God’s Redress

God’s Redress

Last week, I discussed the word “bemoan” – a normal response to pain. Especially stored-up pain. To fully understand the next several posts, you may need to go back and read it.

The second word, of the three that God gave me in the night, was “redress.” It means to set right, remedy, relieve distress, and bring correction or retribution. The words came initially as an enigma, because I was not in a thinking-them-up posture. I took notice though and searched them out, always valuing the possibility that God might speak to me.

Woman crying kleenexTwo days later, God pried open a pocket of deep sorrow, and I cried my eyes out. It wasn’t a pretty sight. Some ugly words and thoughts surfaced. A pile of snotty Kleenexes. Puffy eyes. Embarrassment. A deep ache in my chest.

It had to do with not feeling “place.” God wanted to redress that with me.

Let me explain.

Years ago, Gordon Dalbey, a wonderful teacher and author, prayed with me. He said a spirit of abdication had formed over my life since childhood. Abdicate means to renounce or relinquish a throne, right, power, claim, responsibility, or the like. “God wants you to take your rightful place,” he said.

In our youth, we all form a sense of self. Though I had stable and loving parents, by nature I was a shy and quiet girl. I learned what to say and do by taking cues from others. It was fertile ground for codependency.

While that is a natural response, maturity should bring a sense of self that is healthy, robust, and has boundaries. But I didn’t know the line where other people ended and I began. It seemed far easier to adapt myself to others. For years, I fostered a mirage of unity by playing the game of peace-at-any-price. I submerged myself to fill the gap of differences—an illusion of intimacy.

My fear was this—if I live fully alive, sparks will fly.

Self-discovery came slowly and later in my life.Continue reading

Treasuring Divine Happenstance

Treasuring Divine Happenstance

Last week I shared about why I bought this painting. God had woven together three things: a pregnancy dream, a talk by Ray Hughes about saying “Yes” to God, and the symbolism in the painting. The message?

Continue writing.

Patrisha's painting at the Ray Hughes conference

Patrisha’s painting at the Ray Hughes conference

But a fourth piece to this puzzle remains. I didn’t explain the wave. Did you notice the wave coming over the land and not the sea? In mountainous areas like Montana, massive waters like a sea or an ocean don’t exist.

To complete the story of this encounter with God, I have to give you another piece of divine happenstance. Soon after finishing my first book, I had another vivid dream:

I am crossing a landscape scarred by a hurricane long ago. Wreckage is strewn about in all directions as far as the eye can see. Jagged planks of lumber, shattered window frames, pieces of boats, empty cans, broken wooden chairs, driftwood, shells and other rubble fill every square foot of land. Any stench is long gone, and the debris looks clean—whitened by the sun.

I carefully step over the wreckage, making my way toward a beautiful azure sea that is a mile out. I can see the thin strip of deep blue water on the horizon. The sky is crisp and clear with no hint of haze. A few lovely white clouds dapple the atmosphere.

This picture is as close as I could find, but doesn’t quite capture the miles of sun-bleached remains.

This picture is as close as I could find, but doesn’t quite capture the miles of sun-bleached wreckage.

Way out in front of me, I notice one other person. It’s Kathy Tyers, my first writing mentor. She seems to be making the same trek. She gestures dramatically, waving a complete sweep of her arm again and again, as if to say, “Come on, Susan! Keep going! Don’t give up! Follow me!” But she’s so far ahead, I can’t hear her voice.

It could take awhile to get there. I continue, step by step.

All of a sudden, I hear a faraway low rumble. Perhaps a plane is taking off. It starts to increase in volume. Something powerful begins to roar—a noise so loud it sounds like several planes, then 100 planes, and now 1,000 airplanes taking off all at once. The ground vibrates in violent unison, as I look backwards…Continue reading

Fire In Our Bones

Fire In Our Bones

“Good night, good night!

Parting is such sweet sorrow,

That I shall say good night

 Till it be morrow.”

So said Juliet to her Romeo, not knowing where a balcony moment of affection would lead. To truly love, is to open ourselves up to both extremes of sweet ecstasy and crushing sorrow. Shakespeare’s timeless play is at once beautiful and agonizing for that reason.

We want it to end differently.

Love between people is a cosmic mystery. It’s a vibrant, potent connection. Did you feel the chemistry between pair skaters, Tatiana Volosozhar and Maxim Trankov, performing at the Sochi Winter Olympics?

And of course, it’s more expansive than romantic love. Have you watched any soldiers-returning-home clips on YouTube? Millions have. Children and fathers…mothers and sons…families reuniting after long separations. Tears weave down my cheeks, though I really don’t know them.

Parting ways for a season is hard, but completely losing our connection of love is worse.

Amish Family

I recently saw a documentary called, The Amish: Shunned. The story “follows seven people who have chosen to leave their closed and tightly-knit communities for the outside world. Each has paid deeply for their decision. Estranged from loved ones, these former Amish find themselves struggling to make their way.” The loss of connection and community seems to be much harder for these “prodigals,” than any challenge of the modern world.

An all or nothing choice is wrenching. I felt it in my gut as I watched. Continue reading