Healing

In the late 1990's we returned from summer vacation to find the back basement door hanging open.  Someone had broken into our house and had time to dig through everything, stealing many thousands of dollars of items.  The sense of invasion of our personal space, coupled with the loss of many family items caused pain and insecurity that carried forward in our lives for many years. 

One item that became a symbol was a Hall teapot that my partner planned to give me as a Christmas present.  The teapot had been dumped on the floor and broken, except for the lid which was intact. We listed the teapot in our insurance claim, and looked through local antique stores to find a replacement.  We did find one teapot in the same style, however, it was a bright, fire engine red; not what we wanted.  We finally settled for a cash payment from the insurance.

I kept the lid, hoping to find a teapot missing its lid.  I searched Ebay, and for over 15 years wandered through antique stores, with no matching blue pot.

This summer, visiting the same place we had been visiting those many years ago, we were wandering through a large antique barn.  I saw the same Hall teapot design, missing a lid, for $5.00.  It must have been used as a flower pot because there was a crust of soil still on the inside near the top.  I walked away without buying it because it was that same fire engine red, and didn't match.  But the more I thought about it, the more I knew it was time to bring the two unmatched pieces together.  With a soaking and scrubbing, this is what they look like together.

Over the years, we still remember stolen family items, such as a grandfather's pocket watch and a wedding ring.  They were tangible connections to people important to us. 

This combination of these two pieces, worthless by themselves, into a usable and visible presence for everyday use reflects our healing from that time.  It is not the way I wanted the healing to be, yet it is what is possible. And that is enough.

Waiting While Letting Go

It has been more than a year since my job was eliminated in a corporate reorganization.  The first three months were a time to allow feelings to move through, to let go of old patterns and habits, and to imagine new possibilities.  The next eight months focused on training as a chaplain through Clinical Pastoral Education, serving as a hospice chaplain.  The last three months I have applied for jobs, interviewed multiple ways, been rejected, and waited for new openings. Waits that always seemed long whether they were days or weeks in between.

When I started this process, I expected something like taking a hike on a trail. I pictured a trail like the one to Chimney Rock, Ghost Ranch, New Mexico, that my friends and I hiked one afternoon.  Not all a wide pathway as seen in this photo, the trail at times became only a foot wide, with drop offs on each side; a misstep would have meant tumbling dozens of feet down.  Other times it seemed to fade away into the rock and sand.  But there was always a clear goal, the destination that made it all worthwhile.

Time has shown that "hiking a trail" image has many problems. This transition has no clear destination, and often no continuous path. 

As much as I try to let go of being too attached to a potential job, I am still trying to picture what it would be like to be working for that particular company or in that particular location.  Every time I am told someone else has been offered the job, I have to let go of the combined hope and anxiety that that job offered. 

Another problem is the sense of a continuous path.  Often there is no path, no clear sense of useful direction, just open space every direction.  I begin to wonder if I am even pursuing a realistic option?  How long will I have to wait until I can find the right job? How will I know when to give up trying to find a job, and do what is necessary to cut expenses and live on savings?

Those are the times to stop working on all of the "what if" scenarios, and practice letting go.  When I am very anxious, I start with another spiritual practice such as the Jesus Prayer or walking a labyrinth. Each practice begins to settle me down for either meditation or Centering Prayer, deliberate processes of letting go of thoughts and distractions. 

What I did not anticipate was the way strong memories or emotions would arise during those deliberate periods of letting go.  Even with all of the work I have done in therapy, Clinical Pastoral Education, and in meeting with my spiritual director, surprisingly intense stuff arises.  In the moment, I know I need to let go of that stuff; there are others times to deal with it.  Usually I can let go of it and sometimes it jolts me out.  Each time new stuff appears, I need to respect its power and work out what is means for me now.  It is something to do while waiting.