I can’t believe I just wrote that date. How is this possible? I’m finished CPE today!
This has got to be one of the hardest things I’ve ever done, although when I think back on it I didn’t end up a pile of self-loathing on the bed while my husband comforted me. My emotions were actually explored and turned over like little stones, making it so much easier to actually deal with them.
This process should be 100% essential to those wanting to be ordained. I can already think of tons of people who would love it, find their passion in it, and benefit enormously from it! We need more scorched people in ministry. :)
I really am beginning to think more about doing this for a living. I think if I just had a more balanced life it would have been easier. I should have had a more active prayer life. Of course, it would also be simpler to do it without all the class work, verbatims and such.
Yesterday I looked in the mirror and thought of this:
You know what keeps me going sometimes? On the days when I am locked away, staring into my own eyes and so close to falling into my old pattern of shame and self-doubt? The voice of a 92-year-old Irish woman from my church, who was involved in both my pre-discernment and discernment group, a woman who is my hero, who has travelled the world and seen more than I could ever hope to see in a lifetime, a voice that said to me, “No…you’re strong.”
I can’t even really remember the context, but I think it had to do with keeping the faith during difficult times. I don’t remember what I said, but I think it was something like, “I keep the faith because in my mind I don’t have a choice. I don’t think in difficult times it would be my faith in God that would get in trouble.” And just as I finished saying it, others in the group who knew me were agreeing, and this woman nodded, saying, “No, you’re strong.”
At the time, I couldn’t believe that this marvelous woman, who honestly blows my mind every time I look at her, could say this about me.
I feel like I’m finally starting to believe her.
I feel like I’m finally coming closer to seeing who God sees.
“Thank God for sight. Thank God for God.”
***
 After our graduation ceremony, I wrote this:
I’m done, by God.
I can’t believe it.
I have a huge sunburn because two of my classmates and I went swimming in the ocean afterward, and then lay on the beach for a while. I’m glad I did it.
I’m done, by God.
Thanks so much for reading my CPE journal! I hope you enjoyed it, and if you’re considering taking it yourself, I strongly recommend it. I really enjoyed working for Providence Health Care. It’s a great organization that prioritizes spiritual and emotional health in a way that few other organizations do. Its Catholic roots are strong and beautiful, and a lot of the ground-breaking work they have done, particularly around HIV and AIDS, is directly attributable to those roots. The spiritual care staff and program is an excellent one. That being said, it’s not the only place you can do pastoral care! You could also try the program at VGH if you prefer. If you’re interested in spiritual care in general, or want to learn more, please check out the CASC website here.
Many blessings,
–Clarity
I gave my final evaluation today, and as I wrapped up I actually told them about the two visions I had had – the palmful and cupful of fire.
I had some gorgeous prayers said for me at the blessing. One of my classmates sang, “Don’t you feel downhearted, don’t you feel sad and lonesome: Jesus is walking on the water, won’t you go and follow him down.” My supervisor referenced Moses and the burning bush in his prayers.
I loved that song about Jesus on the water, because I love the story! It ties in perfectly with my sense of fear at what lies beneath chaos, and I even talked about it in an earlier entry!
I did find that I couldn’t look at anyone after the prayers, and at a few other times. I was disturbed to find myself laughing and smiling as I described terrible feelings of self-loathing to the group, to which they reacted with faces full of shock and sadness (much like my mother had). I always thought that was something that only damaged people did – laughing while describing feelings of anger or deep sadness. I wouldn’t call myself damaged…but I guess it was just another one of those “Only OTHER people do that.”
In the last little while I’ve thought a lot about how the shame of my childhood shaped me, and how the shame was reinforced over time. I had this amazing moment where I realized that part of why I couldn’t look people in the eye when they are wishing me well or feel tender toward me because of tears is because I’m afraid of what I usually see in the mirror when I am in tears. I feel incredibly awkward and exposed – as loathsome and ugly. Even just writing about it makes me feel triggered. I need my emotions to be mirrored by the eyes of love. I should not be afraid. The eyes of shame are a distortion I am free not to accept anymore.
I can’t believe it’ll all be over tomorrow.
***
I did some reading exploring Teilhard de Chardin’s theology of the Sacred Heart. He writes:
“The cross was placed on the crest of the road which leads to the highest peaks of creation. But, in the growing light of revelation, its arms which at first were bare, show themselves to have put on Christ: crux inuncta. At first sight the bleeding body may seem funereal to us. Is it not from the night that it shines forth? But if we go nearer we shall recognize the flaming seraph of Alvernia, whose passion and compassion are incendium mentis. Christians are asked to live, not in the shadow of the cross, but in the fire of its creative action.”
The incendium mentis they refer to is defined as a “conflagration of the soul.” I had heard of the word conflagration, but never knew what it meant before. When I looked it up on dictionary.com, it was defined as: “a destructive fire, usually an extensive one.” I love this! The use of the word “destructive” may frighten some, but I can’t help but remember the vast forest fires that tend to sweep through BC every late summer, which are indeed destructive but also massively helpful for the fertility of the soil. I actually wrote a song years ago about God’s love being similar to a fire like this, which only makes this passage all the more appropriate to consider in the light of my own ministry.
The flaming seraph of Alvernia is the angel that marked St. Francis of Assisi with the stigmata. This is even more amazing! I described my encounter with Prayers as being similar to experiencing a form of stigmata. Bonaventure confirms this by writing in his biography of Francis:
“Eventually [Francis] understood by a revelation from the Lord that…he was to be totally transformed in the likeness of Christ crucified, not by the martyrdom of his flesh, but by the fire of His love consuming his soul. As the vision disappeared, it left in his heart a marvelous ardour…”
I love this idea of the fire of divine love as representing an alternative passion, and to me it is marvelously open to be experienced by many others.
Teilhard de Chardin called the Sacred Heart “a mysterious patch of crimson and gold in the very centre of the Saviour’s breast.” He writes:
“It is in the Sacred Heart that the conjunction of the divine and the cosmic has taken place…There lies the power that, from the beginning, has attracted me and conquered me…All the later development of my interior life has been nothing other than the evolution of that seed.”
He also has a narrative about the Heart that has the figure of Christ growing progressively more indistinct with radiance. I wondered then in my notes on this about whether or not I could actually experience the presence of the Heart on my own, or if I always had to be with somebody else. That is part of the teaching of this gift, I think.
***
The biggest news of the day is that my supervisor thinks I could do this for a living. So…maybe I’ll explore the residency for next year. It’s a paid gig. Could I do it? Maybe.
-Clarity
Our time on the units is done.
Now we have a few days to sit and tell each other about our experiences. I’ve noticed that we’ve all become quite relaxed, and have been laughing a lot.
One of my classmates made a beautiful spelling mistake in his evaluation: instead of writing “follow-up” he wrote “fellow-up.” I thought it was lovely! It’s like keeping in touch with friends, or if you have had an emotional support or spiritual care meeting. I have noticed that a few classmates have had a very easy time saying, “I have done well.” I want to learn more from that way of being, more about self-celebration.
Another classmate was working the unit where “Prayers”, my first ever patient, was transferred. It felt good to hear this patient pop up in that evaluation, and the wonderful care being given. A couple of times I wished I had followed Prayers to this classmate’s unit and felt bad that I didn’t. I no longer felt bad after hearing the evaluation. I had received a touch on the shoulder the last time I had seen Prayers, who came over to do physio regularly and was at that time walking along (!) with a brand new prosthetic leg. Unfortunately, Prayers has since left AMA, so I was never able to say goodbye. I can only hope Prayers is held by God, and eventually comes to place of feeling found. I wish we had had the time to sing “Amazing Grace” together.
At the end of each summary, we all took turns blessing the presenter. I didn’t present my final evaluation today, deciding to save it for tomorrow – our last day of class.
-Clarity
That was my last full week on the unit.
It’s quite surreal to think I will only have two more days of direct care. I feel almost like I’ve been doing this forever.
My lovely patient Voice came back from the ICU and we had a lovely visit. I am amazed at how our relationship has changed. When I first met Voice there was politeness but some suspicion. We have since progressed to Voice saying right out loud how much my company is appreciated, and big smiles.
Another patient who I’ll (a bit irreverently, I realize) call “Gurgles” who was palliative was finally moved to that unit. I was starting to think Gurgles wouldn’t make it to palliative. The first time I saw Gurgles I sang some songs and spoke some simple sentences in the listed mother tongue. I don’t know that it mattered much – Gurgles was already beginning to see and talk to people who weren’t there and generally lay back with eyes closed – but I got a nod as I said goodbye. Today before Gurgles was transferred I just sat with him, speaking only a couple of words every so often. I don’t think they were heard, but I’ve learned it means a lot to just be there, even for the nurse who was “one-on-one” (what they call it when a nurse is at bedside just in case).
A little while ago I had met a patient I’ll call Eyes, who had left but then returned. Eyes had a very strange experience while I was in the room, was convinced it was paranormal in nature, and asked me to explain what I had seen. I had to answer, “I saw that your mood changed very quickly, and you suddenly looked around and seemed afraid.” Based on the chart I was convinced the patient was suffering from hallucinations and paranoia, but I feel I was quite successful in not letting it show.
After I had come down and was just about to leave, I heard my first ever code from my unit – a Code White. Since I’m not expected to answer those if I’m about to leave, I didn’t go up. I feel like I should have, but of course it’s important to go home when you’re ready to do so.
***
I can’t believe how strange time has felt in this work. When I think in terms of weeks, it seems to fly by, and yet it also seems like ages since our midterm evaluations. It also seems like an eternity since May.
It took three hours to finish my final evaluation, which brings up the total amount of work I did on it to about five or six hours! I had thought about going back up to the unit after finishing it, but I ended up being on the unit for my entire required 210 minutes in one stretch, which had never happened before. I had had a referral as soon as I got in so I went up much earlier than usual.
By the end of the day the pastoral care staff seemed quite punchy for some reason. I really don’t know what was going on – everyone was joking around and acting very odd. I kind of loved it.
Something sort of funny happened during that time as well. Quite a few weeks ago my supervisor had walked by me as I sat at a computer and said that the playful part of him wanted to take out the plastic claw holding my hair up, just to see what would happen. I think at the time I told him I wouldn’t mind, particularly because my hair was so thick that nothing would happen and it would just stay the way it was unless I shook it out. I even took it out myself to show him.
Today, he walked by behind me, and without saying anything, reached over, squeezed it to open it, then let go and closed it again. I laughed and just took it out.
I say it’s sort of funny because when I write it I can totally imagine telling particular people I know about it and having them give me a funny look, thinking it was weird for a man in his ’50s to play a schoolboy prank on a woman twenty years his junior. But at the time, there was not only nothing about it that was weird to me, but I actually quite appreciated it. It felt somehow home-y – like I was welcome and loved. It felt like I was part of a team, a family. And there had been other moments that day when other members of the pastoral care team had made me feel that way too. It was a bit unexpected – I had never thought that as a student I’d be given that kind of space. I am really going to miss the staff!
***
When I wrote my final evaluation, I talked about the Sacred Heart. I wonder if some of the exhaustion I’ve been feeling comes from a lack of prayer lately. It’s the first time in years that I’ve only been going to church once a week! Can you believe that? Since 2006 or so I’ve attended at least two Eucharists a week, and some years it was more like four! I never once felt like this was an annoyance or a burden. I really think regular prayer is good for me, so clearly I need to commit to Morning and Evening Prayer. I’m not too worried about it right now, because soon I’ll be going on retreat! My prayers were answered and I’ve gotten my five nights finally booked at the centre I go to. It will be bliss. I have decided the goal of this retreat will be to do some work of integration on what I’ve learned here into my wider faith journey. I have been doing that already, to some extent, but I feel I want to do it more, maybe even as a sort of warm-up for the fall’s big project, the Position Paper.
I can’t believe that the day I went from my confirmation to walk on the beach and give myself to God would culminate in being given a green light to go to Examining Chaplains and continue the work of discernment toward ordained ministry. I can’t believe the summers I’ve had – giving myself to a camp, a man, and a hospital. I am scorched, branded sweetly. I am God’s wee goat, bleating and eating.
I have no idea what the year holds besides more challenges. I do know that after three years there is no possible way I could discount God’s presence. Nothing about this journey has been logical to me. Nothing about it has been anything I could take for granted. I do not care about the circumstances or their “truth.” I care only about how God is speaking to me: through the events of my life.
I have a friend who recently told me the meaning of life: “It’s love, mate.” This is who and what we are. We are put here to love. How could it be anything else? I am not going to strut about telling everyone I’m a genius for having figured this out. I will proclaim it in my own way, the way God has given me.
This year will be about writing. I think for a goal I shall try to get a piece published. If, as my discernment group wrote in my evaluation, I am a “powerful preacher,” then I’ll preach, by God.
-Clarity
It remains amazing to me that in the most unlikely and ordinary, unremarkable places, God can enter in and overwhelm. Sometimes it’s quiet on the mountaintop.
I was watching Florence and the Machine sing this song and then started thinking of all the things in my lifetime that led me up to today: waiting for tomorrow, which up until now is going to be one of the most important days of my life. Tomorrow I will hear the verdict from my discernment group on whether or not I will pass on to Examining Chaplains, the next step in the process toward becoming a priest.
I sat listening to the song and looked up at the icon I wrote of the Mandylion quite a few years ago. As I gazed into it, I felt seen by the quiet white eyes, seen and loved and known. And I could also see the flickering fire for which I have been reaching. I can see who I could be. I can see where I have been forged and scorched and torn and mended and ravished and broken free. I can see what is breaking open and being born in my own heart. I can see a sweet river flowing from a riven side, a sweet river of saints.
And I can see myself diving in.
-Clarity
The clock keeps ticking! I can’t believe that tomorrow there will only be two and a half weeks left…and not even that many, because I’m only on the unit two days in the last week.
Today one of my classmates shared a really beautiful worship service with some great quotes. Here was my favourite one:
“Religion is compared to a seed, not to a gem. Although it takes a great deal of time and endurance under high temperature and pressure for a gem to be made, not a sprout could come from it in a billion years.” (Seok Hun Ham, Korean Quaker)
There were many other stunning quotes but this one made me write this reflection:
A seed is so fragile. A gem is far more predictable. A gem is frozen once forged; a seed is always dynamic. Although it is small, it is far greater; although it is fragile, it is far stronger; although it is mortal, it is far closer to immortal. A seed is a gift that we cannot create ourselves. One seed gives rise to many, and in one seed we trace generations of plants and trees and everything that feeds from them. A gem gives nutrition to no-one.
It is therefore in fragility that we may find the greatest strength.
It made me also pair seeds with stars. Although stars are brilliant, they burn mortally and eventually die, but their material and particles infuse the whole universe with carbon – a source of life.
These quotes were so great I may slip more into further entries. For now I’ll close this one with the last prayer, from my soul-brother Thomas Merton:
“There is no leaf that is not in Your care. There is no cry that was not heard by You before it was uttered. There is no water in the shales that was not hidden there by Your wisdom. There is no concealed spring that was not concealed by You. There is no glen for a lone house that was not planned by You for a lone house. There is no [one] for that acre of woods that was not made by You for that acre of woods.
But there is a greater comfort in the substance of silence than in the answer to a question. Eternity is in the present. Eternity is in the palm of the hand. Eternity is a seed of fire whose sudden roots break barriers that keep my heart from being an abyss.”
Amen, beloved. Amen.
-Clarity
So yesterday was pretty chaotic! Last week was my second (and last) week on call. I did get a call on Thursday but I didn’t end up having to go in.
Yesterday, I decided to go and check on Voice after the awful wait to have that fluid drained in Radiology. The room where Voice had been was empty but all the stuff from before was still there – flowers and the like. I went to the nurses station and they told me that Voice had had to be transferred to the ICU at 1am. I went to tell the pastoral care worker who usually works the ICU, and she told me I could go and visit Voice myself if I wanted. I decided to do that at the end of my day.
I ended up spending way more time on the unit than I normally do, which seemed to be the pattern for my whole week. I saw delightful “Wink”, who is said to drift in and out of coherence but who seems far more coherent than the accompanying family member thinks; “Sky”, who was only three years younger than me and experiencing terrible pain as a result of the recent surgery; “Flat”, who was lying in bed with a mostly open stoma which had started bleeding profusely while the dressing was being changed and so was applying pressure, waiting for the doctor to come upstairs. It was quite bizarre to sit and talk to someone in that condition, but Flat is fairly oblivious to most things – “Flat” is actually a description of the patient’s voice. I also saw “Fish”, who made me think I would have to call a code because of fluttering eyelids and twitching feet, which actually turned out to be the prelude to tears. I also saw Storm, who felt energized by storms and was waiting for the perfect one. I also met the latest crop of nursing students from Kwantlen at the behest of a really sweet RN (the same one who introduced me to the first group) and told them about what was offered by pastoral care.
Finally, I went down for the first time (since the St. Paul’s tour, that is) to the ICU to see Voice, who (a bit ironically) couldn’t speak because of the breathine tube. Instead, Voice wrote on a clipboard. To ask what time of day it was, Voice drew a moon with stars and a sun, and divided them with a slash. Eventually, in the middle of writing something, Voice fell asleep. It made sense – there had been no sleep the night before.
I have been feeling much more connected to people.
I have been feeling much more connected to myself.
There are only three weeks left!
-Clarity
In my last post I talked about reclaiming pieces of ourselves, and I found that over the last little while I have been able to do that with something that was a great source of shame to me for many years: childhood “meltdowns.”
When I was a little girl I would regularly lose composure and begin to wail and cry over all kinds of things. Some of them were silly things – here’s a great post on that – but some of them were because I was being bullied.
One of my clearest memories of this is of being on the school bus. I couldn’t have been more than 6 or 7 years old. There was a little boy who was sitting in the seat behind me – I even remember that his name was James – who kept reaching over the back of my seat to poke my head or tug at strands of hair. I kept telling him to stop, but of course he wouldn’t. Finally, he put his whole hand over and raked his fingers over it, tugging a whole bunch of hair back. I don’t particularly remember if it really hurt or if it was more because I was startled, but either way I started wailing. I remember leaning forward and drawing in a big breath to do it. I’m sure the bus driver was ready to throw all of us off the bus at that point.
That’s one of the only instances of real physical bullying I can remember, but there were a few others. Most of all I remember that my tormentors tended to be male, which is why I have difficulty trusting a lot of young men. As I got into high school boys would call me names and laugh at me. “Crazy Clare” was one I remember particularly well. Girls would bully me too, mostly with intimidation, threats, and further name-calling.
As a child, I remember responding to this with screaming and name-calling myself, and sometimes simply walking away to cry loudly. More often than not I would run and tell someone that I was being bullied. What I remember being told, over and over, was, “Just ignore them.”
Of course I would do that, but it wouldn’t work. Children are merciless. They love nothing more than repetition, especially when the action causes such great fireworks as I was able to provide. So I would return and tell a grown-up again.
What was most often said to me – and what became internalized – was that it was my own fault for “giving them a reaction” or “being so emotional.”
It took me until last year to realize how pathological that response was.
Basically I was being told that it was my own fault for being bullied. The only possible solution in this idea of the world was, “If you don’t want to be bullied, don’t get bullied.”
Now, my giving them a reaction was absolutely what caused them to keep doing it. I’m not naive – I’m sure the kids were very entertained by my outbursts. But to tell me this, between the ages of 5 and 13, was not appropriate. For one thing, the result was that I became driven by deep shame. I’m sure the people who told me that it was my own fault for giving the bullies what they wanted could not have conceived of the truth that I have on multiple occasions locked myself in the bathroom to look at my red sobbing face in the mirror and say to it, “Shut up, you disgusting pig. Look at your stupid pig face, stop that crying right now.” I’m not vengeful towards them for saying something that was entirely logical. But I do think that it was incredibly careless and, let’s face it, stupid, to tell a child that she is responsible for someone else’s terrible behaviour of her. I do not remember any bullies ever being taken to task for how they treated me. I remember sitting in a classroom at age 12 being harassed right at my desk by the boy sitting next me. After saying, “Shut up,” about fifteen times, I finally yelled, “Can you just shut up for once?” This only made it worse, of course, and eventually I just ran out of the classroom crying. This was a hugely shameful memory for years, not only because everyone saw it and teased me about it afterward, but because I really thought it was my fault for being so “sensitive.” When I think of it now, all I can say is, “What the hell was the teacher doing while I was being bullied?” It was happening right in front of her and she didn’t do a damn thing.
So now you know about my “meltdowns” – and I can tell you how I have come to reclaim them.
I am starting to see these events not as sources of shame, derision, and weakness, but as little pieces of fire that refused to be stamped out. When I was treated unfairly or bullied, my immediate reaction was to rail against that perceived injustice. At times to adults it would have looked like simple childhood outbursts, but I have already recognized in my own personal work that they were the result of a perceived disconnect between the beloved child that I knew I was to my Mum with the object of scorn and contempt that I was to many other children. Eventually, these outbursts were bullied or disciplined out of me. I remember crying alone and suppressing all the anger, finally resulting in someone who made friends easily and desperately but finds it difficult to maintain commitment, because of experiences with impermanence, being tricked by friends, or being followed with taunts.
I am finally reclaiming that little child who still refuses to be silenced. What I once referred to as the Poltergeist – something that makes a huge mess and a lot of noise inside when I feel triggered – has become a little girl throwing things around in her room because no-one will accept or validate her anger. I’m in the room now, as she lies exhausted on her bed, and I’m holding out my hand. I feel some niggling doubt and a little echo from the devil that hides in her room with her, trying to tell her to take the easy way out. It’s easier to go back to being the one in need of rescue, the one who can do nothing on her own but be rescued by Mummy.
I can’t accept this, though, because I’ve already been rescued. I was rescued on the day of my baptism. I can’t be rescued again because the chains are in a pile at my feet. The child keeps picking them up and piling them onto her back, and they keep falling off – that’s what all the noise is about.
Next to Adult Me is my Lord. We have both explained over and over that the chains are broken. My Lord tells the little child every day – even when I refuse to go into that room because it’s too scary – but the little child does not believe.
It has taken me seven years, but I am slowly letting go of those chains. I’m sure the little girl will pick them up again sometimes, but hopefully she can try to remember that they are not binding her. They are nothing.
It has taken me seven years to be “born from above.” What a labour – but look at who emerges.
How beautiful too to consider the cosmic implications of this, as well as the eternal. I am always being born, always living, always dying, always rising. But in this, I have come home to myself.
I therefore wrote the following letter to that child:
Little girl, I see you. You are not alone, and you are strong. They are wrong to treat you badly and it’s not your fault. Those in charge are wrong to imply that it is your fault. You are not in charge of the behaviour of others. You are not responsible for anyone’s cruelty to you. Do not fear. I am with you, because you are in me. I see you, and you are loved.
Amen.
-Clarity
This week was much better than some of my last few. I got a chance to sing some Gregorian chant for “Halo” – who loved it – and today I stood with “Voice,” who wailed through dreadful pain waiting to be taken to Radiology to have fluid drained from a lung. I also sat with a First Nations person who told me about piecing a broken life back together after finally beginning to address the terrible things that happened at residential school.
My supervisor recommended a book that I actually had at home but hadn’t read yet. It’s about toxic shame, and I’ve seen myself in its pages way too many times. I’ve been exploring the identity I carried for years as a child and beginning to take it apart, piece by piece. I don’t blame anyone for escaping work like this. I feel like I’ve hit an apex of personal discovery and while things are looking massively up for the future – for probably the first time I’m beginning to actually love myself as I am – this has been some of the hardest work I’ve ever done. It’s so much easier to run away from what you think is lying beneath your waves. Last night I met with someone who’s been going through some really difficult struggles, and I found that as we spoke I began to illustrate what I saw in my mind: a vast ocean with unseen depths. Some of us imagine a giant monster like the Kraken will be let loose if we allow ourselves to travel too deep, and so we shun personal work and challenges, too afraid of the grief, anger, and baggage beneath those waves. We pushed it down there hoping to drown it during childhood and maybe beyond that, and we’ve long forgotten what it looks like, because we were never given tools as children to fully comprehend it, like a monster under the bed – so much more terrifying because our imaginations can conceive of more terrifying things than we’ve ever seen with our own eyes.
This fear of our unknown depths is a great tragedy, because it means we are essentially afraid of ourselves. Such fear is driven by a great schism within the self. Do we really think that our inner core is so monstrous that it should remain beneath in darkness “where it belongs”? This to me is actually a form of sin – not something that God condemns with angry judgement but that God laments with weeping. The God who said, “Do not fear; I have redeemed you” did not create a monster. Your own inner splitting has crafted a lie. There are no monsters beneath this ocean – only the pain, fear, grief, rage, and shame that has driven you to this self-distancing.
Pain, fear, grief, and rage that were avoided during childhood were likely avoided for the purposes of the inner strength of children. Children are labeled as weak and helpless, but in some ways they are among the strongest of us all. In order to survive, they will go to vast lengths to protect their own fragility. A child growing up in a household of abuse cannot comprehend caregivers that are broken or unstable because that would pose a great threat to the child’s coping skills. Instead, the child says, “I must be bad to make my parents this way.” This alternative is controllable. A child can re-gain a sense of autonomy if she believes that she has some control over the abuse, which in her mind she can have by altering her behaviour. Over time, of course, this sense of not measuring up becomes a part of her role, her identity. She believes that is worth nothing but abuse, shame, and torment. Her brain’s survival tactic has now become a terrible illness – like an addiction which provides temporary relief from one’s inner depths but only at the cost of shackling someone to it.
God is not a dualist. God does not ask you to tear yourself along the dotted line! God gave you the depths, and it’s from all depths that life emerges. In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth – and life comes out of Chaos. I think of Chaos as the first element. Those of the Abrahamic faiths celebrate God’s creation out of Chaos, and Christians celebrate Jesus walking on the water, either rendering Chaos impotent or, I think, passing through without fear, recognizing its power and becoming one with it. Jesus was not afraid of the monsters that lay beneath – because there are none. He embraced pain, fear, grief, and rage, and shone the light on them. They are only minnows beneath the surface, or dust bunnies under the bed.
I have seen the minnows that I thought were once a Kraken, and rejoiced. Although only Christ can walk on the surface of the world’s chaos, I have walked on top of my own – toward a voice that said, “Take heart, it is I. Do not be afraid.”
My very singular friend mailed me a letter from where he is working in the interior. It was such a very sweet note on a pretty card I can tell he made himself. In it he tells me he is so glad to be working where he is because he feels it’s good for the soul. He also asked me what I was doing with myself.
I wrote him back and described CPE this way:
“You are invited into someone’s very private world of pain, doubt, anger, love, and hope. It is completely amazing.”
This week, I’ve met with a living saint, a man haunted by an inner pain that seizes hold of him at his darkest moments, a First Nations man who has sat with chiefs at a potlatch and seen ghosts, a young woman with colitis who needs to be in the wilderness to really feel like herself, a man with cancer who is much too young for it, and an elderly woman who could do nothing but stare at the ceiling and eventually fell asleep as I sat next to her. I cannot tell you what a gift I have been given.
I also decided today that I am awesome. :)
Not more awesome than anyone else, but awesome nonetheless.
One of my classmates asked me the other day, “How do you find the courage to stand by your convictions and be yourself?”
I didn’t really have an answer. I don’t always do it, but more often than not I try to. And most of the time, I have no choice.
Here are some awesome things I’ve done:
*Lived in a foreign country
*Gotten a Bachelor’s degree
*Gotten an EfM diploma
*Learned to drive (but don’t have my license yet, heh)
*Played some great gigs
*Started a Masters’ degree
*Worked as a camp chaplain
*Helped run a kickass Lenten program
*Started CPE
*Gotten great marks in subjects I love
*Asked my man to marry me
*Made my father proud
-Clarity
