Archive for the ‘faith’ Category

A Comforting Ancient Story

March 25, 2009

My dear friend SanityFound sent me this ancient story to comfort and fortify me about my upcoming visit to my dying uncle. It did indeed comfort me, and it resonated with truth. I hope it helps some other reader here:

In ancient times it was believed that when someone gets an illness, someone who doesn’t die suddenly, it is God giving those that passed on a chance to be with those who visit the the ones soon to pass.  In ancient times those who loved the one who was ill would visit them, staying a while at their bedside with their eyes closed, just breathing and feeling. They said it comforted them feeling those gone already surrounding their loved one.

 God brings the angels who know the one soon passing so that they do not fear, and to give comfort to those visiting.

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God in Action

January 31, 2009

fork-in-the-roadIn addition to the blues I’ve been experiencing lately, I also am feeling physically worse as I’ve been tapering down my prednisone. So though I did go to work yesterday, I had cancelled my attendance at bible study at my sister’s because I knew that by the time I got home at around 8 pm all I’d want to do is crawl into bed. There was no way I was up to going.

But Got had other plans for me. I was almost home after sitting for an extra hour in traffic, when I heard something in a novel I was listening to in the car.  I identified with the character, who was having a badly needed spiritual experience, and suddenly felt a powerful longing to feel the presence of God.

My sister and I live very close to each other.  There is a fork in the road in which her house is in one direction and mine in the other. As soon as I felt that longing for God, I no longer noticed my aches and pains and  without hesitation called my husband to tell him I was going to bible study after all, and called my sister to say I would be there any minute. I was right at that fork.

When I arrived my sister was radiant. She had been praying, literally, “Lord, when my sister reaches that fork in the road, please help her to feel better, and make her turn left toward my house  tonight.”

I don’t know why God wanted me there so much, but I do know that the chances of this being a coincidence were statistically ridiculous.  And  I did get to feel the presence of God and the Holy Spirit last night, we all did.  It happened when a tormented client I have suddenly came to mind, and we prayed with all our hearts for a psychological and spiritual healing for her.

God works in strange ways.

TimeSnatcher3

January 27, 2009

© TimeSnatcher 2009        ” WINTER SUN”

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January 24, 2009

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Psychscribe New Year’s Quote 2009

January 1, 2009

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“Go confidently in the direction of your dreams! Live the life you have imagined.”  Henry David Thoreau

The Gift of the Magi- By O’Henry

December 20, 2008

This is another lovely story about the true meaning of Christmas.

 

The Gift of the Magi

By O. Henry

One dollar and eighty-seven cents. That was all. And sixty cents of it was in pennies. Pennies saved one and two at a time by bulldozing the grocer and the vegetable man and the butcher until one’s cheeks burned with the silent imputation of parsimony that such close dealing implied. Three times Della counted it. One dollar and eighty- seven cents. And the next day would be Christmas. There was clearly nothing to do but flop down on the shabby little couch and howl. So Della did it. Which instigates the moral reflection that life is made up of sobs, sniffles, and smiles, with sniffles predominating.While the mistress of the home is gradually subsiding from the first stage to the second, take a look at the home. A furnished flat at $8 per week. It did not exactly beggar description, but it certainly had that word on the lookout for the mendicancy squad. In the vestibule below was a letter-box into which no letter would go, and an electric button from which no mortal finger could coax a ring. Also appertaining thereunto was a card bearing the name “Mr. James Dillingham Young.” The “Dillingham” had been flung to the breeze during a former period of prosperity when its possessor was being paid $30 per week. Now, when the income was shrunk to $20, though, they were thinking seriously of contracting to a modest and unassuming D. But whenever Mr. James Dillingham Young came home and reached his flat above he was called “Jim” and greatly hugged by Mrs. James Dillingham Young, already introduced to you as Della. Which is all very good. Della finished her cry and attended to her cheeks with the powder rag.     

She stood by the window and looked out dully at a gray cat walking a gray fence in a gray backyard. Tomorrow would be Christmas Day, and she had only $1.87 with which to buy Jim a present. She had been saving every penny she could for months, with this result. Twenty dollars a week doesn’t go far. Expenses had been greater than she had calculated. They always are. Only $1.87 to buy a present for Jim. Her Jim. Many a happy hour she had spent planning for something nice for him. Something fine and rare and sterling–something just a little bit near to being worthy of the honor of being owned by Jim.

There was a pier-glass between the windows of the room. Perhaps you have seen a pier-glass in an $8 flat. A very thin and very agile person may, by observing his reflection in a rapid sequence of longitudinal strips, obtain a fairly accurate conception of his looks. Della, being slender, had mastered the art. Suddenly she whirled from the window and stood before the glass. Her eyes were shining brilliantly, but her face had lost its color within twenty seconds. Rapidly she pulled down her hair and let it fall to its full length. Now, there were two possessions of the James Dillingham Youngs in which they both took a mighty pride. One was Jim’s gold watch that had been his father’s and his grandfather’s. The other was Della’s hair. Had the queen of Sheba lived in the flat across the airshaft, Della would have let her hair hang out the window some day to dry just to depreciate Her Majesty’s jewels and gifts. Had King Solomon been the janitor, with all his treasures piled up in the basement, Jim would have pulled out his watch every time he passed, just to see him pluck at his beard from envy.

So now Della’s beautiful hair fell about her rippling and shining like a cascade of brown waters. It reached below her knee and made itself almost a garment for her. And then she did it up again nervously and quickly. Once she faltered for a minute and stood still while a tear or two splashed on the worn red carpet. On went her old brown jacket; on went her old brown hat. With a whirl of skirts and with the brilliant sparkle still in her eyes, she fluttered out the door and down the stairs to the street.Where she stopped the sign read: “Mne. Sofronie. Hair Goods of All Kinds.” One flight up Della ran, and collected herself, panting. Madame, large, too white, chilly, hardly looked the “Sofronie.” “Will you buy my hair?” asked Della. “I buy hair,” said Madame. “Take yer hat off and let’s have a sight at the looks of it. “Down rippled the brown cascade. “Twenty dollars,” said Madame, lifting the mass with a practised hand. “Give it to me quick,” said Della.

Oh, and the next two hours tripped by on rosy wings. Forget the hashed metaphor. She was ransacking the stores for Jim’s present. She found it at last. It surely had been made for Jim and no one else. There was no other like it in any of the stores, and she had turned all of them inside out. It was a platinum fob chain simple and chaste in design, properly proclaiming its value by substance alone and not by meretricious ornamentation–as all good things should do. It was even worthy of The Watch. As soon as she saw it she knew that it must be Jim’s. It was like him. Quietness and value–the description applied to both. Twenty-one dollars they took from her for it, and she hurried home with the 87 cents. With that chain on his watch Jim might be properly anxious about the time in any company. Grand as the watch was, he sometimes looked at it on the sly on account of the old leather strap that he used in place of a chain.

When Della reached home her intoxication gave way a little to prudence and reason. She got out her curling irons and lighted the gas and went to work repairing the ravages made by generosity added to love. Which is always a tremendous task, dear friends–a mammoth task.Within forty minutes her head was covered with tiny, close-lying curls that made her look wonderfully like a truant schoolboy. She looked at her reflection in the mirror long, carefully, and critically. “If Jim doesn’t kill me,” she said to herself, “before he takes a second look at me, he’ll say I look like a Coney Island chorus girl. But what could I do–oh! what could I do with a dollar and eighty- seven cents?” At 7 o’clock the coffee was made and the frying-pan was on the back of the stove hot and ready to cook the chops. Jim was never late. Della doubled the fob chain in her hand and sat on the corner of the table near the door that he always entered. Then she heard his step on the stair away down on the first flight, and she turned white for just a moment. She had a habit for saying little silent prayer about the simplest everyday things, and now she whispered: “Please God, make him think I am still pretty.

“The door opened and Jim stepped in and closed it. He looked thin and very serious. Poor fellow, he was only twenty-two–and to be burdened with a family! He needed a new overcoat and he was without gloves. Jim stopped inside the door, as immovable as a setter at the scent of quail. His eyes were fixed upon Della, and there was an expression in them that she could not read, and it terrified her. It was not anger, nor surprise, nor disapproval, nor horror, nor any of the sentiments that she had been prepared for. He simply stared at her fixedly with that peculiar expression on his face. Della wriggled off the table and went for him. “Jim, darling,” she cried, “don’t look at me that way. I had my hair cut off and sold because I couldn’t have lived through Christmas without giving you a present. It’ll grow out again–you won’t mind, will you? I just had to do it. My hair grows awfully fast. Say `Merry Christmas!’ Jim, and let’s be happy. You don’t know what a nice– what a beautiful, nice gift I’ve got for you.””You’ve cut off your hair?” asked Jim, laboriously, as if he had not arrived at that patent fact yet even after the hardest mental labor. “Cut it off and sold it,” said Della. “Don’t you like me just as well, anyhow? I’m me without my hair, ain’t I?” Jim looked about the room curiously. “You say your hair is gone?” he said, with an air almost of idiocy. “You needn’t look for it,” said Della. “It’s sold, I tell you–sold and gone, too. It’s Christmas Eve, boy. Be good to me, for it went for you. Maybe the hairs of my head were numbered,” she went on with sudden serious sweetness, “but nobody could ever count my love for you. Shall I put the chops on, Jim?”

Out of his trance Jim seemed quickly to wake. He enfolded his Della. For ten seconds let us regard with discreet scrutiny some inconsequential object in the other direction. Eight dollars a week or a million a year–what is the difference? A mathematician or a wit would give you the wrong answer. The magi brought valuable gifts, but that was not among them. This dark assertion will be illuminated later on.Jim drew a package from his overcoat pocket and threw it upon the table. “Don’t make any mistake, Dell,” he said, “about me. I don’t think there’s anything in the way of a haircut or a shave or a shampoo that could make me like my girl any less. But if you’ll unwrap that package you may see why you had me going a while at first.”

White fingers and nimble tore at the string and paper. And then an ecstatic scream of joy; and then, alas! a quick feminine change to hysterical tears and wails, necessitating the immediate employment of all the comforting powers of the lord of the flat. For there lay The Combs–the set of combs, side and back, that Della had worshipped long in a Broadway window. Beautiful combs, pure tortoise shell, with jewelled rims–just the shade to wear in the beautiful vanished hair. They were expensive combs, she knew, and her heart had simply craved and yearned over them without the least hope of possession. And now, they were hers, but the tresses that should have adorned the coveted adornments were gone.But she hugged them to her bosom, and at length she was able to look up with dim eyes and a smile and say: “My hair grows so fast, Jim!” And them Della leaped up like a little singed cat and cried, “Oh, oh!” Jim had not yet seen his beautiful present. She held it out to him eagerly upon her open palm. The dull precious metal seemed to flash with a reflection of her bright and ardent spirit. “Isn’t it a dandy, Jim? I hunted all over town to find it. You’ll have to look at the time a hundred times a day now. Give me your watch. I want to see how it looks on it.” Instead of obeying, Jim tumbled down on the couch and put his hands under the back of his head and smiled. “Dell,” said he, “let’s put our Christmas presents away and keep ’em a while. They’re too nice to use just at present. I sold the watch to get the money to buy your combs. And now suppose you put the chops on.

“The magi, as you know, were wise men–wonderfully wise men–who brought gifts to the Babe in the manger. They invented the art of giving Christmas presents. Being wise, their gifts were no doubt wise ones, possibly bearing the privilege of exchange in case of duplication. And here I have lamely related to you the uneventful chronicle of two foolish children in a flat who most unwisely sacrificed for each other the greatest treasures of their house. But in a last word to the wise of these days let it be said that of all who give gifts these two were the wisest. O all who give and receive gifts, such as they are wisest. Everywhere they are wisest. They are the magi.

Yes, Virginia, There is a Santa Claus

December 20, 2008

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Its always nice to read this famous letter- to remind us of the magic of Christmas and what its all about. I am touched every time I read it. Hope you will be too.

 

Yes, Virginia, There is a Santa Claus

“Editorial Page, New York Sun, 1897

We take pleasure in answering thus prominently the communication below, expressing at the same time our great gratification that its faithful author is numbered among the friends of The Sun:

Dear Editor,

I am 8 years old. Some of my little friends say there is no Santa Claus. Papa says, “If you see it in The Sun, it’s so.” Please tell me the truth, is there a Santa Claus?

 

Virginia O’Hanlon

Virginia, your little friends are wrong. They have been affected by the skepticism of a skeptical age. They do not believe except what they see. They think that nothing can be which is not comprehensible by their little minds. All minds, Virginia, whether they be men’s or children’s, are little. In this great universe of ours, man is a mere insect, an ant, in his intellect as compared with the boundless world about him, as measured by the intelligence capable of grasping the whole of truth and knowledge.

Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus. He exists as certainly as love and generosity and devotion exist, and you know that they abound and give to your life its highest beauty and joy. Alas! how dreary would be the world if there were no Santa Claus! It would be as dreary as if there were no Virginias. There would be no childlike faith then, no poetry, no romance to make tolerable this existence. We should have no enjoyment, except in sense and sight. The external light with which childhood fills the world would be extinguished. 

Not believe in Santa Claus! You might as well not believe in fairies. You might get your papa to hire men to watch in all the chimneys on Christmas eve to catch Santa Claus, but even if you did not see Santa Claus coming down, what would that prove? Nobody sees Santa Claus, but that is no sign that there is no Santa Claus. The most real things in the world are those that neither children nor men can see. Did you ever see fairies dancing on the lawn? Of course not, but that’s no proof that they are not there. Nobody can conceive or imagine all the wonders there are unseen and unseeable in the world. 

You tear apart the baby’s rattle and see what makes the noise inside, but there is a veil covering the unseen world which not the strongest man, nor even the united strength of all the strongest men that ever lived could tear apart. Only faith, poetry, love, romance, can push aside that curtain and view and picture the supernal beauty and glory beyond. Is it all real? Ah, Virginia, in all this world there is nothing else real and abiding. 

 

No Santa Claus! Thank God! he lives and lives forever. A thousand years from now, Virginia, nay 10 times 10,000 years from now, he will continue to make glad the heart of childhood.”

 

Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!!!! 


If I Were to Die Today (Part 2 – Relationship With Family)

December 18, 2008

Well, I’m still here…stroke symptoms morphed into a lupus flare…ok, I can deal with that, not so scary. Bed and tea and my laptop…small price to pay for some aches and pain!

Yesterday I focused on the spiritual aspects of death…and my not being prepared in that regard.  But today I want to talk about my loved ones. Most of all my husband and children.

I can only write from a selfish point of view on this, so here goes: I don’t want to miss watching my children’s lives further unfold. I have no grandchildren yet. I want to know them. I want them to remember me. Yes…I want to live on a few years longer by having a place in their minds…. I want to see what they look like! Since both my kids are pretty much clones of their father, maybe some recessive gene somewhere would reincarnate my physical characteristics… Narcissistic, certainly. But truthfully, don’t most of us long for a genetic  replica when we, or our kids, are pregnant?

Not so selfishly, I worry about them handling their grief. Oh I know, of course, that we all manage to do it.  But…loss is not a strong point for any of us in this family.  It takes us a long, long time….and I so wish I could spare them what God has decreed to be necessary…(There I go again. God certainly seems to be talking to me…however discreetly…)

My husband? Oh…this is a man who does not know who he is if he doesn’t have someone to give his whole heart and devotion to. He cannot stand to be alone. He would have to, HAVE to, find someone else to spend the remainder of his life with…to give that to… I’ve told him I would want that for him. But just between us….I don’t!!! I can’t STAND the thought of another woman having what was mine…his love, him….the thought of him holding and hugging someone else…I feel sick as I write this…but I also know he would NEED that….its not about ME anymore….but I’m just being truthful..we can all say what sounds like the right thing…but truthfully it makes me feel slightly ill….

Well, I comfort myself with the thought that if I were to die today, I would pass on to paradise, to the place where dreams are made…and later, my husband and kids would follow, and however they’ve gotten through their journey without me, none of it would matter in the WAY BIGGER scheme of things.

Well, I’m realizing that in both these posts I’ve pondered dying in terms of my relationship with others.  Not a word about my relationship with myself. Guess there will be a part 3 coming….

If I Were to Die Today (Part 1 – Relationship with God)

December 17, 2008


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 Copyright Jupiter Images 2008

 

What if today is the last day of my life?

These are the kinds of things you think of when you’ve had a stroke. I’m having symptoms which are scaring me, but I’ve spoken to my internist, and my rheumatologist’s nurse. Neither thinks its an emergency. She’s comfortable waiting for the rhuematologist to get to the office in a couple of hours to run my symptoms by him.

But I’m thinking it might be an emergency. For that matter, anything in life might be. A car accident. A heart attack.  Getting struck by lightening. I got struck by my stroke four years ago this month, actually. You don’t exactly expect these things.  But once you’ve had a stroke, and you read the statistics for recurrence, you become acutely aware of your physical vulnerability and of course your own mortality.  

Most days I remember to thank God that I’m alive and alert and have no noticeable loss of physical function, from which He miraculously spared me.I thank him for my family, and my work, and for every beautiful aspect of the four seasons as I experience them, day by day.

Of the legions of doctors I’ve met with for my various health issues, no one can believe that the perfectly normal looking, active professional woman sitting before them matches the carnage of a brain in the MRI also sitting before them.

But today I’m more focused on wondering if today is the last day of my life. No one, of course, knows the date of their death. Yet every living creature, on one particular point in the line of time, wakes up one morning… and no longer exists the next. 

Think about that. Wakes up one morning and no longer exists the next.

So feeling as I am this morning, I have to ask myself…what if? And what comes to mind, first, is that I have not managed to get into a personal relationship with God. With Christ.  Other Christians talk about it but I don’t know what that means. (If my sister is reading this I’m in deep trouble!)  

A personal relationship with the Almighty????  I picture the Almighty Presence, that gorgeous glow in the sunshine, spilling through the tree leaves and the clouds. I feel Him, and I see Him, in the wind. I pray to him and to His son. I thank Them. I beseech Them. I acknowledge them. But..it doesn’t feel personal…. more like wonder from afar…

The Christians I hang out with “walk closely” with the Lord.  I go to bible study with them but truthfully it feels like The Emperor’s new clothes when they talk of their relationship with the Lord, of their experiences of deep connection with Him. I myself have felt a deep connection to nature, His creation, since I was a child. ..But that’s not what they’re talking about…. So if today is the last day of my life, and I go to meet my Maker, will He welcome me? Will he know me?

I have no doubt of heaven. None. I know. I’ve had signs. I feel it in my soul  to be true that I will be going home again. And my earthly family members who have passed before me will be waiting there to welcome me…with much rejoicing, to use a biblical word.

Then there are my husband and kids.   But I’m getting tired now, and that’s another whole post. (There will be a Part 2 to this post not long from now.)

And since I started writing this, I got a message from my doctor not to worry. No emergency.  Thank you God that its not my time today.

At least I think not.

Psychscribe Quote # 47

December 11, 2008

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” One approaches the journey’s end. But the end is a goal, not a catastrophe. ” George Sand

So WHERE was the nearest mall…?

November 30, 2008


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by Franz von Rohden

German artist 
born 1817 – died 1903

Cross

November 25, 2008

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Psychscribe Quote #45

November 8, 2008

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C. FreeFoto.com 2008    


“There is nothing in a caterpillar that tells you it’s going to be a butterfly.” Buckminster Fuller

 

Psychscribe Quote # 43

October 7, 2008

 

“…all that we have been in life will live on in the quality of other lives that we have touched significantly. Thus we shall be reborn again and again. And in this way we are woven into the fabric of time.” Helen Watkins

Psychscribe Quote #41

September 28, 2008

Copyright Jupiter Images 2008

 

“We are not human beings having a
spiritual experience. We are spiritual beings having a 
human
experience
” (Pierre Teilhard de Chardin).

Two Horses

June 12, 2008
 

Just up the road from 
a home is a field, with two horses in it.
 
From a distance, each horse looks like any other horse. But if you stop your car, or are walking by, you will notice something quite amazing….
 
Looking into the eyes of one horse will disclose that he is blind.  His owner has chosen not to have him put down, but has made a good home for him.
This alone is amazing.
If you stand nearby and listen, you will hear the sound of a bell.  
Looking around for the source of the sound, you will see that it comes from the smaller horse in the field.
  
Attached to the horse’s halter is a small bell.
 
It lets the blind friend know where the other horse is, so he can follow.
 
As you stand and watch these two friends,
you’ll see that the horse with the bell is always checking on the blind horse, and that the blind horse will listen for the bell and then slowly walk
to where the other horse is, trusting that he will not be led astray.
 
When the horse with the bell returns  to the shelter of the barn each
evening, it stops occasionally and looks back, making sure that the blind
friend isn’t too far behind to hear the bell.
 
Like the owners of these two horses,
God does not throw us away just because we are not perfect
or because we have problems or challenges.
 
He watches over us and even brings others into our lives
to help us when we are in need.
 
Sometimes we are the blind horse
being guided by the little ringing bell of those who God places in our lives.
 
Other times we are the guide horse, helping others to find their way….
 
Good friends are like that… you may not always see them, but you know they are always there.
 
Please listen for my bell and I’ll listen for yours. 
And remember…
be kinder than necessary-
everyone you meet is fighting
some kind of battle.    

Rev. Robert H. Schuller 

Am I Destined for an Early Death?

May 16, 2008

I don’t mean for this topic to be depressing, truly I don’t…but sometimes I just get tired of being so upbeat, you know? For the first three years after my lupus diagnosis, nothing much happened… it was managed by medication and I was in blissful denial. I started a full time counseling practice with my daughter and I felt as normal as anyone else…excited and happy..but the last 6 months or so my flares (for the uninitiated this means active symptoms where you feel sick, weak, achy, exhausted, foggy, and worst of all cannot go to work) have been increasing in frequency. From a couple of times a year to every couple of months. From what I have read of other people’s experiences, this is usually the beginning of the long, sad road into disability.  

However its not disability that’s on my mind so much as having to leave this world before I get to meet and enjoy my grandchildren. My paternal grandmother died of heart disease in her 40’s when I was four, so we really never got to know each other. But I was named for her. I remember my father frequently taking me to the cemetery and seeing my name on her gravestone. It didn’t frighten me, but did seem to be a connection of sorts. The same name, the same short life. Was her fate my fate?  Then my father, my hero, died in his early 50’s of cancer, leaving behind two very young and much adored grandchildren. At every life passage they’ve gone thru, I have missed him and wept for all that he and they missed..

So its hard not to worry that their destiny is mine… that I have some sort of destiny gene that will call me early from this life. I have no fear of death and passing, because I believe in my God and the hereafter…but I do so fear having to miss the rest of my life, and being an active grandmother… (They have not even been conceived yet, but my daughter promises me they will be working on it immediately following their wedding in September )  

I fear the loss of all I yearn for.

Please Lord, not yet.

Flowers for You

May 1, 2008

(c) (2008) Jupiter Images Corporation

I’m just wondering…. when was the last time you sent flowers to someone that you love?

Message for Therapist from God

April 27, 2008

Hi All…well I’m home from the hospital and should be grateful to be alive…which I am…but I’m having a delayed reaction to the whole emergency experience. One minute you’re feeling as normal as anyone else (which you’re not, of course, no one is with a chronic potentially fatal disease like lupus)   the next minute you’re in an emergency room, delirious with fever while doctors fight to save your life. You’re vaguely aware of what’s going on, including the fear in your husband’s eyes, but mostly you just slip in and out of the the delirium. 

Stabilized, they find you a bed and you remain for five days till there is no fever and vital signs remain normal. Tests are performed from head to foot in order to discover the source of the infection, but it is never found. Nor could it be since they pumped me up with IV  antibiotics the minute I got to the emergency room.  One doctor told me later that I would have been dead within 24 hours had I not been given the antibiotics.

Maybe that last statement is what has really got me. How close I was to death. I’ve licked death beyond all odds several times in my life. About ten years ago I flipped my car over on black ice. It was completely crushed and I was hanging upside down. No one could believe I managed to extricate myself and crawl away from the crushed car before the emergency people arrived… but somehow I did. No one should have survived the stroke I had in 2004,  nor the Stevens Johnson Syndrome I developed after that, but I did.

Maybe what really has me is how many more times can I beat the odds? I am an at risk older female. All the time.  You feel so infantilized in the hospital. They are always  watching you, taking care of you. By the time you get out, it somehow feels scary to be an adult again. You kind of want to crawl back into the womb, even though you thought you wanted to get out. It was constrictive, but safe…

I wanted to go back to work this week, but I just can’t. Half of it is that my body is telling me I need to rest. But the other half is the post trauma effect I see in myself.  I have to help myself before I can help my patients. Yet then I feel like I’m abandoning them.

On the other hand, I had no idea how many caring friends and neighbors I have here in the community in which I live. We’re “weekenders” here so you never really feel like you belong. Yet flowers, people, sweets, cards and prayers just came pouring in. I was truly astounded and moved. Who knew?  

 So since I know that God is always trying to  teach me something, maybe this is what it is, the clue phone for the therapist, a message from God: ” You always teach your patients about the importance of a sense of connection to a supportive community. What makes you think you are any different? When are you going to realize that being a loner is lonely, even with a husband and kids?”

I’m getting it, God. I’m getting it. 

 

Psychscribe Quote #27

April 3, 2008

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“You shall know the truth, and the truth shall set you free.” Jesus Christ

Parents Pick Prayer Over Medicine & Daughter Dies

March 29, 2008

Ok, this story outrages many people including me. Did you read about it? It happened out in Wisconsin. The parents of an 11 year old girl let her die, believing in the power of prayer to heal her. She died of complications from diabetes. Now, I also believe in the power of prayer. Therefore I believe in God. But I also believe that God has helped humankind to discover medicine and surgical procedures to help do His work.  These parents are not a part of a fanatic religioius sect, in fact they are not affiliated with any particular religion, so you can’t blame cultural conditioning on their choice.  What can you  blame? I don’t know, but as a parent one thing I know for sure: despite their assertions even now that they believe they did the right thing, they will be blaming themselves until the day they die.  

My question to you: should they be punished by our legal system?

Here is the full story: http://blog.beliefnet.com/news/2008/03/parents-pick-prayer-over-docs.php

Our Vulnerability as Parents

January 2, 2008
I remember quite well holding my first child in my arms and thinking: Oh my God. I am now so completely vulnerable now that I have you. And we are, as parents, aren’t we? For me, the vulnerability comes in three ways. First, loss of the primary connection as they evolve through different life stages. New ones are formed, but they are different…it is never the same…the connection weakens as they form new ones away from us…as they’re suppposed to… Change always involves loss, doesn’t it… And loss is pain until we make some meaning of it…

 Another vulnerability is the pain of watching them make choices that hurt them and having to stand by and do nothing….because if we try they won’t listen anyway! Not that I listened to MY parents as I made various choices in my life! But then, that is THEIR learning experience, isn’t it…wouldn’t it be nice if we could just inject them with all our painful life experience!

Finally, the vulnerability we have to their suffering and pain, both physical or mental….how it hurts to watch our children suffer….what does it mean? I don’t know…but I think that’s part of the whole journey of life…to make some meaning of it all…for me that meaning is faith….

Therapist’s Prayer

December 20, 2007

As a human, I am God’s patient.  As a therapist, I have many patients. I pray He uses me to heal them today, and myself as well.