JUST SOME THOUGHTS TO SHARE

 

YESTERDAY IS ALREADY OURS!

January 2, 2019 (when the real work starts of moving forward)

Dear Friends,

It's the morning after the morning after, January 2nd, when we have to truly head back to work, and remember to put the correct year on our checks, if indeed we still write checks. For me today, that meant reviewing the chapters for discussion at my book group gathering tomorrow morning. We've been reading "The Other Side of Chaos: Breaking through when life is breaking down" by Margaret Silf. It's a fantastic book to read on your own, very useful for your inner work AND also very useful for dialog with others. I highly recommend you read it...no matter your age or circumstance. 

My favorite part of the reading this week is Chapter 14: Yesterday is Already Ours! And rather than do too much commentary, I thought I'd just share my favorite quotes from this chapter (see below). Silf manages to hit the nail on the head for me...getting at what holds me back most often..the fear of losing what I had. What a hopeful thought, that we can't lose what is already ours because we carry it forever in our hearts! I believe that now! And I'm glad for her way of reminding me of that.

I hope you read the book and I pray you'll be able to move forward knowing that what you treasure most can never be taken from your heart.

Blessings on you as you lean into the new year!   ~ jules (1/2/19)

• But what struck me most about Cadfael’s comment was his affirmation that “yesterday is already ours.” One of our biggest fears, and the cause of so much resistance to change, is that we think we are on the verge of losing, irrevocably, what we value from our past. Yes, like Cadfael, we have a past. To be human is to have a past. Some of that past may be about things we wish we could put behind us forever and wipe clean from the slate of memory. Other things we cherish and dread losing. To embrace the unknown future that change and transition hold out to us is, we feel, to risk losing all that we have invested our lives in so far.
• "Don’t be afraid that in letting go you are losing anything at all, because everything that matters, from this time of graced encounter, or from any other experience in your life, has been internalized and is firmly lodged in your heart. It is yours. It is a part of you. It travels with you and can never be lost.”
• Nothing can take from us the gift of all that our past has given us.
• We can’t lose it, and it will play a crucial part in shaping our future.
• The big question for me is this: when I look at the cherished item that I am trying to carry through the shifting scenes of my life, am I trying to turn back the clock, or am I just wanting to remind myself that the past is still an active part of me?
• The past is already ours; these photos and mementos remind us daily that this treasure that was ours is not lost but carried with us, not just in our bags but in our hearts. And the future is ours, too, to explore and, we hope, to make a contribution to. This isn’t nostalgia. This is wisdom.

And questions from Margaret Silf to ponder:

What treasure from your own past experiences or relationships do you feel has been internalized and forever absorbed into your heart? Notice how it continues to enrich you. It has been said that our memories are like a garden from which we can never be expelled. Which memories in your soul’s garden are life-giving, making you feel more fully alive in the present moment and more hopeful for the future? Is there anything that you cling to from the past that you feel may be holding you prisoner in false nostalgia and blocking your way ahead? The yearning to go back to what has passed can take over our consciousness to the extent that we actually fail to see, let alone respond to, the beckoning of the future and the joys and challenges of the present moment. Do you detect any symptoms like these in your present situation? 

The Fleeting Thought

I sent a thought out into the breeze

and it blew away like dandelion seeds

I could watch it go for a second or two

and then it was gone

now what do i do?

It was a brilliant thought, if I recall

But of course I don't remember at all

I can only briefly and brilliantly surmise

that it was something amazing

for I am quite wise

If only wisdom and memory could meet

If only they sang songs together so sweet

then I'd remember why I started this poem

now where was I going?

I guess I'll forget this one

~ Jules, April 30, 2017

The Basement Excavation: the 100th Box!

“Letting go is hard (really hard) but sometimes holding on is harder.” ~ Anonymous quote.

“Sometimes letting things go is an act of far greater power than defending or hanging on” ~ Eckhart Tolle

What's the greater risk? Letting go of what people think - or letting go of how I feel, what I believe, and who I am? Brene Brown

_______________________________________________________

(NOTE: I did not say last box...I said 100th box!)

Today, just today, I went through my 100^th box! Of the boxes I have gone through, I have emptied 62 boxes! This means that most of those 62 boxes has ended up in the recycling bin by our garbage…and a few have made it to the thrift store. I am 8 weeks in to my commitment to attack 2 boxes per day. Of the boxes that are not empty, an additional 15 are scheduled to be given to other people; mostly old Malagasy books. And though I still have umpteen photo/negatives/slide boxes to go through, I am pausing to celebrate my progress.

Wow! The 100^th box! When I started I was very skeptical about getting even this far. I didn’t even count the boxes past 100 because I never believed I’d make it that far. This is amazing, so miraculous! I am not even sure that I can take credit for it even though I have felt each box in my bones and heart as I’ve sorted and emptied. A lot of tears have been shed. A lot of deep breaths have been let go. There have been many days when the instinct to hold on was stronger than the the need to let go. I can honestly say I am getting better at it though. Little by little I’m beginning to feel the power of letting go like Eckhart Tolle says in his quote (see above). Little by little, I am beginning to notice that along with the stuff, I’m letting go of old definitions of strength, of family, of connections. I’m letting go of what people think, of perceived expectations and focusing more on what I need to do to be healthy, what my family needs. Little by little, I am beginning to believe that my life after this will be freer, lighter; that I won’t be carrying this burden of stuff so I’ll have room to give more of my heart to other adventures.

So I am nearing the end of going through boxes of papers (which were mostly letters and scrapbook savings). Soon I will be going through a couple dozen boxes of old photos/slides/negatives. As I head that direction, I want to offer my gratitude to all of those who have offered me support and understanding in this process. I never dreamed I would get this far. Thank you!

~Jules

The Basement Excavation: Facing Grief and Finding Treasure

The Basement Excavation—Day #17

So far I’ve been faithful to my commitment to go through two boxes each day. There is a growing stack of empty boxes in one corner. I hope that empty stack continues to grow but not every box gets thrown. Though clearing is the ultimate goal, throwing it all out is not the immediate goal. The idea is to go through everything, taking the time to painstakingly acknowledge all of it and get a grip on the reality of what IT really is.

In some cases, I’ve been able to throw a whole box right away. I am grateful for those easy ones, where the choice is obvious. In others, I’ve opened, looked through a few things and said, “Okay, I’m not ready for that one until later.” This is an acceptable response but I know eventually I will have to deal with those too. And then there have been those moments of profound encounter with something deep within.

Case #1: A gift from Dad

Two weeks ago, on a Saturday, I was leading a writing workshop on journaling. As part of my presentation I told those who came about what I had learned from my dad about the Lord’s Prayer. I was telling them how he used to encourage people to use the Lord’s Prayer to pray about specific things in their life. The next day I am down in the basement. I open a box and sitting right on top is the old Lutheran Standard article which my dad wrote about just that. With tears of gratitude I grabbed the article, and closed the rest of the box (for now). It was if Dad was encouraging me, letting me know he was happy to share this gift with me. I scanned it into my computer for future reference and to save it in new way. I have no idea what will happened to that article in the next generation but by then I will have shared it with many and the ripples will be enough inheritance to share.

Case #2: Encountering Hans 15 years later

Just a few days ago, I had a really busy day but in the free hour that I had I decided to suck it up and head down to do a few boxes. I saw an unmarked box in the middle of the room and wanted to have an idea what was in it. Initially unreachable, I climbed and squeezed in to where I could get a look. I opened the box and there was Hans’ stuff. As the tears started to form, I sifted through the random collection of junk. I have begun to notice that the more ridiculous the item, the more it triggers my grief. Why? Because the ridiculous stuff, the stuff that holds no intrinsic value is there only because my son cared about it. This box of apparent nothingness is classic Hans. And yet we still have to let go of most of it. Letting go brings a new wellspring of grief…that very really emotion as we experience the physical separation once again. I can’t express enough how physical grief really is.

Initially I find it odd and unsettling that such a box of junk can mean so much to me but there it is. Without the physical connection to my son, these stupid little things taking up space clearly give me a sudden material connection to the reality of my sons’ life before and now.

The sudden desire to speak to him, to see him in the flesh again is unbearable and the tears are unstoppable. This is the part of de-cluttering that takes more than determination and a good self-help book to conquer. This takes a breath and a prayer and some emotional support. Here I must stand with the grief, allow the tears and honor the pain as well as the joy. I may have to take a couple days to process before I am ready to let go. I may need to bring my husband alongside for this part of the journey. And even so, there is hope just in the fact that I am able to choose this work. 

The Basement Excavation: A family history of saving and grief.

Ash Wednesday was ten days ago and much like many other people I've decided to try a new spiritual practice during the 40 days of Lent that follow it. I've decided to practice getting rid of things, letting go of the past, letting go of stuff, and in some cases letting go of commitments. this is a very personal journey. It is not the first time I've told myself, I am going to de-clutter; I'm going to let go. "Easier said than done" is understatement.

Looking back on a history of family saving
I was born into a family of savers (some might call them pack rats). There were some very logical and practical reasons for the saving over the generations. We didn't have much money. My mom had grown up moving around a lot.  Our family, in turn, also moved a lot, traveled a lot. Along the way, as you travel, you collect things. My parents were missionaries on the island of Madagascar so we couldn't just run to the store for new things. We were thrifty, using the same clothes, books, toys over and over again. We saved them, took care of them and were able to enjoy them for more than one generation. This served my family well for a long time. it was a good habit that taught us to be good stewards of what we had. It also taught us to save things we would never need to use again.

In addition, there are family historians on both sides of my family; in particular my mom's side. Before the dawn of the digital age, these ancestors, including my grandfather, kept diaries, extensive family tree information, took wonderful photographs and slides and even wrote books. My grandfather had a habit of saving all his correspondence (every letter he wrote or received) some of which serve to narrate his family relationships.  He wrote about 40 books, most not published but there are copies for his children. He had his own library. So for my siblings and I, our inheritance consisted mainly of a shed full of books, letters, photographs, slides and boxes with various sentimental and practical things that my parents thought we would use after they were done with it. They meant well. Our parents were trying to help and somehow, as the youngest child, it all ended up in my lap, my basement. And I added some of my own.

Storing my Grief
Over the years I have explored several theories and justifications and analysis for the behavior of hanging on to stuff. The reason that stands out above the rest is grief. I was born in Madagascar, spending most of my time in an Eden-like setting on the southern tip of the island with vacations with my parents in the capital city. For me Ft. Dauphin and Tananarive, Madagascar are my home towns, but there is no home in either one of them to go back to. So when I left, I took what i could with me and hung on to those possessions, notes, diaries, photographs with all my might. I took my home with me. When my parents died, I welcomed their treasures from those places too. It was then I realized they had been taking a piece of home along with them too.

Grief, in its darkest moment, is the excruciating pain of separation from those people and places you love. It makes sense to me then that in those darkest days of grief, we just hung on to what we could of those lost relationships, those lost places.

When I was 17 I left my home in Madagascar for the last time. I have never been back. When I was 27 my dad died. When I was 41 my third son Hans died of brain cancer. Six months later, my best friend died. Several years later my mom died. With each death, each separation, each new wound of grief, I hung on to the pieces of those places and relationships that I could, much like my parents and grandparents had before. And all the while the basement filled up with my grief.

By the time I was in a better place, I didn't want to return to the boxes, the stuff I had stored. I just wanted to live in the joy that I could. Above ground, above the grief, I went on with my life (a pretty joyful life) but every time I walked through the basement, I was reminded. The pile was growing and it was serving me less and less.

So here I am, years later. The boys are grown up and have homes of their own. Pete and I are grandparents. It's Day #11 of my commitment. I've gone through at least 2 boxes each day. Pete is making the first haul to the thrift store. Our recycling container is full. There is a long, long way to go. I've done the easy stuff first. But there is hope.

There is hope.