Category Archives: Soul Therapy

Of Boogie Boards and Mermaids

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The cure for anything is salt water – sweat, tears, or the sea.             Isak Dinesen

IMG_2157In three days time, I will be on the coast of North Africa. For thousands of years this land has intrigued and invited people to take part in the rituals and magic of life by the sea. Remains of ancient Roman villas, public baths and libraries remind me that others have walked those places before me. Their footsteps have all washed away, as will mine. But while I am in that space, while I am in any space I want to live and breathe the energy it gifts to those who are open.

I connect with Jill Davis’ line about the waves of the sea help me get back to me.

My grandchildren explore unmarked ruins, dip their toes into clear waters of the Mediterranean and barbecue hot dogs along blonde sandy shores. There is a sense of infinity as cerulean blue of sky and water blend into each other. Earth meets sky as thoughts of infinity and divinity merge together on the distant horizon … The land of hopes, dreams and mosaic memories.

And my bags are packed to the gills. Last summer I bought boogie boards for the grandchildren’s visit to my Canadian home, but we experienced end-of-summer-snow and warm campfires. Now the crazy thought to take the boards to North Africa had entered my head, and after a request for life jackets came from across the ocean, my decision was made. Even though my grandchildren live by the sea, my son-in-law could not find life jackets in the local stores. We may be over safetied here in Canada, but they are definitely under the mark. This just meant a second checked in bag … There are times I try to travel light, with only one checked in bag, but when considering gifts for the grandkids and their safety … some of the reasoning went by the sea side.IMG_2250

Certain things make me feel small – mountains and oceans are definitely in that category – especially oceans as they seem to have no beginning or end. Their vastness, can be calm or unrelenting. They not only make me feel small, but they give me a sense of the bigger picture, and my place in it. And the reality that all the trivial daily fussing is not worth its energy. There is a much grander scale of life beyond the routine. There is also an infusion of sacred in the ordinary. Mother Theresa said: We ourselves feel that what we are doing is just a drop in the ocean. But the ocean would be less because of that missing drop.

I can hardly wait to stand by the sea, to feel the water on my toes.

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Mermaid image by: quotesville.com

Jocelyn is the author of Who is Talking Out of My Head, Grief as an Out-of-Body Experience

Learning to Live the Loss

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IMG_1410If there were a day to strike from the calendar—Feb 27 would be that day for me—a day three of the most beautiful young people on the planet departed, eleven years ago. Every day in the news, I hear of events that would make others wish to erase another day.

As I type, a reminder pops up in the corner of my computer screen- A day to get through. A month ago I typed those words on this day. Now it asks me if I want to close or snooze—could erase be an option?

I find that the dread of a day can be worse than the day itself. As I was writing in my journal the day before, I decided music should be a part of this preparation. “All right, God—you can select the songs.” I put the setting to random. I never know what will play, usually a mixture of spiritual, folk, John Fogarty, Christmas carols, and my foreign language lessons. I had the sneaky suspicion I was trying to put God to the music test,  just to see if He was listening.

The first song takes me back to when my now-in-heaven-daughter was thirteen. This was a signature song for her that year. Through the register vents Twyla Paris would sing: God is in control, we will choose to remember and never be shaken, there is no power above or below. Oh-oh-oh God is in control. That is a great start. I could not have picked better.

The next song is from the Christmas album given by that same daughter her last Christmas, and Sue Chick sings … Heaven comes down, the hearts of men rise … do we dare take a chance … and the heart longs for more. Then Steve Bell tells me that Into the darkness we must go, gone, gone is the light.

And I notice increased number of age spots on the hand that holds the pen. I sit there thinking this is kind of silly and any moment the Arabic lesson would come through. I was interrupted by a call from the florist for a delivery. But, song after song encouraged me. At song 14, I thought perhaps I should get on with my day. Johnny Reid finishes the set of fifteen with I left my hometown years ago … to let all this love surround me. I would have said, to let all this beauty surround me. And I realize Love and Beauty often feel synonymous. Both are heavenly gifts. I contemplate the power of the words, and the themes of love, loss and suffering … songwriters capture the struggles we have. Music soothes and inspires, it reminds me that I am not in control, I am not alone on the journey, and I must continue. Sauntering in sacredness is an option.

I sent my sister-in-law a thank you for the flowers, she responded with an email about an image she had of new green shoots coming forth. Later that afternoon, I went for a walk … and found a likeness of her vision:IMG_1961

Never before have I seen shoots in February. These green and burgundy shoots brimmed with hope of new life. For this day, I head to the mountains, to contemplate the gifts of the journey … and to sit in the beauty, this is what I left my hometown for.

From John O’Donohue’s book Beauty, a poem by Dietrich Boenhoffer:

The Unfilled Gap

Nothing can fill the gap                                                                                                  When we are away from those we love and it would be                                    Wrong to try to find anything                                                                                      

Since leaving the gap unfilled preserves the bond between                                   Us. It is nonsense to say that God fills the gap.                                                           

He does not fill it but keeps it empty, so that our communion                          With another may be kept alive even at the cost of pain.

Summertime Blues (the cure)

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We unlearn desire. Quietly, over time, we succumb to the dependable script of the expected life and become masters of the middle way … after a while we no longer even notice the pathways off to the side … John O’Donohue (Beauty)

“The summer is almost over,” my 91 year old mother declares with authority on our weekly Sunday IMG_4182phone call. I already know her next line: “Before you know it, it’s going to snow. It will be Christmas.”

A writing course had occupied my spring and when I hit “Submit” for my final paper on June 30, I also hit “Break Free” for the summer … and here she states the truth: Summer is Short.

In Canada it is very short, and also the reason it is full of outdoor activity. Canadians know its brevity. As if to verify my mother’s words the picture of last September’s snow came to mind. For the sake of the course, I had put off my summer and now my days were numbered.

Three days ago I picked up a friend from the airport, who is returning to be in the presence of an aunt in the final stages of cancer. The struggle was closing in. Last summer, another dear friend lost the battle with a heart issue, her family motherless before the end of August.

Oh the summertime blues. The life time blues … it comes and it goes. Life, breath, beauty, flowers, illness and departure; like the river current moving toward a final destiny.

My own grandchildren come to visit in a week. I have been anticipating this time for what seems ages, and before I write my next blog that moment-in-the-sun will have passed.

The elusive speedy nature has me either lamenting or rejoicing.

So what will I do now that the summer is almost over? … I plan to enjoy every remaining moment as much as I can. It begins with cleaning off of my small patio, setting up the deck water fountain, planting the flowers I got on the end of the season sale.

I want to build good memories that will warm those cold winter days. I want to connect with nature as much as I can. Listen to the music. Enjoy the richness with those that cross my path. There is only one summer of 2015. I want to smell the flowers.

Above all else, I want to practice gratitude.

IMG_4084That gratitude that started July first, where in a moment of unprecedented Canadian patriotism, I joined a small town crowd for the raising of the flag, the singing of Oh Canada, the picture taking with two handsome red-suited mounties. To quote my mother: “I am so thankful for the country that we live in.” She is thankful; she has health care, she feels looked after. She feels safe. My only on-the-planet daughter lives in a region where recent terrorism has taken a deadly toll.

Below a black squirrel hops across the traffic filled street, only mindful that he needs to live in this summer moment, oblivious to the cars that will soon sweep his path … he pauses in the middle of the street, I think he winks at me and scurries to his destination. My pot of recently planted petunias smile at me in shades of blue-lavender. A dahlia from a friend adds the exclamation mark.

Life like summer is brief.  Gratitude precedes the joy … The thunder heads will roll in, we had hail on Saturday, but for this moment, this brief spell, I want to Be in The Beauty, the beauty of a summer morning ripe with anticipation.

It’s The Climb

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It’s about The Climb

Sunday afternoon with the promise of poutine to follow, I invited two international University of Calgary students to join me for a little walk. They come from Africa and want to experience as much of Canada as possible, on their meagre student budget. I can show them sections of the nearby Rocky Mountains. This particular hike, I did almost two years ago, and thought it to be fairly easy. Early on, the 27 year old from Malawi slightly short of breath states, we need to pace ourselves, and take time to enjoy the scenery. We come to a fork in the road.IMG_3298

They suggest the easy option, but I had read the reviews: the more difficult is the more scenic route. Since I am buying the poutine, they agree to go left. They have each had an intense year of studies, are here for the long haul, unable to return home, but thankful for technology which connects them to loved ones in Malawi and Zimbabwe. Our in-depth conversations have been labelled as DRDs—Deep Reality Discourses … we talk about life, the expectations of women in their countries, to be bearing children at this stage of life and the singleness issue. We talk about cultural differences, the loss of fathers for each of them, we always venture into spirituality. I love these DRDs.

And then we spot them … the wild orchids.IMG_3352

I take many photos, another hiker passes us, and I point them out to her. She and I marvel at their intricacy. My students admire them, but do not appreciate the rarity of the sighting. The hiker informs us of an owl nesting in a rocky opening at the top of the hike. She continues her way down and we continue our climb. We dip our hands in the mountain stream, drink of its water, the younger woman expresses her desire to spend a day with her journal next to the sound of a mountain waterfall. We marvel at the aqua green colour of the lake, and search for the great grey owl that appeared to have been waiting for us.IMG_4011

After the promised poutine rated as the best west of Montreal, (La Belle Patate) we return back to our normal lives,  feeling a slight connection to Miley Cyrus in knowing that there’s always gonna be another mountain and it ain’t how fast we get there, it’s The Climb. At the end of the day, students returned, I marvel at the beauty of the day, the gift of the orchids, the owls and that I could keep pace with these two young women.  I hope to return soon.

IMG_3995“I will not die an unlived life.

I will not live in fear
of falling or catching fire.
I choose to inhabit my days,
to allow my living to open me,

to make me less afraid,
more accessible;
to loosen my heart
until it becomes a wing,
a torch, a promise.
I choose to risk my significance,
to live so that which came to me as seed
goes to the next as blossom,
and that which came to me as blossom,
goes on as fruit.”

–Dawna Markova
― Dawna Markova, I Will Not Die an Unlived Life: Reclaiming Purpose and Passion

The Climb, sung by Miley Cyrus, written byJessi Alexander, Jon Mabe.

Earth Beauty, Ever Ancient, Ever New

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For the Beauty of the earth, Ever ancient, ever new …

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It’s International Earth Day … and I recall an answer I have given to people:

There are many things in my life that I would not have chosen, but there is still much beauty in this world.

 

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The most universal gift is the beauty all around us. In my travels I have never come to a place bereft of beauty. Even though garbage littered, the dusty less than desirable path on the way to my grandchildren’s school in N Africa … it had been named the secret garden. After a spatter of rain, it burst forth with yellow blossoms … Dump turned flower garden! The eyes of children opened mine to see beauty in the midst of ugly.

Everyone has stuff, something that could be better … a deviation not chosen, and the heart grows weary with constant struggle. John O’Donohue, an Irish poet/theologian has written about beauty:

Much of the stress and emptiness that haunts us can be traced back to our lack of attention to beauty. Internally, the mind becomes coarse and dull if it remains unvisited by images and thoughts which hold the radiance of beauty. … Beauty offers us an invitation to order, coherence and unity.

IMG_2879Although my home province Manitoba claims the prairie crocus as its provincial flower, I saw very few wild ones there … but here in Alberta, perhaps with more uncultivated soil, they are more prevalent. I have been admiring them since Easter Monday … they are my current heroes. While snow lingers they push through dead grasses and debris of winter to breathe hope into the soul. The fragile flower displays an inner strength  adding its blue lavender beauty to the landscape, the first delights of spring.  Other wild flowers soon follow suit.

To behold beauty dignifies your life; it heals you and calls you out beyond the smallness of your own self-limitations to experience new horizons. To experience beauty is to have your life enlarged.   John O’Donohue

This is the 45th international Earth Day … a reason to celebrate. Get out and enjoy the beauty, dig in the dirt, pick up some garbage, be barefoot, look for signs of spring, go for a walk. Smile.apollo8-earthrise

Earth rises above the lunar horizon against the backdrop of deep space on Dec. 24, 1968. the image, snapped by astronaut Bill Anders during the first manned mission to the moon, evokes both a sense of solitude and intimacy. From livescience.

Beauty The Invisible Embrace,  by John O’Donohue, HarperCollins, 2005

 

Knocking on Heaven’s Door

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The Power of the Ask

Ask and it shall be given to you, seek and you will find, knock and the door will be opened to you.  IMG_4745   (Matt 7:7 NIV)

I had arrived in Perth, Australia, the day before, time-zoned out by fourteen hours.

Still in the excitement phase, I tried not to think of the new realities that I: was on my own, did not know a soul here, was to start a new job in ten days, and had no place to live. I had booked into a hostel for two weeks, hoping that would give me enough time to find an apartment, before my nursing  job began.

A sense of expectancy, filled me as I headed downtown under the vivid blue Australian skies—I had come from a prairie winter, where minus twenty was the norm. This felt beautiful, warm and friendly. Two things I remember clearly that welcomed me. Next to a brown brick church with large wooden doors, a group of teenagers stood over the green grass carrying “Free Hugs” signs. (I had a video of my youngest daughter holding a same message.) I went to receive my free hug. The unwrinkled arms that wrapped my traveled soul, had no idea that I believed that my daughter had orchestrated this hug from heaven.

Wiping the tears from my eyes (I never saw those free huggers again) … I explored further down the road and chanced upon a young woman busker with a guitar of dreams. Cross-legged, she sang two songs while I stood near by—Knocking on Heaven’s Door, and I can see Clearly Now the Rain is gone … I can see all obstacles in my way. Gone are the dark clouds that had me blind, it’s gonna be a bright, bright sun-shiney day. I looked all around to nothing but blue skies.

“You must be very brave to move half way around the world.” people said …. or desperate, I thought.

Perhaps that is the best approach to the Father. I usually come desperate … hungry for the blessing.

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The power of the ask … I had asked, I had knocked on heaven’s doors, I had been a regular at the gate … “Should I go, or should I stay?”

That was five years ago. Although I have returned to Canada, that move changed my life. I am forever grateful that I responded to the inner voice that said Go. Ask for direction.

The response did not come in a type written detailed memo—oh I wished it had. But in hindsight I can see that many doors opened for me as I continued to search, and I met some wonderful people along the way. It did not come easily. Seek and you will find.

Sometimes, I don’t know what it is I seek … but, I know there are questions that the soul propels me to ask and to explore. Simone Weil has said it well:

DSC_0878The danger is that the soul should persuade itself that it is not hungry. It can only persuade itself of this by lying.

Oh I can see clearly now, the snow has gone … but I know rain and snow showers will return, and I will experience more storms, but, I will keep asking, and the spirit will guide. That really is the best.

Photos by author, painting of woman by Kristen N D.

Owning My Story

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Brené Brown

From an email sent to a friend:
If you are reading this now … I hit Send
If you aren’t reading this, you won’t even know this conversation almost took place.
I am chuckling as I started this email four hours ago ….
Sometimes I feel incredibly young at heart, sometimes I feel like the vulnerable little girl, wanting to be accepted, sometimes I feel as though I could be a hundred years old.
And I fear I might hit send, and regret it … or hit delete and regret that even more  …..  Well, it’s coming your way.

It seems whenever I meet up with someone new, I have to play the little “how much do I want Vuln-imagesthem to know about me?” game. This is the mental jockeying done with new encounters. Will they be a small part of my life, a work connection, a friendship, deep, superficial?? The mental assessments happen very quickly. In a recent conversation, I realized I said something that would lead to revealing more of myself than I might have wanted … I said, “they contacted me after having read my book.” As the words tumbled from my mouth, it registered in my head that in all the conversations we’d had, I never mentioned my book. The reluctant author in me, does not want patronized sympathy in place of genuine friendship.My grief story is generally not the first thing I share with others.  And yet, I have had the most meaningful connections with people, because of the willingness to be vulnerable. But the little voices in my head warn me, as I verge near the precipice of letting someone in on the painful parts of my story, that when I let my guard down I risk getting hurt. Vulnerablility Stephen Russell has said that “being vulnerable is being open for wounding … being open to the wounds of life means also being open to the bounty and beauty. Don’t mask or deny your vulnerability: it is your greatest asset.” (I can’t say that I am in complete agreement with him—my greatest asset?)
Now I know I don’t want to be, or need to be a jellyfish, exposed to everything, self-protection is needed for survival, but I also know that I want to be willing to risk. I’m still working on the risk plunge, but I am further in that direction in the wanting of it, of trusting my instincts of when to risk. I have not yet succeeded, but I’m taking great aim towards this thing. And then when I get hurt, as inevitably still happens … recovery time is lessened.
I try to keep a soft shell around my heart, it allows for more expansion.

IMG_1537Madeleine l’Engle said: When we were children, we used to think that when we were grown up, we would no longer be vulnerable. But to grow up is to accept vulnerability … To be alive is to be vulnerable.

I also used to think, I would have the answers as I got older … instead I see the number of questions increase.

 

(Jocelyn has published a book on grief; Who is Talking Out of My Head – Grief as an out of Body Experience,  available at DWFriesen Press, and through Amazon)

Does this Clutter make my Butt look Big?

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Things sneak into the closets of my mind …

Your house is your home only when you feel you have jurisdiction over the space. Joan Kron

Every year I am challenged to declutter and this year is no exception, and I have found that one of the best ways to avoid doing and to just talk about doing, is to do online research on the topic, and thus further avoid doing.

January is a busy month for donations at the second hand clothing store where I spend Tues afternoons. People are cleaning out closets. Out with the old and in with the new … and this is the time of year to question why I hang on to some unused items. (But I paid good money for it—and I know I might need it, IMG_1371someday.) While discussing with a friend about the stuff that collects so quickly, she hauled out Peter Walsh’s book, which I interpreted as a divine sign. (Note to self—she is organized and can find items immediately.) And No the clutter does not make my butt look fat, but it does make me feel heavy in spirit. While I have accepted that I will never be a Good Housekeeping poster child, a cluttered space carries a feeling of chaos, and  I prefer a sense of calm in my home. And my calm is disrupted by my clutter. When I have trouble finding things, I know it’s time to re-organize. Most of my friends maintain their homes well, but I am acquainted with a range of house keeping habits, from one that vacuums three times a day, to a spinster librarian, with cats and cat food dishes located in bulk around her small house, to a dining room table that has not seen food for years, because it is covered with stuff. Twenty-one is the number of Srabble games she owns—just in case the church might ever hold a scrabble tournament. (Does no one else own scrabble?) Everyone of us has our own reason for clinging to unneeded items, and lately my reasoning has come into question.

MIT finds a correlation between smarts and messiness, but it’s MIT (Massachusetts Institute of Technology) and the writer went on to suggest messy-desked people might be skewing the results in their favour. Anyways, they say that “Messiness is often associated with artistic, creative and scientific or mathematical genius, spontaneity, but also with carelessness, eccentricity, madness and unreliability.”

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Cleanliness was next to Godliness in my childhood days … my sisters and I rushed through the Saturday morning chores so we could watch Dick Clark’s American Bandstand at noon. An automatic association for me is to clean and then celebrate with dance, not unlike a Guy Davis blues song —his line goes,  had some old shoes on, got new shoes now, and I feel like dancing …. thinking old thoughts, got some new thoughts now, and I feel like dancing … Yes, decluttering the closet and the mind leads to dancing and an increased mood of feel good.

An immaculate home (or conception) has never been part of my story, but the closets have become slightly more organized and I feel like dancing.

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Door # 2,0,1,5?

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Only dreams give birth to change  … Sarah Ban Breathnach

There are years that ask questions and years that answer.  Zora Neale HurstonIMG_8658

What does 2015 hold? Like the North African doors that call me to enter, the New Year is inviting me to step through and discover the beauty that awaits. And not seen in the picture is the garbage that was scattered throughout much of the land … Life is not pristine, I will encounter garbage in 2015. But does that keep me from dreaming? (Sometimes -yes) As I think ahead to the plans, dreams and goals I have (I focus on themes instead of resolutions, less binding.) I am aware that the Trust issue is a big factor in my life. I do not know what will happen, life has taught me that not all dreams and hopes will materialize, no matter how reverent my outlook on life is.  A poster above my son’s bed said: I don’t know what the future holds, but I know WHO holds the future.   I am challenged to place my trust in God. Too often I feel I have to do it all myself …

I am also aware that the Becoming is important for me … becoming more of the person I want to be, have potential to be, becoming aware of the Sacred in the daily, aware that I have choices in the doors I open and close, aware that no one can make me more miserable than I can myself.  Aware that even though my grand-daughter, all of 8 years old, tells me that my legs jiggle when I swim, I will continue to swim.  My isn’t she becoming?

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Many women today feel a sadness we cannot name. Though we accomplish much of what we set out to do, we sense something is missing in our lives and—fruitlessly—search out there for the answers. What’s often wrong is that we are disconnected from an authentic sense of self.  Emily Hancock.

I am also aware that being a woman in the western world, I have many more opportunites than the veiled women I met in North Africa and I am grateful for that. The doors that open in some cultures are much smaller, and often closed or difficult to push open. They may not even be aware that things could be different. I pray that I will knock on doors, even when I am intimidated by their size.IMG_7091

As you go through the door of 2015, begin this new year by trusting your inner, authentic self, and trust that there is a loving Source, a sower of dreams … May this year provide some answers, and may you enjoy the  journey of the question. In the end, I wish to become more authentic, more trusting, more connected to myself and my God, and more becoming.

It’s only when we truly know and understand that we have a limited time on earth—and that we have no way of knowing when our time is up—that we will begin to live each day to the fullest as if it was the only one we had.                      Elizabeth Kübler-Ross

Pictures taken in North Africa by J Faire

Decemberings from North Africa

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This is the land of the Nativity Card look alike, and I am closer to the bread and olive oil world that the baby Jesus entered, than when I hang stockings by the mantle in the winter wonderland of the Rocky Mountains. But there is little evidence that the major holiday of the western world is upon us.

So why does it not feel like Christmas? And what is Christmas supposed to feel like?

Here in North Africa, near the edge of the Sahara, the mother part of me desires to recreate the atmosphere that my daughter grew up with, on the Canadian prairies, so I can give my IMG_0066grandkids a sense of what “Christmas is about.” So Ernest Saves Christmas-our family movie from 25 years ago and the Cabbage Patch Christmas album, even older, have journeyed with me to share in this sandy land. I have brought ornaments to glitter and glue, chocolate chips for the baking. I brought my own wrapping paper. A part of me wants to do the something old, something new, something borrowed from this culture and the something blue comes naturally post grief. Throw in my daughter hosting a  community Christmas party, and the age old dilemma of Christmas Martha (Stewart) versus Christmas Mary (who ponders everything in her heart) takes shape … and I fall into the trap of performing.

And is it something I need to do in order for Christmas to happen? Ann Voskamp’s words challenge me … to become a space for God.  Immanuel-God with us … in order for that to happen, I have to make room in my crowded life for that filling, that presence.

It is only three days till Christmas, and my 5 year old grandson asks if we could please, please open one of those presents that magically appeared under the tree last night. I have forgotten how hard it is for children to wait for the day to open gifts. I feel my own impatience with waiting for the gift of fulfillment.  And I ponder again the concept of becoming a place for God.  Making a space for beauty, life, and joy to enter. May it be so.

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Gifts of time and love are surely the basic ingredients of a truly merry Christmas. – Peg Bracken

Christmas is not as much about opening our presents as opening our hearts. – Janice Maeditere