feels in my palm. Tentative touches and attempts to plant the seed are interspersed with comedic yet devastating Buster Keaton antics. I clench with grief and it slips from my fingers. I try to plant it and I kick it onto a rock or slip in the mud. I clench my hand around it, not giving it up despite my fist wanting to clench, and it bruises my palm. I release my grasp and it falls. I try to pick it up and the wind rolls it away from me. A merry dance a dream will give you if that path has bumps of grief.

I have said goodbye to dreams before. I have compromised, found alternatives and substitutes. And this dream I am attempting to let go has no real replacement. There is only letting go. I will have a family always. I will have children, but they will not be from my womb. I have purpose and meaning and hope. But it looks nothing like it did 6 months ago.

With each step I take and with each attempt to hold that new seed, I release the pain and say goodbye to a dream.

Those Simple Questions Are Always the Hardest

I have been reflecting on the most painful part of my journey of not being able to get pregnant. I've filtered it down to a kind of chicken or egg question, or even a nature or nurture question. What is most important in the creation of a human being? Is it the DNA, the conception,  the environment a fetus/child develops in (the womb experience)... or is it the exposure to life experiences as the child grows into an adult? Of course, the real question in my heart is WHO is most important in the creation of a human being, the birth mother or the one who mothers outside of the womb?

I realize the answer is both/and, not either/or. However, here I stand on a precipice, attempting to make sense of my metaphysical and theological foundation, one of being an active part in creation and creating, and I cannot create new life nor grow it inside my body. From the outside looking in, there are plenty of ways to work around this, ways that include recognizing there are other types of creating. But no one can tell me that creating life is not the most basic and primal expression of such a metaphysical purpose.

I recognize not everyone is as focused on esoteric questions as I am. From the age of 12, I have been focused, obsessed even, with what the purpose of life is, what my purpose is, and how I am going to influence change in the world. For me, the struggle is not making me face the fundamental questions, it's making sure I stay grounded in the present experience. Knowing this, it makes sense that I am a chaplain. I've learned the art and skills of getting to the nitty-gritty of those questions while also nurturing a present mindfulness. I spend my professional time finding ways to help people get to the bottom of their grief, despair, anxiety, by answering these very spiritual and philosophical questions of meaning and purpose, then reframing their perspective... if for you, the world is xyz, then does the rest really matter? If you believe that God decides when you live and when you die, does it matter what the doctors think? If the true purpose of life is to love and be loved, then while your body and mind may have new limitations, by loving and being loved, you still are fulfilling your ultimate purpose... your life matters.

My goals are similar but also very different from a therapist. I believe this stems from a strong sense that spiritual revelation about self and world can alter a person's perception and thought process faster and deeper than anything else. Of course, it is also true that spiritual abuse and trauma can damage a person the quickest and deepest as well. Without hope, meaning or purpose, we are truly lost. We admire the perseverance of those who survive crisis and trauma because they cling to these things when the world feels like it is ending.

Our society is convinced that thinking will fix everything. We override our feelings at every opportunity. I may be exaggerating, but after years in chaplaincy, it seems like this is more true than not. The irony is that our feelings always affect our thoughts, just as our thoughts affect our feelings. And the glue that puts it all together is our spirit. To disconnect the spirit from the mind or body is futile.

So, my personal struggle lately has been an assumption that I never worked through or made sure it could stand up to scrutiny. I never looked too closely at whether this joy of being part of the creative universe would work for one who is not just barren, but also sitting in an ambiguous state- having the working parts but never knowing why one cannot conceive, never truly knowing if all those risk factors for baby and me really would have happened. I assumed as woman my body made me part of creating life, and I took pride in this. Without more than a passing glance of what it meant for men or those who never carry life, I created a theology with gaping holes in it. While my premise that we all are uniquely created and creating beings that are part of a changing universe is a great foundation, I thought like one of the privileged, not as one who might be considered marginalized.

Marginalization is a strange thing. I am considered by the BMI to be morbidly obese. I consider this a "scientific" way to marginalize me and put me in a box. This box inundates me with constant reminders that I'm not good enough for society. I am judged continuously, to the point that I did fear my weight would affect my ability to sustain pregnancy. I also lived in fear that my health problems, the same ones that contribute to my weight, meant I may not be part of the elite (conceivers) I so desperately wanted to claim as my own. Like a middle school child wanting to be popular, I focused on being someone else so hard that while the knowledge I may be different hovered in the background, I ignored it. I spent YEARS trying to change myself to fit in, to force my body to conform by dumping horrific drugs in me and manipulating hormones. I made life miserable for myself and anyone around me. While I may have said being healthy was my goal, it wasn't. Ultimately, I don't think I cared about my health as long as I could conceive and be pregnant successfully. I wanted drugs to force my body to do something it couldn't, something it may never be able to do. While I did set some ethical boundaries for myself, they were FAR from what I felt comfortable with. So here I sit, not even 6 months after I was told it was time to stop trying to get pregnant. I sit here and wonder what happened to me.

The simple answer is grief happened. Rage, despair, hopelessness happened. I became so swamped with strong emotions and reactions that it's no wonder I could not think straight. I would try to disconnect from my body's experience only to be forced to live with the consequences of biological forces manipulating my emotions and thoughts.  What a war with myself. If the spirit is the space between mind and body, the mortart that connects it all, then my mortar crumbled and fell apart in many, many places. Grief never leaves, but perhaps some healing can happen now and the mortar that is my spirit will mend.

The answer to my initial question about who's more important, birth moms or moms who raise the kids, is a mute point. I'm trying to create a hierarchy of value based on what society expects from us... instead of acknowledging that we all live in tension between many points. While I will continue to grieve for not having some of those points (conceiving, pregnancy), I live with many other points of tension, many other possibilities for future outcomes. It is no easy and I'm sure I will come up with many more questions like this one, ones that will hopefully bring me back to those simple questions of meaning and purpose.

Grief and My Soul Sucking Alien

So tonight my husband and I went on a date for Valentine's Day. We watched the movie "The Vow". The premise is that a woman wakes up after a car accident and has forgotten the last 5 years of her life, including meeting and marrying her husband, losing and meeting friends, fights with family, switching towns,  career paths, and life goals.  So much happened to change her life and she has to start all over again, discovering the same beliefs and convictions that led to the changes in the first place. She had to rediscover who she was and is.

Life transformations and transitions are interesting things. They seem to always sneak up on us, as if we haven't gone through them before or as if we don't know that life at 50 will be different than life at 20. So we stumble along, whine a little "Not AGAIN! How many times do I have to change?!", and ultimately feel lost, over and over and over. Some of us, if we're lucky, are found for a while. We have those periods of clarity, of who we are and why we're here. So many ways to talk about it, depending on your belief system. The planets aligned or everything came together or even God worked through me.

The past 3 years or so, especially the last 2, feel surreal to me, as if my memories are from another lifetime. The constant pressure, stress and side effects of fertility treatments and challenging health tainted everything I did or thought or felt. I'm not saying it was all bad or all good. It was both, just like life usually is, but somewhere along the way I lost myself. I tried not to. I tried really really hard not to. However, if you know me, you probably realize being around me often was kind of like listening to someone sing just slightly off key.

Since we decided to halt the fertility treatments for now (and most likely for good), a weight has been lifted off me. I kind of feel like a giant soul sucking alien parasite has been detached from my back. When it was detached, my life- body, heart and mind- went out of whack. I had to detox from the alien nasties or something. And now, at times, I can finally see more clearly, before the nasty returns.

The trouble is, this alien nasty is grief. And grief never leaves us. Not really. Funny how I've become a grief educator just as I experience some of the most heart wrenching grief I've ever experienced. It's not as if I haven't felt the loss of a dream before, the loss of a potential future being erased. But the dreams of babies who have my husband's eyes and my freckles are somehow different than the dreams I've had before. They feel more tangible, even though they are still ideas. When I was younger and I lost my faith in "The System", when I realized I could not really "Save the World", I never thought I'd get over that heartbreak and be able to hope again, to trust in a better future.  It was so very real to me at the time, that grief for intangible things. But with time, I did dream again, I did imagine a future where I can change the world... just not how I thought I would when I was an invincible teenager.

So right now, my faith is pretty low. I'm being honest. There are moments however I remember other times when I thought my heart would break. And guess what? I got through them. The grief is still there. A memory of a heartbreak, but those wounds no longer cut so deep. There are times I'm not sure I'm going to emerge from this abyss, but then I remember and I can at least have hope for a day where the pain is not so sharp, not so mind/heart/body twisted up.

Something about times of need heighten my awareness of music and song. Two songs speak to my dark place. One is a hymn from the 1880s, Uncloudy Day. Here is an excerpt:

Oh, they tell me of a home Far beyond the skies
Oh, they tell me of a home So far away
Yes, they tell me of a home Where no storm clouds rise
Oh, they tell me Yes, they tell me Of an uncloudy day

And another from  Florence and the Machines new single "Shake it Out"

I am done with my graceless heart
So tonight I'm gonna cut it out and then restart
'Cause I like to keep my issues strong
It's always darkest before the dawn

2011 in review.

2011 in review.

My health and wellness blog.