For Everything There is a Season

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Category: church (Page 2 of 3)

Peace Be With You

October 7, 2012 / / 4 Comments

“Peace is not something you wish for, it is something you make, something you are, something you do, and something you give away. ” ~ Robert Fulghum

On the first Sunday of the month, which is Communion Sunday, we pass the peace in my church. This is a common practice in many Christian churches although the way it takes places can differ from church to church and denomination to denomination. When I was growing up in the Catholic church, this was a process in which we would turn to the people to the sides of us, behind us and in front of us and say “peace be with you” and shake their hand. If the person was family, maybe we would hug or kiss them as well.

In my current Protestant church, the passing of the peace is a more gregarious affair. Depending on how familiar we are with the person, we either shake their hand or hug them. There is a lot more hugging, or rather embracing, than hand shaking compared to most other churches; at least ones that I have attended. We either say “peace”, “peace be with you”, “hi, how are you”, or whatever else feels appropriate. People rarely stay in their pews and they wander all over the place. It is truly an exchange of peace and good will in a Christian community of people. It is one of my favorite times of the month at my church.

Today I was passing the peace to a family my fiance and I have been spending some time with lately outside of Sunday service. The family consists of a grandmother and her four grandchildren. As I let go of the oldest child’s hand after wishing him peace, he said to me, “Chris, what does peace mean?”

Leave it to a ten year old to throw me off balance.
Such a simple, yet profound question.

Of course, this entire passing of the peace at church takes all of about five to ten minutes so I didn’t have time, at that moment, to sit down and discuss it with him but I simply said that peace meant calmness. It was really all I could think of as a response at that moment. I am not sure if he understood exactly what my response meant in the midst of of the flurry of peace passing activity, but that is a conversation that we can have more in depth at another time.

It got me to thinking though. Don’t we all know what peace is or the meaning of the word peace? I mean seriously, isn’t it obvious? If you look in any commonly used dictionary, you will see several different definitions for the word peace. You know what I think though? I think that most of the time, peace means something different for each of us. I think the paths we take to get to that state of peace is also different for each of us.

To that ten year old child, peace may mean having the comfort and security of a grandmother who tucks him in at night and loves him unconditionally. Peace for him may mean knowing who the adults are in his life that he can count on. Maybe it means to him knowing that as he grows older, he has a church community that is a home to him no matter what obstacles life hurls at him.

For me, peace means many things and takes on several different forms. It is a state of mind, of spirit, and of soul. Peace is when my spirit is full or when my mind is calm. The best is when both happen at the same time. A difficult thing for me, or anyone for that matter, to achieve these days. Peace is also when my body, soul and spirit are at peace with whatever havoc may be going on physically with my body at any given moment. A very difficult task to accomplish indeed.

Many people say that peace is being in harmony with other people. To me, that is not always the case because I have come to find that I have no control over other people, how they think about me, and especially what they do. So my peace, or harmony, comes from realizing this and also in realizing that the only person I have any control over is myself. Therefore when I think and act in a way that is true to myself, I am at peace.

I am at peace when I am able to pull myself out of the stress and anxiety of the misfortunes that life may throw at me and am instead able to appreciate what are considered the small things in life such as the feeling of my dog’s breathing as she sleeps quietly with her head on my chest. Or maybe the serenity of being in my house on a fall afternoon when the sun streams through the large glass windows and the loudest sound I hear is the birds playing outside on the deck.

I find peace with myself when I am able to not be preoccupied with the “what ifs” and the” I can’t” thoughts that often invade my brain. When I am able to put the negative thoughts away and instead replace them with positive thoughts and the thought that the only limitations I have are those that I put upon myself.

Peace with myself is when I accept myself as I am right now, right at this moment.

Just as importantly, peace is something that we can give to someone else. It can be simple and cost us nothing. When we extend ourselves and our love to another human being in an act of giving or generosity, we give peace. It may be in the form of a meal or a phone call. A listening ear or our time. In some way, when we ease someone else’s burden, we give another person some peace of mind.

Giving peace to another person may come in the form of not judging them and accepting them for who they are in their moment. No questions. No criticisms. Just love. So that they may feel free to feel less stress and anxiety; to be at peace with where they are in their life journey.

So maybe my answer to my ten year old friend was accurate after all.

Peace IS calmness.

Of mind.
Of body.
Of soul.
Of spirit.

Where do you find YOUR peace?

Photo: Courtesy of Chuck Myers (http://myerscreativephotography.zenfolio.com/)

When Mother’s Day Means Something Different

May 13, 2012 / / 4 Comments

This is a picture of a flower that was handed to me today in church by one of the children. We celebrated Mother’s Day as well as Children’s Sunday today. Children’s Sunday represents the close of the Sunday school year and it is a celebration and recognition of what the children in our church have accomplished throughout the school year. The handing out of the flowers has been occurring for a few years now. I remember the first year the flowers were presented on Mother’s Day. Before the children came out to present them both that year and this year, my minister prefaced this beautiful gesture by telling the congregation the flowers would be given to those of us in church that “look like a mother.” I remember sitting in the pew that very first year and thinking how difficult it was going to be for me when the children bypassed me and I was left without a flower. Left with an outward sign of who I am not. A mother.

But miracle of all miracles, I received a flower that year and I have received one every Mother’s Day since. All the women in our congregation do; because even if we have never given birth, adopted, or raised a child of our own, we all have in some way mothered a child or another human being. The flower is a symbol for the mother that lies within us.

Mother’s Day has notoriously been a very difficult day for me over the years. Correction: I have made it a difficult day for myself. The reason is simple. I love children, have always wanted some, or at least one, and have never had a child of my own. The reasons are numerous and complicated. I know it is something that I will eventually write many essays about but for today, writing about Mother’s Day is enough.

As the years have gone by, I have struggled with Mother’s Day because I have always focused on what I did not have and that is: a child of my own. One that I can raise, nurture, and love. As the day would approach and come to slap me in the face with my reality, I would dread it. Because I knew that most likely, I would never have the opportunity to be celebrated on that one special day each year. I would never possess that which is known to most of our society as the ultimate bond between two people: the bond between a mother and her child. It can be quite a difficult thing to live with in our culture and society where being a parent is given the utmost priority and acceptance. It can be quite a difficult thing to live with period. Sometimes you feel like you don’t fit with the rest of the world. Sometimes you just feel plain old sad. But those are topics for another day as well.

Luckily though, my thinking about this issue has evolved over the past year or so. And it has not come easily. Changing my thinking about going through Mother’s Day with no children has taken a lot of soul searching and yes, even some acceptance. It is not because I like children any less. But rather because I am more focused on what I do have rather than what I do not have. To start with, I have my own incredible mother. One that has nurtured me and supported me my entire life and whom I would probably be lost in life without. I do not want to waste precious time feeling sorry for myself on Mother’s Day when I could spend that time honoring and thinking about my own mother. And there is my fiance’s mother. How grateful am I for her? The person that brought the love of my life into existence. The man who has completely changed my life.

Most women in my life, whether they are friends or family, are mothers. I have been blessed by the grace of God to know them and to witness the everyday struggles, challenges, joys, and blessings that come with raising a child. To be honest, I do not think that every mother is a great one or even a good one. But in my circle, they are. So on this day, I honor them in my heart. I feel lucky to be a part of their lives.

What I have also come to realize, similar to how my church treats the women in our congregation on Mother’s Day, is that being a mother is not just about having a child of your own. It is about how we, as women, nurture and support the children in our lives whether it is in our own family or in our community. I now can stop and think of the times I have nurtured other people’s children. I have cared for, nurtured, and loved nephews, future adult stepchildren, goddaughters, and children of friends closest to me. I have supported the children in my congregation in their endeavors and activities. I have been a mother to every single pediatric patient I have ever taken care of by holding their hand, disciplining them, and singing to them in the middle of the night when they were scared or in pain.

I have been present.

Is it the same thing as raising a child of your own twenty-four hours a day? No, it is not the same. But I do not think that fact makes it any less important, or any more important for that matter. It just makes it different.

I am not living in denial of the difficulties associated with losing a part of my life’s dream. Now though, I try to not let it define me by who I am as a woman. From this Mother’s Day on, I refuse to let it overshadow what this day is supposed to be about and that is love. So Happy Mother’s Day to all of the women in my life who are mothers. Those who have:

Given birth to a child,
Adopted a child,
Raised a child,
Encouraged a child,
Been a role model for a child,
Helped a child,
Loved a child….
You are all truly my inspiration.
Photo Courtesy of Chuck Myers

From Abuse to the Promised Land

October 6, 2011 / / 13 Comments
The first step towards getting somewhere is to decide that you are not going to stay where you are. ~ Unknown
Promised Land:  any longed-for place where one expects to find greater happiness or fulfilment.
 ~ The Free Dictionary

Did you ever work through some issue in your life and think that it was completely behind you until one day, it hits you in the face like a ton of bricks? That happened to me last weekend during my pastor’s sermon at church. I wasn’t expecting it. I was even the scripture reader for that day and it never dawned on me that his sermon based on that day’s scripture would bring me back in time; to a place that used to haunt me. A time that I have never written about privately, never mind publically. However in considering writing about this topic and posting it on the web, some glaring facts have became apparent to me.

It could help someone.
Make them feel less alone.
Give them hope.
And so here we are.

My pastor’s sermon this past Sunday was based on scripture from Exodus 14:10-14. In the sermon he discussed the relationship between Pharaoh and the people of Israel. These Jews, who were living in Egypt at the time, were being terrorized by Pharaoh who was the person ruling the land at the time. Not because they did anything wrong but because Pharaoh did not like working around Jewish holidays and practices. Pharaoh also heard a rumor about a new king being born to the Jews. And so began Pharaoh’s reign of terror. He controlled the Jews. He manipulated them. Moses intervenes and although things get worse initially, Moses finally tells the abused people of Israel:

“Do not be afraid. Be still.”

Then my pastor gets to the message of the sermon about people in violent and abusive relationships. He points out the similarities of Pharoah and the Jews to people in abusive relationships in the present day. About how the best approach to the “Pharaohs” in our lives is to be still, be at peace. It doesn’t mean to give in but to follow God’s lead in order to make it to the Promised Land. Why? Because as my pastor explained, it breaks the cycle of violence by not engaging our Pharaoh. He has no one left to control.

Oh crap.

I was sitting in my seat with the choir and all I wanted to do was run out of the church because I knew the sermon would make me cry and I didn’t want others to see that. I would cry with sadness and remembrance because I knew what it was like to have a Pharaoh. Cry with happiness because I knew I had finally made it to the Promised Land.

My Pharaoh was my ex-husband. I know that for certain now even though I didn’t always acknowledge it. Even when I did acknowledge this fact after I left him, there was still this small part of me that rationalized that I wasn’t in an abusive relationship. I couldn’t have been because I did my fair share of arguing and name calling when I was provoked by him. I was the one who was considered to be the control freak. As someone who feels strongly about taking responsibility for one’s own actions, I felt that even though my ex was usually the instigator, my own behavior was not always a model example, therefore he was not REALLY abusive. We just couldn’t get along.

Yeah right.

Something to be said for denial.

Emotional and mental abusive is often so insidious that it can be difficult to recognize and accept that you are in an abusive relationship. It can also be hard to one day wake up and realize that you let yourself become a victim. Not an easy thing when you thought all along you were the one in control. This type of abuse can take on so many forms that it can be almost impossible to recognize. When I looked back on my marriage, these are the incidents that made me realize that indeed there was abuse in my relationship. They are not an attempt to elicit sympathy but rather a means of showing how obscure abuse can sometimes be.

* Name calling towards me was a frequent occurrence.

* He was frequently badmouthing my family and friends. Every negative comment was an attempt to put more distance between me and them. He made it difficult for me to have people to our home.

* He often criticized my decisions no matter how small.

* He lied on a regular basis.

* He was a “gas lighter”. Gas lighting is a form of psychological abuse in which false information is presented to the victim with the intent of making them doubt their own memory and perception. Because I was starting to have some difficulties with my memory due to an autoimmune disease, it wasn’t too difficult to do. He would say we had conversations that I was sure we didn’t have.

* He did everything he could to bring down my self-esteem. When I went out of work on a medical disability, he told me I was lazy and that there was nothing wrong with me. He used comments to hurt me.

* He withheld affection from me.

* He did not support me. This may seem benign but men who yell at their sick wives and threaten to leave them alone in an emergency room because they don’t want to sit and wait for the doctor any longer would qualify as abuse to me.

I never saw the signs of my ex-husband potentially becoming an abusive partner. I wish I could sit here and tell you that when I looked back, I noticed this, this, and that. But I did not. I am sure there were signs, but I obviously missed them. I also cannot sit here and say there were not good times because there were. He presented his best side to me in the beginning of our relationship. I think he wanted to be the person that his best side showed. However he was plagued by a childhood that haunted him (maybe that was a potential red flag?) and his subsequent alcoholism that cropped up the year after we married consumed him.

So how did I save myself? After years of contemplating leaving, I got out. One night after a daylong drinking binge, two events occurred. The first was that I knew without a doubt that if I didn’t leave our house that night, he would hit me. I was keeping my distance from him and not engaging with him but he was relentless. It had never happened before but I knew this night was going to be different. I wasn’t going to give him that chance and I was no longer going to be a victim. We all have our breaking point and that was mine.

Apparently it was his too because after I left the house that evening, in an effort to manipulate the situation and get sympathy from my parents, he called my family and spoke with my mother. He told her that I had gone off the deep end and was threatening to kill myself. All completely untrue. Imagine having someone call you and tell you that your child is suicidal. Imagine the fear. I was never going to let him terrorize my family like that again. Ever.

At the end of the sermon last Sunday, I realized I truly was at the other side of the battle with my Pharaoh and into what my pastor described as the “Promised Land”. It required a lot of soul searching, therapy, and determination to leave and start over. It has meant forgiving and choosing to remember the good of that relationship without ignoring the bad. Getting to the Promised Land was not just about leaving, it was about rebuilding. It meant finding myself again and regaining my self-esteem before I entered another romantic relationship. It meant defining myself rather than letting someone else define me. Although I am in a very healthy romantic relationship now, being in this relationship is not all that defines the Promised Land for me. The Promised Land is a place where I am whole and at peace.
It is a place where I am not afraid.


































Photos: Courtesy of Google Images

Safe Haven

September 11, 2011 / / 4 Comments
What good fellowship we once enjoyed as we walked together to the house of God. ~ Psalm 55:14
 
 
 
There is a safe haven for me in this world. Besides my home. Today, September 11, 2011, I am even more aware and more appreciative of having a refuge from the world. A world that is oftentimes unjust and unkind. It is a building, simple in structure and design, yet filled with people of all types. It is not an invincible building; it is still susceptible to the evil people in this world and the weapons they may use. But the people in the building, they are filled with love. It is the love that makes it my refuge.

 
I love walking into my church and today was no exception. We have spent our summer worship services in our small chapel which is a comforting place in itself, but going back into the “big house” each September signifies people returning from summer vacations and the start of a new season for us. People come together again to celebrate a new Sunday school year. It is a  time of new beginnings and new projects. New faces and new opportunities for fellowship.

As much as I love my safe haven, it is not about the walls, ceiling, flowers, or pews. It is about what I feel when I am there. I feel God’s presence. I feel a sense of peace that is often difficult for me to put into words. I can be myself in this haven and even when I make mistakes, say the wrong things, or have a bad day, I am accepted. It is the place that has helped me reclaim my identity and my relationship with God. It is the place I have found love of all kinds.

Because of vacation and illness, I have not been at my church on a regular basis over the past few weeks. Usually I am there at least twice a week, oftentimes more depending on what missions and activities are occurring that week. I thought of that when I woke up this morning. On top of the usual autoimmune issues I had been dealing with lately, I had a trip to the emergency room two days ago which resulted in the diagnosis of two ovarian cysts, one of them ruptured. The pain has been hell and sleep has been minimal, especially since pain medications seem to cause me significant insomnia. Despite not wanting to make the effort to shower and get dressed, I just knew that if I got to my safe haven, I would feel better. Maybe not physically, but definitely emotionally and spiritually.

And right I was. When I walked through those big heavy green doors and heard the sound of people laughing and talking, I knew that I was where I was supposed to be. One familiar voice after another. One warm hug after another. Familiarity. A listening ear. Sign-up sheets for upcoming volunteer opportunities. Normalcy. Children just a little taller than the last time I saw them.

Kind words.
Music.
Laughter.
Prayer.
Love.
These are the things which truly heal… 

Photo: Courtesy of Chuck Myers

Summer of Friendship…Summer of Love

July 1, 2011 / / 11 Comments

You know how you can smell a scent and it reminds you of a place, a time, or a person? Sometimes you may even smell it and not remember where you noticed it before, but you remember that the feelings you had when you last noticed it were good. I hugged my boyfriend one day recently and that happened to me. He was wearing a scent that brought back feelings of comfort and security for me. OK, and attraction too. But where had I noticed it before? So I asked him….

It is the scent that always brings me back to last summer. The summer that was originally shaping up to be one of my worst ones and instead, ended up being one of the best ones. I don’t know the name of the scent but I know he still has it and it always reminds me of him and of the summer that brought us together.

It was the last weekend in June last summer that it all kind of began, for me anyways. It was the weekend of the American Cancer Society’s Relay for Life and like many years previously, I was signed up to participate with a team from my church. Things had been crazy that week leading up to the relay with my health. Sure enough, the Friday of the relay, I was on my way to the emergency room just praying I would make it to Boston in one piece. I was having a difficult time with my breathing due to an autoimmune disorder. A fun six hours in a Boston emergency room resulted in a three day hospital stay. When I was discharged, things were still looking shaky. All of my immediate summer plans got cancelled and I was looking forward to at least a few weeks of extensive reading and some serious movie watching. Between that and a pretty intense round of steroids, I was not a happy camper.

At the risk of sounding melodramatic, my life changed after that weekend though. It was the first time I had been hospitalized while living by myself with my dog and I had to make adjustments. I needed more help for a short while. I had to count on some people I didn’t even realize I could count on, especially when it came to caring for my dog.

And then there was him, and the scent. We had one or two conversations before that weekend. I cannot lie; I had noticed him so many times before. Something about him drew me in, wanting to know him. But I was too busy being involved with the wrong man per usual and in the days following my hospitalization, that whole situation blew up and ended. When it did, I was done with men, dating, the whole nine yards. I was too sick to care and I had big plans for as soon as I felt better. I was going to start taking better care of myself, start seriously writing, and spend as much time as possible with my friends and family. Life was just too short to waste it investing my energy and time into people that were not worth it.

Best laid plans, right? All of a sudden he was there, right by my side. I had convinced myself that showering, dressing, and driving myself the two minutes to church the week after I got out of the hospital was a good idea. I barely got through the service and went to sit down to talk with a friend during lemonade hour. It was summer so it was lemonade instead of coffee! He came over to me, kneeled down, and asked me how I was. He offered to bring some of his video collection for me to church the next Sunday so I had more to keep me occupied at home. We really didn’t know each other much at all; yet he extended himself to me in the most caring and compassionate way. I more than noticed him then.

Problem though: I was done with men. And to be honest, I thought he was just trying to be nice. People at our church are like that: nice, kind, and compassionate. Of course he would be no different. Plus what would he see in me? Because really, I probably never looked more pathetic or sickly at church than that first month out of the hospital. We were friends on Facebook as well so he knew my health issues. He knew my age. He knew I had been dating. He knew I liked country music. Hell, he should have been running the other way!

He did bring those movies he promised me the following Sunday though and we talked a bit more. And the Sunday after that and the Sunday after that. So it grew. As the weeks went by, our conversations by the lemonade pitcher grew longer and longer; oftentimes we closed the place down. I loved talking with him. I loved just being near him. We joke about that now, you know, the whole pheronome theory of attraction. Apparently many people around us knew what was happening before I even did. I was in self- protection mode, but yet that didn’t stop me from listening for his voice every time a church usher would say good morning to my turned back. And he always smelled the same, that comforting cologne smell. The one that even now, reminds me of how I hate being away from him for too long.

As the weeks dragged by, I started to get better and he was still there. Now I had a problem though because his presence was becoming quite distracting to me at church. I remember a particular conversation with a friend from church where she mentioned something significant that was said during the service the day before. I had missed the whole thing. It was important and I felt terrible. It was his fault though. That day before, he had come and sat right next to me in church for the first time and having him so close, while smelling so good, drove me over the edge of distraction.

Labor Day weekend finally came around and after closing down the church one last time as just Sunday buddies, we somehow worked out a plan to go for a walk with my dog the next day. That, as they say, is all she wrote. Summer ended. I found my best friend. I fell in love. And even now, sitting here by myself in a cafe, I still can smell in my mind his lingering scent.

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