The Key to Happiness

I came across a posting on facebook yesterday that made me laugh out loud, long and hard. This is what I saw:

Pardon the profanity, please.

Boy, I thought, if it were only that easy! But how can you tell the *ssholes from the "normal" people - the good ones, the healthy ones, the trustworthy ones? I seem to get into the most trouble when I trust people who appear to be trustworthy, but later find that they are not who they appeared to be. Some of them behave like *ssholes, and I do indeed wish that I had stayed "the h*ll away from" them.

As I thought further about this, I realized that it isn't quite the Christian perspective on the key to happiness - and I am a Christian, so I need to contemplate this. 

Jesus went out of his way to interact with those on the margins of society - I'll call them outcasts - the lepers, the poor, sinners, tax collectors, prostitutes - and, even among his own disciples, betrayers. If I look deeply and honestly, I've got some *sshole in me, too - some leper, some things that aren't so pretty, admirable or desirable.

Richard Rohr posted something about this a few weeks ago, and it came back to me yesterday:

"Isn’t it wonderful news, brothers and sisters, that we come to God not by our perfection but by our imperfection?...Deep within each of us lives both a leper and a wolf, both of which we are ashamed and afraid of. In Franciscan lore, they are our inner imperfections...If we haven’t been able to kiss many lepers, if we haven’t been able to tame many wolves in the outer world, it’s probably because we haven’t first of all made friends with our own leprosy and the ferocious wolf within each of us. They are always there in some form, waiting to be tamed and needing to be forgiven." - Richard Rohr, adapted from Radical Grace: Daily Meditations, p. 276

Hello...we can't stay away from *ssholes, because each of us has one, and perhaps, is one - a wolf - in some way, at some time. If we are really honest with ourselves, we can admit this. Though I have suffered my share of betrayals, and I would never intentionally do harm to another, I must admit that I have made mistakes, and am sure I will make many more before I leave this earth. If I am to avoid *ssholes, I would have to avoid my own wolf, and leper, too - and that's not possible. They are part of me. I need to tame and forgive those parts of myself before I can offer that kind of grace to another.

Dang it.

Fr. Rohr posted further: 

"There is a cruciform pattern to reality. Life is filled with contradictions, tragedies, and paradoxes, and to reconcile them you invariably pay a big price...It eventually becomes evident that you’re going to get nailed for any life of real depth or love, because this upsets the world’s agenda of progress. This is not what the world wants, and not what the world understands. Any life of authenticity will lead to its own forms of crucifixion—from others, or, often, leading to various forms of self-denial. [The Gospel of] Mark constantly brings us back to the central importance of suffering. There’s no other way we’re going to break through to the ultimate reality that we call resurrection without going through the mystery of transformation, which is dramatically symbolized by the cross." - Adapted from The Four Gospels

So the cross is a symbol, a "note to self," a billboard, a banner, a memo, a reminder that this is the way life is; suffering is the way humans tend to experience transformation. We are not transformed by surrounding ourselves with a select group of people who will never hurt or disaappoint us (do such people exist?), but by mingling with whoever and whatever crosses the path of our life - including betrayals. Everyone has within him a wolf and a leper (or, if you prefer, an *sshole). You might not see that part of him right away, but you are likely to encounter it in someone. This doesn't necessarily mean you have made a mistake; it may be that this is your learning, your cross, your suffering, your transformative experience - at this time. Dang it!

This has been a lesson of the past 10 months, for me. I have regrets. I have spent a lot of time wishing I had been wiser about who to trust, but I was vulnerable, and did not see clearly. It helps to remember that this is the pattern of the cross - it is not personal; it is universal.

The following prayer in the book "Praying Our Goodbyes" by Joyce Rupp has been of enormous comfort to me recently (p. 114-116), and I hope it will be to you, as well:

"Keep my heart open to loving others and to being loved by them, God. Do not allow me to close off my life because of the scars of this painful rejection. Lead me into peace of heart. Help me to believe in my own goodness, so much so that I can reach out to others with confidence and receive their affection with trust. I pray for all those who have been brutally and harshly betrayed...and I pray for the one who has rejected me. Jesus, you continued to be a loving person even though you had been so painfully treated. Please help me to be a loving person, too. Amen." 

I believe that kind of prayer is a real key to happiness...but the one posted on facebook did make me laugh!

Down the Rabbit Hole

You may know that I am engaged in a book study on a private blog, with three other bloggers who also happen to be mothers of children who have died. We are reading a book by an author I love (Joyce Rupp), called "Open the Door." Joyce Rupp came to our church and led a retreat years ago, and I attended it. We studied her books in Lectionary class. I am happy to be sharing this book with such a wonderful group of women.

The reading I encountered yesterday triggered something in me, and I think it's worth noting. Of course, I noted it on our private blog, but I am going to share it here, as well, because if you are grieving, you might find yourself falling down a "rabbit hole" like this one some day, (or, as my friend Karen J. called it, a "dark alley"), and I want you to know that you are not alone. These memories and triggers lurk everywhere in plain sight, and we have to learn to live with them. But sometimes, they knock me down, and that's what happened yesterday.

The reading was fine - it was lovely, in fact - about invisible guides/guardians on our journey. It was the guided meditation that got to me.

"Sit quietly with your attention focused on the in-and-out pattern of your breath. As you breathe in, whisper 'You are with me.' As you breathe out, whisper, 'I am with you.' When you are ready, visualize a sacred dwelling place with dim lighting. See yourself standing before the holy place. On either side of you is a guardian to guide and protect you." - p. 106, Joyce Rupp, Open the Door

This is where the meditation broke down for me yesterday. I wrote,

"Something inside of me screamed, 'NO! Why should I have this protection, when Katie did not?' Irrational? Perhaps. But I can't get rid of the memory - one of the worst of my entire life - of Katie, screaming in pain one evening, 'I want to die, NOW!' My precious, beloved 12-year old girl. Where were her guardian angels, then? I am shaking as I type this. Trauma memory.

'We learned to anticipate her pain episodes after that, and we had them under control, but there were two that got ahead of us in the early days of hospice, and I will take those memories with me...of failure to protect her, of her suffering, of our agony of helplessness, waiting until the drugs kicked in, of the fear of more horrors to come, of compassion for her, and the angry certainty that NO ONE SHOULD HAVE TO SUFFER LIKE THIS! I hate cancer.

"So I am throwing in the towel on this meditation for now. Maybe I'll come back to it later."

Later on, after putting the book down,  I took a walk, and it occurred to me that perhaps I was a guardian/guide for Katie during her illness. Not that I was able to prevent her suffering, but I was with her,  giving her love and care the entire time - and when I was out, Gregg was there. David was a companion for her, as were countless nurses and technicians and doctors. We had many helpers in our community, as well.

If I think of guidance and protection as "saving from harm," then no way does it work. But if I think of guidance and protection as loving presence, maybe it does. Perhaps our companions or guardians were not so much invisible, as visible. Perhaps they were not there to "protect" Katie and us, in the sense of preventing what was to come, but in the sense of loving assistance and presence.

I went to see my spiritual director yesterday afternoon, and we discussed this further. I was overwhelmed with a variety of concerns and emotions. I cried and cried until I was exhausted. Then I went home and served dinner to my husband and his parents. I went to bed tense and weeping inwardly, missing Katie, and longing for the feeling of her cheek against mine.

This morning when I arose, I was still exhausted, sad and subdued, but I had a bit more hope than I did yesterday. I decided to try and finish the meditation that I had thrown aside:

"Enter the sacred dwelling place and find an enriching sense of peace. Stay there for as long as you wish. When you leave the sacred dwelling place, renew your desire to give your entire self to the Holy One and to the journey of your growth." p. 106, Joyce Rupp, Open the Door

While I couldn't do this on my own in meditation yesterday, it did happen in my spiritual director's office. Sometimes we need the help of another, and I am thankful to have that in my spiritual director, in friends and family. Just as in the reading, the guides ARE with us. Perhaps I am more in tune with the visible guides than the invisible ones, right now.

After finishing the reading and meditation, one of the saving graces of my life appeared: a massage therapy appointment. I cannot overstate the importance of massage therapy in my grief work. Most of the time, I am not verbal about my grief; I write it, or I keep it inside, but it is there, the longing for Katie. If I don't let it out, I feel as if it calcifies in various places in my body, particularly my neck, shoulders and lower back. Massage therapy releases that brittleness, and allows me to move freely again. I used to think of it as a luxury, but it is truly an essential part of my grief therapy, a release and relief. I have the best massage therapist possible, and she lives right in our neighborhood. That is a gift from God, for sure.

So if you find yourself at the bottom of a rabbit hole, you are not alone. Perhaps a prayer, a friend, a spiritual mentor or a massage therapist can help you.