Tag: family

Betrayal and Forgiveness

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“True forgiveness is when you can say, ‘Thank you for that experience.‘” – Oprah Winfrey

My daughter’s 7-year-old friend came over the other day with the news that their former au pair had betrayed them (her words). The gist of the story was that au pair had agreed to stay with the kids for a weekend and then backed out. Our young friend said that her parents had found someone else to stay with the kids while they travel leaving only the feeling of betrayal to somehow process.

That word, betrayal, always reminds me of my ex-husband. Because when his friend and my business partner told me of my husband’s infidelities, my husband at the time felt so betrayed because his friend told me. And the more he declaimed it, the more embedded I felt in his betrayal of me and our wedding vows.

In this circular pattern of pain and distrust, there seemed to be no way out. I couldn’t get any resolution of what had happened because every time we touched on it, even in counseling, it just triggered my ex-husband’s feeling of betrayal. He could bring more dramatic outrage to the table so I always ended up bottling it up in a misguided effort to make it stop. When we finally divorced, I was so relieved that cycle was over.

But it left me having to forgive my ex-husband without any satisfying resolution about what had happened. Which was even harder work. Our wisdom traditions talk about the power and necessity of forgiveness. Growing up as a pastor’s kid, it was like the bread and butter of our family. Knowing that and wanting it, I still had to find out my way of actually forgiving. I was like a goat tethered to a stake always covering the same ground until I did.

In the end, I discovered meditation as a way to lean in to the mess of it all and develop a bigger perspective. That is when I finally figured out how to forgive. The pain of betrayal led me to the life of meditation and perspective. Which has then gone on to give so many more gifts of faith, confidence and personal belonging that allowed me to choose to have kids on my own. Looking back, I have never been so glad for the gift of pain leading me to the richness of life.

I know forgiveness is extremely hard to do when we feel like keep the wound open provides evidence that we were the injured party. I recently read a quote by Henri Nouwen, “Your future depends on how you decide to remember your past.” In that passage, he was talking to himself but the Truth of it brought tears to my eyes.

Watching my daughter’s friend as she told me the story, I could see her rewriting her history of the 18 months the au pair lived with and cared for her based on this last interaction. If I could amend Henri Nouwen’s Truth slightly, I’d add that “Your kids future also depends on how you decide to remember your past.”

Receiving Pain

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“Only love, with no thought of return, can soften the point of suffering.” – Mark Nepo

When I trimmed my 2-year-old son’s hair recently, he’s started saying “Ow” with each snip. I checked to make sure I wasn’t pulling his hair or in any way touching his head with the tip of the scissors and continued. And he kept saying, “Ow.” It was possible he was the first person I’ve ever heard of to have feeling in his hair but his body language and smile told me it was more likely he was saying something that got a reaction.

But it brought to mind for me all the different ways I’ve received other people’s pain. I’ve dismissed it as not as bad as they are reporting. I’ve wondered when they will get over it. I have compared it (both inwardly and outwardly) as not as bad as something I’ve experienced. And I can report that none of these methods are helpful. The only way that I’ve found to bear witness to pain and to help alleviate suffering is to believe that every word they say is true and to listen as they process their story.

This makes me think of a winter climb I once did on Mt. Whitney with a good friend about 3 months after her boyfriend died of cancer. He’d been cremated and she was climbing with him in a little urn attached to her pack. She kept on mentioning Rick to the other people in the group we were climbing with, none of whom knew us from before the trip. And because she was talking about Rick as if he was with us (and I suppose he was if you counted the urn), they would get a pretty confused look on their faces and eventually take me aside to ask me who Rick was. But it was a group of really nice people who let her talk and talk and talk about him. We were slogging in thigh deep snow up the side of the mountain and had days to listen.  It was like an extreme walking meditation.

After a while, I thought we’d heard enough about Rick. I fortunately never said anything. Because it wasn’t until my dad died that I understood that the telling of the story of his sudden death in a bike accident and talking about what an amazing person he was were both such healing ways to help process the surprise of finding him gone.

So I’ve adopted some of my dad’s wisdom. As a retired pastor, he often was asked by friends, mentees and former parishioners to go to coffee for advice or to air the pain of living. And if you asked him how it went, he’d smile kindly and say, “Mostly I listened.”

My kids give me lots of opportunities to practice to listen to their pains and I do my best to calmly bear witness, not lecture about safety (at that moment at least) and just slather them with love. As I cut my son’s hair and he giggled and said “ow,” I started narrating that he was the bravest person on earth to get his hair cut. In that way, we made it through together!

Know Your Audience

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“Integrity is the ability to listen to a place inside oneself that doesn’t change, even though the life that carries it may change.” – Rabbi Jonathan Omer-Man

My 6-year-old daughter asked me yesterday if stealing was bad. I told her it was always wrong and then tried to illustrate it with the example of us going to the store to buy groceries and then coming out and finding our car was stolen. How would we feel? Would that be okay? She countered, “But then we could just walk home.”

I agreed with her resourcefulness and then tried another example. “What if someone stole our Halloween decorations we just put up this weekend?” “That”, she emphatically agreed, “would be so, so bad! You can’t just go around taking other people’s Halloween decorations!”

Which reminded me that while our values don’t change, stories need to be tailored to the audience. 😊

Foreshadowing

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“Where there is love, there is life.” – Mahatma Gandhi

My dear friend Katie came to pick up her dog and as the kids ran around and showed her how well they took care of the dog she looked at me and said, “I’ll call to update you tomorrow.”

Which was weird because she was standing right in front of me. Update me about what?

Then she called to tell me that her wonderful mom had been diagnosed with Alzheimer’s. In an ironic conversation, she said that her mom called to tell Katie that something was going on with her and when Katie gently prompted, “What’s going on, Mom?” She said, “I have something but I can’t remember what the name of it is.” Until Katie’s sister that was sitting next to her mom reminded her it was Alzheimer’s.

Katie was the first person that I called when I found out my dad died in a biking accident so we’ve shared these hard milestones of life before. When I was a senior in high school, I lived with Katie and her family when my parents moved across the state so my dad could take on a new job. Katie’s gentle and loving mom, Connie, shared their family traditions with me, bought me matching socks for Valentine’s Day and helped me get dressed for Prom. Her mom is in many ways my second mom.

As Katie and I cried on the phone, I thought about foreshadowing. Which is great for fiction but seems tortuous in life.

When I visited Katie’s parents this summer, they were doing great. It was clear Connie was losing her memory but especially because of her gracious social skills and the way she and her husband of 60 years work together, it isn’t really noticeable as a problem. Her 82-year-old body is still strong and the love and joy she emanates is as powerful as ever.

So we were crying over the fact that we will lose her and it seems more dire today than it did yesterday because there’s a word attached. And that word brings with it a lot of connotations of loss and sadness before the person dies. All of a sudden we started leaving today to imagine the future.

We did our best to return what’s going on now. Connie went fishing with her husband, daughters and son-in-laws last week and Katie and her daughter are going to visit her next week. Then Katie’s parents are off for a road trip south.

If one of these days Connie doesn’t remember the past, at least we can all be with her in the present instead of borrowing trouble and worrying about the future.

The Wall of Defense

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“Fear is the cheapest room in the house. I’d like to see you in better living conditions.” – Hafiz

Last week the most worrisome thing happened. My mom invited me out to lunch. Since I see her usually a couple of times a week at my house when my kids are there and we text every day, I immediately decided that I must be in trouble.

I spent the two days between when she invited me and our lunch date in the back of my mind trying to think of everything I could be doing wrong and my defense for each.

Giving my kids too much salt or sugar to eat?

Spend too much on toys?

Needing to reprioritize saving money?

Not working out enough?

It doesn’t seem like anything very serious but we have enough history over this handful of points so even if I don’t necessarily disagree with her, I can muster a strong defense along the lines of “I’ve got bigger things to worry about” and “I’m doing the best I can.”

Then I had lunch with my mom. She just wanted to know how I was doing. I spent the first half of the lunch just unwinding inside. And for what it was worth, taking stock of what I might be doing wrong wasn’t a bad exercise. It was building the defenses that was a waste of mental energy. It reminded me that any conversation that I prepared for like that would never be open or productive.

And I learned that sometimes the best trick of a parent is to say nothing. And that the power of a parent lasts forever.

The Work of Friends

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“My friends are the beings through whom God loves me.” – Saint Martin

My six-year-old daughter’s friend called her bossy the other day. Oh-boy, did this touch a whole chain reaction of feelings in me, not many of them that I’m proud of. Judgment of the little girl, defensiveness for all girls who dare to live out loud, and an instinct to criticize the name-caller in order to reduce the sting to list a few. But more than that, an internal outburst at the insidious nature of learning so that just when I’ve finally figured out how to belong to myself and not worry too much about what anyone else thinks, life takes it up a notch so that I have to master NOT reacting on the behalf of my children.

Assuming (and hoping) that I have many years to go with this experience of supporting these children as they grow through self-acceptance and however they come to terms with the good and bad of other’s acceptance, I brought this question of how I was going to deal with it to the meditation cushion.

Here’s what showed up. I wouldn’t do my kids homework for them because it steals their opportunity to learn and grow. But I will answer questions, fuel their desire for learning, sit with them and hold their hands if necessary.

In the same way, I can’t do their social work for them. It also would steal their opportunity to learn and grow. So my job is the same – to sit beside them, help them uncover their own wisdom and hold their hands if necessary.

My daughter and I talked about how she felt. She decided to ask her friend if she had been called bossy, how that felt and talk about treating others the way she wants to be treated. I heard a little bit of the conversation and kept my mouth shut. As first steps in the realm of friendship go, it went okay.

Then I went and talked to my friends about this indirect experience of life that comes with parenting. More than anything, the fact that I’ve had these friends through many ups and downs in life and friendship, helped widen my perspective. I’ve never been able to solve their problems either. But through them I’ve learned to walk alongside others, letting go of what I can’t control and breathing in to the faith that showing up is what we are called to do with others and it works!

Dare to Dream

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“Whatever you can do, or dream you can, begin it. Boldness has genius, power and magic in it.” – Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

I had three days this past week where both of my kids were at school/daycare. Do you know what I did? Nothing. Well, not nothing exactly.

I allowed myself to believe that we could start to find a regular routine for school and work.

I relaxed that core part of my body that has been holding me upright for 18 months as I’ve been afraid that if I didn’t stand tall my little family would crumble.

I breathed in to the space created by being able to give up the jobs of teacher, school janitor, lunch lady, PE coach, and school social coordinator for a 6-year-old.

I dared to dream that I might have some energy left for me to grow as we return to more normal days.

Like famed psychiatrist and author Dr. Scott Peck answered when asked how he gets so much done – “it’s because I spend two hours a day doing nothing.” I suspect doing nothing looks different for every person – meditating, reading, praying, playing but out of it comes a renewed spirit.

I think of all the hard times I’ve gone through – divorce, grief, sickness, this pandemic and how there’s an inflection point where all of a sudden I realize that I’m through it. Not that I believe that this pandemic is done, especially because my kids are not yet eligible to be vaccinated and not the day-to-day was bad. It’s just that I was holding back a little reserve in order to gut it out.

When I first started mountain climbing, a guide taught me how to pressure breathe. To breathe out so forcefully that all the stale air in the lungs is expelled and it is possible to take a full inhale. The last three days feel like one big pressure breath, an exhale so powerful that I feel invigorated by all the fresh air I was able to breathe in.

And all that extra energy reminded me that it’s been a long time since I believed that I could really dream about what else is possible in my life. That’s what I did for the last 3 days – dreamed big, audacious dreams.

Collective Confusion

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“Take the first step in faith. You don’t have to see the whole staircase. Just take the first step.” – Martin Luther King Jr.

I had a birthday party for my daughter and for the first time in ages was together with parents of kids my age. The kids ran around the park and enjoyed the fun of playing together outside, some kids not having seen each other since her pre-K program was abruptly shut in March of 2020. Talking to the other parents, all masked and vaccinated, I heard over and over again the worry that there are no good choices for our kids as they go into 1st grade this fall.

I think this is the first time I’ve experienced this kind of confusion affecting a group collectively but I certainly have faced it individually. So I sat this morning on the meditation cushion to try to muddle through it. When there are no good choices, where do I turn?

I come back again and again to the awareness that something has held me up and nourished me even as confusion swirls around me. When I think I’m an individual making choices, I feel alone but when I feel I am a part of a Universe that flows like a river, I start to relax and float.

Listening for the quiet in any given circumstance helps me to settle. Imagining a pond, I can only see to the bottom when the water is still. When a rock is thrown or the wind whips the surface, I can no longer see the depths. So I still myself as much as possible to find the transparency again.

When I settled myself and relaxed this morning, I felt the weariness and worry that I attribute to this pandemic although as I write this I realize it may have also just have come with parenting. There is a little bit of self-pity in that worry as if am begging for someone to give me a break. But none of this is personal. When I laugh it away, I feel lighter as if I’ve gotten of one thing that is no use to me.

As I come back to my center, I find that I just need to find the right next step and that the Divine is present to guide me to it. When I see it this way, I stop worrying about how all this will work out and just return to now. I can accept that the water will get muddy again and first grade for my daughter might not go how I think or want but try to settle out of my confusion. There is some comfort knowing that other parents are struggling with the same but at the very least I can return and again to stillness so as not add to the collective momentum of disquiet.

Let It Flow

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“The cure for anything is salt water – sweat, tears or the sea.” – Isak Dinesen

I’ve been listening to an On Being podcast where host Krista Tippett interviews humorist and story-teller Kevin Kling. He told the story about the moment that tears came after a terrible motorcycle accident. His wife had come to the hospital and brought him an apple. At first he refused to eat it because he had no taste at all since the accident but she insisted. He bit into the apple and it was the moment his taste came back to him. The juicy sweetness brought with it all this gratitude for being alive and he started crying. Tears, he insisted, are a great way to clean out the body’s toxins. And for anyone who can’t cry, he said that’s what sports movies are for.

It reminded me of my young daughter who once told me in a moment of pulling herself together, “I kept my eyes from dripping.” And on the other end of the spectrum, my dear father who’s eyes would leak so easily in his older years. I’m intrigued by all the work we do when we are young to gain composure and then at some point realize that we carry so much, we have to just let it go. Or let it flow, whichever is most apt.

Kevin Kling also described having three different phases of prayers in his life. When he was a kid, he prayed to get things. When we was a young adult, he prayed to get out of things (like the time he stowed away on a boat). Now, after the accident, all his prayers are of thankfulness.

I think about my own inflection points and the most recent is having kids. Before I had them, even as I was pregnant with my first, I worried about what everyone else would think and I assumed it was a story that I was not able to find a husband and so had to do it alone in my 40’s. Now that I’ve had them, I’m too smitten with them and too busy to worry about that. But what I notice most is that each period of growth has brought a new vibration so that it does change what I pray, think and talk about. I’m slowly discovering life seems to be as deep as I make it and the more I wade in, the richer it gets.

Directly to the Heart

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“I’ve learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel.” – Maya Angelou

We were driving in the car when my almost six-year-old daughter asked, “What do you do with a dog’s body when it dies?” I answered that you take it to the vet and they take care of it. She said, “You mean they burn it, put it into a little vase, and you can put it somewhere to come visit like with Bumpa [her grandfather]?”

Ha, ha – the beauty of directness! There is something to be said for that. And since I come from a family that specializes in subtlety, especially when expressing emotion, it’s something I need to work on. Just being able to say, “I’m mad” has a refreshing kind of direct ownership.

But I write this knowing a bunch of writers will read this and agree that being direct and telling a story are two different things. Knowing that my dog’s ashes are sitting in the cherry box on the mantel doesn’t begin to touch the story of being with him through his last moments as he bravely both let me know he was ready to go and licked my tears as I said good-bye to him, my amazingly beautiful, goofy and loyal companion of almost 14 years. Visiting my dad in the Memorial Garden has very little to do with his choice to be cremated and interned and everything to do with wanting to hear his sonorous voice say just once more time, “It’s going to be great, Kid!” It’s the stories I have so about both of these characters that celebrate the whole-hearted and loving way that they both lived and give all the reasons we miss them now.

So I’ll continue to tell stories as we have our time for deep talks in the car. After all, her questions lately have been about homelessness (like in this post), drugs, and now death. It seems big topics deserve a lot of human understanding that only stories can bring.