Healing in the Land of the Bullies

IMG_0946The storms, continuous. There are good days that have been very good days, a reminder that the storms do, in fact, blow over. Healing happens in the storms: injustice, hardships, pain.  Some people are like storms(!),( they bring chaos, frenzy, intensity. Others are like good days, bringing the sun, clarity, calm. There are unexplainable moments of beauty in the storms.  The dark storms come, without beauty: the bad stuff, people who want to make life hellish / difficult / cruel  … I feel bullied.  And, I try to remember: there is healing.  Healing in the land of the bullies.   IMG_0946  I am not a victim; I (we) have what it takes to do the next thing.  I’ve worked with kids, removed from the home because of the parents’ own style of bullying … sexual abuse and neglect. I think about people in Michigan, violently bullied by a man with a gun, illogical, brutal.  I recall images of people in Paris, running for safety, away from terrorists killing innocent citizens.  I think of bullies like cancer, Parkinson’s Disease; I think of bullies who target students in school; I think of corporations saturated with greed bullying American consumers; I think of women, men, harassed in the work place unmercifully.  Such a small list.  So, the healing … it is not just about me.  It cannot be just about me.  Yet, there are times when I get preoccupied with “self”, and I believe it is about me.  

When we are bullied by people we do business with; when we are bullied by life; the car that breaks down in route to a meeting; the depression that rears it’s ugly head, our joy sliding away … when those times happen, our anguish is real and legitimate, and we do need healing.  We need healing in the Land of the bullies.  And in that healing, we can sometimes see a little more than what … initially … meets the eye.






Creeks and Rivers Running Strong

“Redundant” … I am a bit embarrassed that my short writing today is a bit redundant.  I’ve talked about the waters, here, in the front range area of the Rocky Mountains.  I’ve talked about seasons.  I’ve talked about my own grappling with my challenge, stepping into what is next.   And yet, this mix has gathered … like a small group … at the front of my present being.   As the gathering has come together, I … therefore … write.

Every single time I take a look at Bear Creek, it’s waters flowing … not only fast, but strong … I acknowledge the beauty of nature, and I acknowledge my poignant disruption happening.  I know that I would not allow myself to get caught in those currents, for they would overpower me, and slam me against the boulders.

It is one thing to talk about that which I see.  It is one thing to feel what it is that is flowing through my veins, pumping rapids of thought into my mind.  It is one thing to think about the metaphorical implications what all that is around me: a new season arriving as you and I connect; intimidating rapids storming through the passes; the rallying words of wisdom I read and hear.

It is a separate thing … to move intentionally with vision, and passion, and out of necessity … in order to transcend my own mediocrity, my small portions of subtle self-pity, and to fight well in spite of my woundedness.  I do, truly, want to overwhelm the lies that could keep me stuck in the molasses-like fog.

And this business of moving … I believe it is not as simple as I want it to be.  And it is true, that this business of moving  … is not as difficult as I sometimes think.


Keep the Pieces Coming

I’m fortunate in so many ways  …  Countless ways.  Even the wounds are a gift.  For I I learn from all of this.  Every week or every other, I meet with a wise woman, walking with me for a short season.  I bring a few pieces for the puzzle; I reach down, I reach out, to find pieces that might fit.  Sometimes a piece will fit.   I might want a piece to fit, but it doesn’t.  I just keep the pieces coming.  I call this process “Puzzle-ing”.