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Acting as cousins, pain and harm remain, yet, a huge chasm exists.

Pain alone can not do damage.

While hurt can cause pain, it can be the best teacher.

Pain always and eventually heals on its own.

Harm, requires an undoing, a labor.

Like grief, for example. It can cause pain and hurt like hell, without an actual ‘someone’ causing harm to us.

Choosing to not confuse the two can have an immense effect in our lives.

Choosing to see the things that were not meant to harm and truly, have not harmed us, can make all the difference in how we respond or process.

*Truth spoken in love may hurt, but it does not harm.

It’s actually ok, if not good for us to experience a little discomfort.

And the most true thing I’ve ever known/experienced, is that…

*PAIN IS THE ONLY THING THAT EVER MOVES US FROM THE PLACES WE NEED TO MOVE*

So instead of immediately assigning harm to our interactions, what if we look at things differently, particularly when that pain is ignited?

What if we can all see and move into a different mindset when we feel that instantaneous jab?

It is certainly, not often, intentional, statistically speaking, or valid, to assume that the hurt or pain we are feeling is intentional or harmful.

However, wisdom is knowing the difference of when we are in pain and when we are actually being harmed.

(More on ‘being harmed’ in a later post.)

For now, may we all be more aware and sensitive to the differences of hurt vs harm and our own role in it’s reality; both certainly and unequivocally matter, but I believe that the former is much more common and significantly due to our unfortunate selfish nature.

Do not let harm masquerade as hurt but also do not let hurt masquerade as harm. ❤️

#spiritofoffense

#iappreciateyourvalueinmylife

#relationships

#psychology

#hurt

#harm

#hope

#healing

Grief rips through my heart, pelting me with memories.

Memories of the deepest anguish fused with the most genuine love.

I remember the receiving line, as exhausting as it was, although that is not my predominant memory, it was the people: the people that moved my heart• that healed my heart. •the ones I had not anticipated.

She approached, with her overdone hair and obvious makeup, yet, this lady felt like home to me, but honestly, not someone I would have thought about daily, consider a close friend or even ‘family’.

She was my grandmother’s hairdresser. As she approached, I felt my emotions rise without my control.

For more years than I can remember, we had spent every two weeks, for an hour or more, in her salon, talking and just being together; somehow that meant more than I could have ever known at the time.

She finally reached my proximity and held out her arms to me. I literally collapsed into them with tears and snot eventually rolling all over as we hugged for ‘too long’. Somehow I just didn’t care because it was as though I was hugging my grandmother.

I’m not sure how this all works but what I do know, is that, God is working through those type of connections, those interactions, those consistent exchanges.

I am positive this is why He created families: grandparents, parents, children, spouses, siblings, aunts and uncles, nieces and nephews, cousins…and most certainly, close friends.

I don’t do this well, I have a tendency to isolate, but when I am reminded, they are the people that truly matter when the going gets tough, when grief intrudes, and we need that provision.

I hope you are surrounded by ‘family’ of any kind or any number, (even if they can be difficult at times😛) they truly are the supporting undercurrent of our lives. We will never have a better support system that we can trust wholeheartedly with our very lives. ❤️

Remember and believe.

All my ❤️

I believe, that there is no other more difficult feat.

When we are faced with grief, not just once, but maybe, many times, and in many ways, we are being asked to rise.

Through grief, we are being reminded of what we are, that we do not feel, understand or rarely see, within ourselves.

The battle within, is more than we ever imagined and we shed more tears than we thought possible.

However, it’s in the undercurrent and the stillness, where we realize: we are, actually, survivors surviving.

-that alone, is griefs’ power and purpose.

One day at a time,

one step at a time,

one moment at a time,

we are…

…not only, survivors surviving, but heroes, of a rare and unique type.

The night was black as black, the kind of black where you can’t see the hand in front of your face.

I swung from rope swings in the hay barn that burned my hands, which somehow, I never gave a thought to.

I scraped a lot of shit down the isles of the cow stalls into the propelling gutter, quickly and carefully getting back to the far edge, to not be hit by the large stream of urine that would erupt without warning.

I had cat families, that I sat, surrounded by, on the worn wooden steps of the ancient barn, the straw on the steps was warm. I would name them all and pretend they were a family.

Good ole Rock-n-Roll played in the background, on the dust-worn, straw-covered stereo that I could barely reach. (Not that I would consider touching it).

I would fill the giant rectangle baby bottles, donning the hugest nipples, with fresh milk from the enormous steel milk tank and tried not to drop the slippery things as I fed the ravenous baby calves, maneuvering and adjusting, as each suck propelled the “bottle” one way or the other.

It was warm in the barn.

It was also an escape.

I watched in true amazement (and a little disgust) as a calf was birthed, sometimes, “helped” out through a giant plastic arm sleeve (that was necessary) as I squinted, not wanting to watch, but so desperately not wanting to miss, the calf being pulled out through the back end of its mother, to flounder on the cold wet dirty slippery floor; often and hopefully to take its first breath.

I would sit for hours in the grass, relishing in it’s cold and fresh feeling, looking for clovers, because I was sure I’d find one if I was persistent enough.

When the spirit struck me, I would run out into the field, always close to stay more than at least 100 yards away until he saw me, waving my hands, he would stop and I knew I could approach. I would run as fast as I could and climb up into the cab, up the steps, with those sharp spikes, I’d find my place, seated next to him and watch the beauty all around. I could feel the thrust of the apparatus attached at each movement and felt a rhythm that allowed me to get lost in nature, very few words were spoken because they weren’t necessary, or maybe there was too much to say.

I spent my winters in the frigid “back room” putting on a snowmobile suit, laying on the ground, 1 foot in and then the other, awkwardly standing to zip it up, so much anticipation awaiting me as I frantically pulled on my boots, losing balance and fighting with my gloves. Exhaling, I raced out to the snowmobile, that was just my size. Getting it started was always a difficult feat, but when it did, I had to control myself. Trails needed to be made, a delayed reward, and then throttle wide open, riding until my thumb was numb or until dark and even sometimes, in the dark, because the Kitty Cat did have a light.

I will never regret this upbringing in all its chaos.

It’s physical endurance testing me.

It’s surroundings creating curiosity in me.

It’s affections making me soft.

It’s experience making me aware.

While there was much more going on in the adult world that I didn’t need to know, I did find recluse in this place.

He was there.

He was there in the little things that are much bigger to me now.

The weeds faded.

The little things grew, like plants and flowers always somehow do.

They called to be noticed.

They are the beauty of this world.

Carrying us forward.

I hope you see them too.

It’s so much more than what you may imagine. It’s not just a physical death or birth, although these are the extremes, we experience death and birth every day.

A birth, a death; it’s interesting how our bodies know time and season apart from consciousness.

How we often feel and react to times and dates, sometimes without knowing, and then suddenly realize why.

Grief begs to felt (a cliche) but the truest one I know.

Birth begs to come forth.

Consider this. Has there been one moment of birth in this world without pain, and has there been one moment of grief that has occurred without the same?

I believe, both of these, are the vehicle, of how we reach, what is to be most healing and productive for us: escorting us to freedom.

Preparation,

Awareness.

Acknowledgement.

Acceptance.

Fortitude.

Endurance.

Hope, being essential.

over and over, until…

…grief has done its begging and birth, well, even though it can have a mind of its own, it has emerged.

Ride with their unpredictability.

Let both grief and new life ebb and flow and become a part of you.

Open yourself, when grief intrudes. Lay yourself bare and allow the emotions to play out.

Fight like a warrior, when birth presents itself. Don’t let it scare you, even though it is surrounded by a shield of fear pressing against you. Push through it to the open horizon.

Grief; one of the main purposes to its presence; to release those places that so abruptly bound us up, to free us, bit by bit, from the very pain it was carried in on.

Birth; calling us to erase all things that have brought death and yet summoning us to all things that are new and frightening and full of hope!

The very things that appeared to destroy us, are the very things that have the most power to change us, through the unwinding of grief and the through the hope of bringing forth an entirely new birth, all things are possible.

Doing the work is more than well worth it. ❤️

#grief #birth

I live and breathe for the fight of getting to it.

My days are ordered by preparation for it.

I am exhilarated by the anticipation.

My brain tries it’s best to talk me out of it.

I am nervous but thrilled by the start of it.

I am fearful and yet, during it, feel the most alive.

As the end nears, although I overthink and want to give up, determination, more often, prevails.

When it’s over, I am my most confident self, utterly and completely content, without even a thought for one single want, (often not even food for water).

I am so grateful for this desire that God clearly instilled in me as young child.

However, 3 weeks ago, I injured my knee, and decided that, at my age, before I do more damage, I needed to get it checked out.

I was very impatient, but extremely diligent in getting through all the lovely medical hoops.

I finally had an mri last night!

I’m taking a deep breathe and hoping for the best but either way, I’m trying to be grateful for all that I’ve been able to do up to this point.

For anyone that it still working and striving for things of this nature, you can count on me to be your best cheerleader; mostly because I get what it takes but also because I see how much it matters, as we age, every little bit makes a difference.

Never take for granted what you CAN do.

And If you love it, certainly, do it! Fight for it and know that you are capable of more than you think you are!

Every step matters. ❤️ 💯

The moment love enters your heart is never the way we imagine it.

It’s also a moment, a singular experience, never to be shared.

The world wants to make us believe it’s a fairytale with a perfect setting.

Maybe, a perfect birth setting…

and then a “perfect”child, (who is always compliant).

Possibly, coworkers, that express their appreciation for your dedication and skill.

Or a friend, who is always available and never challenging.

Most likely, we envision, a parent, who only ever builds us up, and is there for our every need.

Not to mention, a love that only ever brings us peace along with exhilaration.

However,

I believe,

Love enters, when there is a moment of difficulty and self sacrifice required; humility, often it’s vehicle.

A vehicle that continues to move forward and bring love and circumstances that solidify, challenge and stay the course.

For some of us, we desperately need space, others need pressing in or simply a listening ear.

None of these wrong. It’s simply being willing to find that rhythm and being willing to see the other person for what they need.

Let in, all the love that you can and also realize that love is absolutely not what the world feeds you!

Love is, at its best, when it’s messy and difficult.

Yes, even though, it initially requires giving, it gives so much more that it takes.

I hope we can all see love for what it really is…

Messy and difficult, but faithful, and engaging, to the end. ❤️

Love is the person that’s present, when many are not or simply just can’t be.

Love is the one who wants better for you, despite their gain.

It bleeds when you bleed.

It fights to understand.

It gives, and withholds, even when it hurts.

Because it knows.

Love always hopes: always perseveres, forgives, and accepts forgiveness, wipes away the record, starts every single day renewed.

Love communicates what it’s feeling, patiently and kindly, utilizing trust, as the engine.

-Because ultimately, love trusts.

It’s it foundation.

Without trust, we flail and falter, losing our center.

With it, we gain momentum and solidarity that we often don’t appreciate.

Trust: built through time and circumstance, propelling us, when we are so often unwilling to acknowledge it’s worth.

Even then, the most difficult feat, at times, but honestly, always, the most rewarding.

Lean towards love.

Lean towards trust.

Yep, it’s the scariest, but most fulfilling place to exist.

#love. #iappreciateyourvalueinmylife

I lost my first “person”.

She had a man that loved her for forty years.

They never married.

I don’t know exactly why.

She was divorced. (This can make anyone extremely apprehensive.)

It could be so many reasons, but they loved each other and that was enough for them.

We smuggled him in and he sat by her bed, for three days; his love was silently shaking the walls of the building, and all of us, if we’re being honest.

We couldn’t help but glance in, wanting to know and be a part of such a beautiful moment, however, reluctant to interrupt or make even a small vibration in the connection that we knew was happening.

We had no choice but to walk by, which felt like, too many times.

However, he just sat there, for hours upon hours, holding her hand, head down at times, often, we could hear his sobs; but resilient when any of us walked in: to take the necessary vitals or the moment we felt we should say our last goodbyes.

And now she is gone.

He is grieving and my heart aches for him beyond what I can imagine.

She adored him.

She incessantly talked about him to the degree we all became a little tired of it at times, to be honest. 🤦🏻‍♀️

And yet now, I wish I could hear her talk about him even one more time!

He was her hero, he loved her well and was her constant..

They knew love, to the end: where her body was thin and her chest protruded, her hair thin, her breathing shallow.

Yet, sitting by her side, he only saw her.

Her love.

Her.

All of her.

He watched her as she took her last breath and entered eternity with Jesus.

He will likely follow, soon, I’ve seen it more than I ever knew could be real. Because love is real and lives within us. Without it, we wither.

My hope is that he stays resilient, continues to find love, wherever possible and lives his life to the fullest!

May we all keep love alive all around us, to the best we can! I believe, love, when it is felt and experienced, in any capacity, it is what truly propels us in all areas of life!

#death #grieving #eternity #love #Alzheimers #dimentia #resilence #hope

I enter the room, casual conversation ensues and a question arises about me. Questions that I have told them numerous times prior.

I startle, but only feel it on the inside.

I compose myself and realize that I need to tell them, yet again, my story: how old I am, how many kids and grandkids I have, that I work in Life Enrichment, that I am not a nurse, etc….

The best part is that they all remind me that they think I’m much younger; today, it was, “I thought you were in your 20’s!” 😂

I hate these moments; they represent distance. I also treasure them, even though they sting; the reality that the memories have no longer taken root.

Honestly, I expect it from certain ones but the new ones that crop up are much more difficult. “They should know!” I brood over for a bit, and calm myself. They have no control over this.

I continue on, my goal is to listen. I do my best, until they’re silent, then, I fill their minds with stories and philosophies they seem to enjoy hearing, things I have learned, maybe this very week.

I walk out of countless rooms in a day, hoping to see that they have a smile on their face that they didn’t, before I entered that room.

It’s been almost a full year before many of these people have left the building, let alone, had any physical interactions. While outdoor visits and FaceTime matter, they’re just not the same.

So many of them never get any physical touch unless it’s medical care and that’s where I believe my occupation has immense value, especially during this horrific pandemic.

I’m so grateful that God created me and many of my co-workers to know the value of and not only be, unafraid, but be drawn towards, the importance of physical touch.

I feel very supported by my staff and thankful that this is a community that cares for the order and safety of them, yet also the significance and meaning of the intangible things. ❤️

#alzheimer’s #dimentia #hope