Struggling With Forgiveness

“Forgiving people doesn’t mean you necessarily want to meet them for lunch.  It means you try to undo the Velcro hook.  Lewis Smedes said it best: ‘To forgive is to set a prisoner free and discover that the prisoner is you.’

‘I wish there’d been a shortcut, but the would had to be revealed in order to heal.  Lack of forgiveness seemed like a friend, the engine that drove my life, with a hot little motor that was weirdly invigorating.  It had helped me survive.”

“…

“Forgiveness is release from me; somehow, finally. I am returned to my better, dopier self, so much lighter when I don’t have to drag the toxic chatter, wrangle, and pinch around with me anymore. Not that I don’t get it out every so often, for old time’s sake. But the trapped cloud is no longer so dark or dense. It was blown into wisps, of smoke, of snow, of ocean spray.”

—Anne Lamott, Small Victories, p 117-118

“Forgiveness means it is finally unimportant for you to hit back.” pp 141-142

The journey with forgiveness, and all of my anger and rage, and general unsettledness, depression, and “not know what to do about it” feelings, is long and tough.  Answers aren’t easy, and I practice all of my avoidance, not wanting to really deal with it.

But, I must.  I must take it on and get into it.  It is always time to deal with my anger, my resentment, and sort it out.  Now.  

New stuff raises up the old stuff, the stuff long buried, ignored, almost forgotten.  It is still there; all of it.  Until I deal with it and let it go, it will be around, nagging at me, eating away, and keeping me from moving on and letting go.

I am good at mortaring my brick walls and erecting barriers, keeping my monsters hidden in the basement of my life.  But, I am a lousy housekeeper, and now might be a good time for some deep cleaning, and breaking down of the walls I have built over the years.  

Desmond and Mpho Tutu’s book on forgiveness is a rich discussion, inviting me to take all of this on, and really deal with it.  Their 30 day exercises and discussions on the subject via e-mail are excellent, cleaning out my puss filled wounds and giving me permission to heal.  

I have all the tools.  I have the time.  I have the motivation.  And, yes, I do this work.  I take it on, and I see the benefits of being truly and fully engaged in the process of forgiveness.  I feel lighter, freer, happier.  I can move on now, on many levels.

Yet, there are some things I haven’t really dug into, to really work on forgiveness, with some people, some experiences.  It is too painful, I say to myself.  Yet, there is something else.  Perhaps I really enjoy the struggle, the tension, yes, even the hurt.  I don’t want to let that go.  If I forgive, truly forgive, then I don’t have that anger inside of me, that energy of hatred and distrust.

It is, perhaps, an addiction, a need I have to feel that way.  Being pissed off at someone or some experience has become a deep part of myself.  If that goes away, if I release that, then what is left?  Will I become a lesser person?  

That releasing is scary to me.  I am not ready, I tell myself.  The real answer, however, is that I am afraid of who I might really be once those toxins are flushed away, and I truly heal inside.  I hold on to the hate and the hurt, just in case I am not strong enough to live a full, whole life without that flame of rage that still has a place next to my heart.  

This is the dilemma I wrestle with, the feelings I must explore, the doubts I must address and really deal with.

Perhaps I need to reframe the question, and look to forgive myself for who I am now, who I have become, and deal with the hurt I have let burn inside of me. Yes, I need to let it go, and be who I really am deep inside.  I might even like him, a lot.

—Neal Lemery, 1/3/2015

Healing, Listening, A Morning's Task

Healing, Listening, A Morning’s Task

“As healers we have to receive the story of our fellow human beings with a compassionate heart, a heart that does not judge or condemn but recognizes how the stranger’s story connects with our own…. Our most important question as healers is not, “What to say or to do?” but, “How to develop enough inner space where the story can be received?”

—Henri J. M. Nouwen

A Morning’s Task

He overflows, and I try to empty my self, making space,

opening to the geyser of his soul, 

him sharing, his story, his 

lifetime of pain, terror, loneliness,

now becoming words spoken,

feelings finally heard, honored

through his voice, my listening.

Listening, without judgement, without my views,

my biases, my edits, just

listening, letting him share his story,

and all its agonies, twists, and turns.

Him, finding his voice, now, sorting it out,

making some sense to it, seeing himself

the hero in this tale,

the good soul he really is

becoming.

An hour, then another, and into the third,

and he speaks on, now finding the words, 

and the order in the telling, seeing his life 

as his own story, of survival, achievement,

yes, even success and good coming from all that chaos and pain.

I listen, hard not to judge, not to be the commentator, 

just simply being there, ears and heart 

open

accepting, present in his life.

And, in that, a gift to him, 

in my humanity, my soul’s journey, Everyman’s

need for someone to listen, to hear 

for the very first time—

this becoming my gift to him, his first time

being heard, hearing his

truth.

—Neal Lemery, July, 2014

Healing

“Until you heal the wounds of your past, you are going to bleed.  You can bandage the bleeding with food, with alcohol, with drugs, with work, with cigarettes, with sex; but eventually, it will all ooze through and stain your life.  You must find the strength to open the wounds, stick your hands inside, pull out the core of the pain that is holding you in your past, the memories and make peace with them.”

   —-Iyanla Vanzant 

Healing

Today, I am healing from surgery, from lasers cutting eyelid skin, sutures lifting and resizing my eyelids, restoring my peripheral vision  I am healing so that I can experience the world in a richer, more complete way.

This morning, I walked down the lane, greeting the early morning sky with a new enthusiasm, with literally a new vision of the new day.  I am re-experiencing the miracle of sight, and of experiencing the world.

Now, my task is to heal.  I rest, I sleep, I eat healthy foods, I manage my pain, and I tend to my wounds.  All of my day’s tasks is focused on my healing from my surgery.  Time is on my side, as I rest and heal, and do the work that is needed to do to recover, to take care of my body, and to celebrate the precious gift of sight.

As I lay back, ice pack on my eyes, letting the cold sink into the skin, into my head, into the wounds, I let the miracle of the cold bring fresh blood to the wounds, more nutrients, more of my life force.  My nature is to seek warm, to be comforted by heat, to soak up the sun and bask in the cozy comfort of my bed, reveling in the last bit of drowziness before my day begins.

Yet, it is the cold, the adversity, that brings the healing.  To be tested, to be on the edge, and to have to struggle a bit, against the cold, that makes my body stronger, that brings the healing energies I need.  

This process is a metaphor of my struggles as a man, to be able to see my wounds, and to take the steps I need to heal, and to be a complete, whole man.

As I grew up, and as I lived through childhood, teenage life, adolescence, and young adulthood, I was wounded.  I struggled, and my questions of who I was and what I was all about were unanswered, even mocked, ridiculed.  I faced violence, indifference, degradation, and falsehoods.  I was led into the wilderness, and then laughed at when I became lost, uncertain as to where I should walk to find my future, my sense of place, my sense of being in this world.

Love of self, and love of others remained a mystery to me, and I was left in the cold, unsure of who I was, unsure of what my role in this world was to be.  I was lost and needed to be found, and to find myself.

Those wounds did not bleed like the wounds on my eyes this week.  Those wounds were not so easily treated, with sutures, and salves, and the healing powers and potions of my surgeons and nurses.  Those wounds were not easily cleansed by sleep, and food, and the loving care of my family.  

Yet, those wounds were the most painful, and the most dehumanizing.  I was led to believe they did not exist, yet they were the most infectious, the most unnerving, the hardest to treat.  

Other men embraced me, encouraging me to push my shoulders back, to open my eyes, and embrace these wounds, and to embrace the challenges of becoming a whole man, a healthy man, a man who has his place in the world, and a destiny to fulfill.  

Yes, I am a good person, I am a child of God, I am healthy, and strong, and I have purpose in my life.  I have a place in this planet, and I am valued.  I am important, and capable of fulfilling my destiny.

I have work to do.  I have missions to accomplish.  I have tasks to complete, and I am called to be a citizen of the world, and to do good in my life.  And, in preparing for that work, in undertaking that work, I must tend to my wounds, and I must do the healing that is needed in order to be healthy, to be strong.

Real health, and real strength comes from embracing my manhood, from seeing my wounds, and treating them.  It is my task to open them, and less the puss and infection drain away, and then it is time for the healing.  I have a duty to heal, and to give time to myself to be tender with myself, to clean the infection, and to medicate myself with unconditional love and understanding, with acceptance, and with a friendship with God, so that I become healed.

Others helped me.  Others showed me the paths to take, and the medications to use.  Others offered advice and direction, and comfort.  But, most of all, they offered me unconditional love and acceptance, of who I was, and who I was becoming.  They accepted me on my journey, and offered support, and kindness, and understanding.  They offered patience with me, giving me time to grow, and to heal.  

The real work was done deep inside of me.  I needed time and confidence, I needed to find my own tools, and to learn how to use them.  I needed to go deep, and to connect with God, and to find who I am really am.  

I needed to be on my journey, and to take on the leadership that my soul needed to move ahead in life.  I am the captain of my ship, and I needed to take the wheel, and to sail through the storms, and to plot my course to the safe harbors.  Yet, I needed to be tested and to discover, for myself, that I am strong, that I am capable, that I am filled with love, and that, if I put my soul into a struggle, then I will succeed, and I will find my destiny.

Today, I heal.  Today, I move on, learning, accepting, meeting the challenges of today.  Today, I embrace my manhood, my humanity, my cloak of being a child of God.  I am loved, and I am loving.  I know my destiny.

—-Neal Lemery, 2/21/2014

Candlelight: A Story Teller Visits the Youth Prison

Candlelight: A Story Teller Visits the Youth Prison

We gather in a circle, to hear from the story teller who has quietly appeared among us.  His quiet presence is greeted with respect; admiration for his time with us six months ago, his quiet message of hope, and healing, and his wisdom.

We share an opening prayer, a sense of being at peace with the universe, and with our souls.  And, a sense of coming together.

Each of us is invited to tell our names, where we had come from, and a bit about our own journeys.  All of our experiences, all of who we were, and are, and are becoming, are welcomed into this circle.   The chaos of our lives, our pain, our joys, are all welcomed and accepted, without limits.

In this prison, there are many stories of tragedy and pain, loss and suffering.  Some of those experiences are given voice today, in this circle, and are accepted and acknowledged.  There is no blame, no judgement today; only acceptance and compassion.  And, in the telling, there is healing, perhaps a sense of understanding and forgiveness.  

In my community, there are many prisons.  But, when I come here, I can see the physical fences, and the locked doors.  At least when I come here, the walls and the barriers to freedom are obvious.   For so many away from here, their walls and locks take other forms, and may not even be known to those who are locked away by the prisons in their lives.  

Some of the young men offer a hint of the pain in their lives, the violence, the drugs, the abandonment and anger; the absence of community.   Others nod in agreement; such pain is so common in this place of acknowledgement and healing.  They are here to change.  And in that work, they find direction and hope.  They do this together, united for a common purpose.  In this place, being aware of the possibility for change, for unconditional love, is part of the air they breathe.  

The storyteller’s visit is part of that change, that opening of doors to understanding, to acceptance, to personal salvation and love.  

Several young men offer their gifts of song, opening their hearts, and touching our lives with the beauty of the moment and their own journeys.

Others offer a wooden staff to the leader of the drumming circles here. She comes here and leads us in prayer and song, giving the young men, and me, her unconditional love and guidance through troubled seas.  The staff, adorned with beads, and feathers, and other symbols of hope and love, is a gift back to her of what she has given here. Their decorations and gifts and blessing of the staff fills the room with that sense of community.  We pass the staff around the circle, each of us offering a blessing, a wish, an acknowledgement of the power of others to change our lives.  The power of that sharing and healing fills all of our hearts with love.

The story teller told us of his life, and his sister’s recent death.  He spoke of the tragedies in her life, and how, through all the pain and loss, she still loved people unconditionally.  His loss and his pain are mirrored in the faces of the young men gathered in the circle.  A sense of knowing that pain, and compassion for others grows in the room.  This place is safe now, a sacred place for being in that pain, and having our own sparks of humanity accepted.  

Unconditional love is his message today.  In his native stories and tales, in his words about his own life, the message is repeated.  

In our lives, and our experiences, and in our pain and sufferings, we are preparing ourselves for the work ahead.  There will be times when our presence, and our unconditional love for others, will change lives.  What we are going through now is merely preparation for the gift giving we will do in the future.

One young man offers a song in memory of the storyteller’s sister, filling us all with sadness and hope and a bit of that unconditional love.  

Others give voice to their struggles, their anger, their work to become healthy men.  

The storyteller leads us in a dance around the circle, holding hands, all moving to a drum beat, singing an ancient, timeless song.  In movement, we become one; there are no leaders and no followers.  We became community, accepting and united.  

Stories are told, letting us nod and laugh together, hearing his tales, and joining together in the acknowledgment of his story.   His work brings us together, to a feeling of being one, of each of us having value, of being accepted for who we are, right now.  And, again, judgement is suspended. Unconditional love lights up the room.

Telling our stories is what we need to do in our lives.  In our stories, and in the stories of others, we find acceptance, and we find community.  As we drum together, sing together, and listen to our stories, we come together.  We are one.  

In my heart, I touch my own pain, my own losses, my own doubts and fears.  The storyteller’s songs of love and acceptance, and of his own pain and his own journey through life brings me renewal.   That spark of humanity, of the power and force of love as a healer, as a single candle that can light the entire room, is fed by his quiet presence in our lives.  

In all of our eyes today, I see acceptance, reconciliation, forgiveness, and unity in all of what we experience in our humanity.  We become a stronger community, telling our stories, finding acceptance and hope.

--Neal Lemery 11/4/2012