Nouwen: Love never Dies

Nouwen: Love never dies

“When we lose a dear friend, someone we have loved deeply, we are left with a grief that can paralyze us emotionally for a long time. People we love become part of us. Our thinking, feeling, and acting are co-determined by them. When they die, a part of us has to die too. That is what grief is about: It is that slow and painful departure of someone who has become an intimate part of us. But as we let go of them, they become part of our “members.” As we ‘re-member’ them, they become our guides on our spiritual journey.”–Henri Nouwen, August 26, 2018, Henri Nouwen Society, Daily Meditation, from Bread for the Journey, henrinouwen.org.

The God of my understanding does not give us a person we love deeply and suddenly allows that relationship to end with that person’s death. Ours is a God of love. The love from that companion we so profoundly cared about is still there with us. We are still in a relationship with that person, but in a way we do not understand. Their love does not stop. Our love for them does not stop. Death is not a period at the end of a sentence, but more like a comma.

Sometimes, when we remember events of ordinary and extraordinary times with the person we loved, we will also feel their presence and wisdom. We can still talk to them in this new relationship, which is still a mystery. Nouwen believes we can sometimes be even more intimate in this relationship than in real life. It is their love that we feel.

Love continues and never dies. Our loved ones are now in some way always present with us, while in life, they were only present when they were physically with us. Some people find it helpful to wear a piece of jewelry or clothing as a physical reminder of a relationship that is now spiritual.

The grief recovery work we have been involved with for over twenty years, Walking the Mourner’s Path, believes that one of the most helpful ways to stay in a relationship with our loved one is to honor our relationship. Amazing transformations have occurred. People have started suicide prevention programs, built walking trails, written books, developed new careers in helping professions, built halfway houses for those in recovery, and given land where their loved one died to habitat for humanity.

For myself, I returned to the church and stopped smoking when my Grandfather Whaley died to honor him. My grandfather’s love cared for me while he lived and saved my life, even in death. I still feel his presence today, even over forty years since his death, especially as I write about him this morning and send that love on to my grandchildren.

Over the past several years, I have been rereading letters my grandfather wrote me in college and medical school over sixty years ago. Words cannot express what it is like to feel his unconditional love through now-typed antique letters. I share some of his letters with you in Letters from My Grandfather, A History of Two Decades of Unconditional Love.  

grandfather’s siblings

Being with the Dying

Being with the Dying

“Witnessing a death is a profound experience for everyone, family members and loved ones and for health care professionals who have cared for the patient-and, certainly, for the person who ministers spiritually. When you have sat vigil with a dying soul, you are forever changed. You have experienced a great mystery.”—Megory Anderson, Attending the Dying: A Handbook of Practical Guidelines (Morehouse Publishing 2005).

Megory Anderson has written a large volume on being with the dying and a short pocket-sized handbook. So many people come for spiritual direction related to a death. Someone significant has died or is about to die. Often, the death is imminent. If there is time, I review Megory Anderson’s concrete directions and then give them the small handbook. My experience is often, they do not even have time to digest the handbook, which can be helpful. Frequently, the person or caregiver is so overwhelmed that even reading is challenging.

 It is similar to my experience with hospice. My father-in-law was put on hospice care the day before he died. Unfortunately, we often wait too long before asking for help or accepting the reality of the situation.

Anderson teaches us so much. Being with someone who is dying is a sacred ministry. It can be one of the greatest gifts given to someone. Attending the dying is like the privilege of being at a birthing. It is a sometimes painful celebration of a new life.

I especially try to reread her section about creating a sacred space. We talk to the family about clearing clutter from the room, bringing in sacred objects such as devotional icons, prayer beads, photographs, childhood books, reading favorite stories, and even childhood poems. Favorite music, a lighted candle, a favorite quilt, and fresh flowers from someone’s garden remind us that something special is happening here.

We come to be with the person dying, listen to them, and hear their story. Conversations should be directed to them. My experience is always to speak to the dying as if they could hear what we say.

 As death approaches, I know of many who midwife their loved ones into a new life by singing favorite hymns, reading the psalms, taking turns saying prayers, and performing rituals for the dying from their traditions.

After the death, saying prayers and preparing the body can be one last loving ritual for family and special friends. For example, my father-in-law grew magnificent roses. The night he died, our family took rose petals from the flowers in his room and scattered them over his body before walking his body out to the funeral hearse.

This book is invaluable to anyone attending the dying. The author describes the preparation for death, the death process, what to do afterward, and how to react to the unusual behavior of well-meaning family and friends. Unfortunately, we rarely have a guidebook for life’s more difficult journeys. This book is one.

Joanna          https://www.joannaseibert.com/

 

 

Anxiety and Hope

Anxiety and Hope

Guest Writer: Heather Honaker

“Just when the caterpillar thought the world was over, it became a butterfly.”
- Chuang Tzu

Jack August Ellie

My daughter Ellie refuses to eat chicken without ketchup.

My oldest, Jack, will not slide down a slide without yelling, “Yahoo!”

The youngest, August, can’t sleep without his stuffed puppy, Deke.

And for some reason, my body will not function without anxiety. If there is even a hint of calm in my spirit, my brain finds something to get worked up about. If things are going well, that little voice pops in and says, “Nope, don’t get comfortable, because it is definitely going to fall apart again. I promise.”

I plan things like trips or parties, and just as soon as I have gotten myself committed to the idea, that voice comes back in and says, “Buckle up, buttercup, it’s about to go down.”

It is a race between my mind and body at night – which will fall asleep first? Will my body relax quickly enough that it won’t give my mind time to start the downward spiral into everything I didn’t do well enough today?

My therapist says that voice serves as a manager to protect me from disappointment and served me well at some point. We talked about that a lot recently in one of our visits, and I realized that the last time I got really – I mean REALLY – excited without that little voice in my ear was when I found out that Ellie would be a girl. That was right before her diagnoses were discovered, and my whole world changed.

“Don’t you have a kid with something wrong with it?” I was asked this week by someone I hadn’t seen in a while.

I wanted to roll my eyes and leave while waving my middle finger in the air, but I caught myself.

“I have a 4-year-old daughter with Down syndrome and heart problems,” I said with a gigantic smile, “but she is doing great. And I have a smart first-grader and a 3-year-old who just had a birthday. They all drive me crazy.”

I read that you can’t have anxiety without hope. That makes me feel a little better about what I accept as simply part of my DNA. I want to be known as a hopeful person, even if she is a nervous wreck who is always planning for the worst-case scenario. Just like I want my kids to be known as the unique, kind, talented loves of my life that they are, instead of the problems they create in their wake.

I don’t know much, but one thing I do know is that you can’t feel the joy of the highest highs without experiencing the sorrow of the lowest lows. If we hide from the sadness and anxiety, we can’t get underneath that to remember the spark of hope that keeps us moving forward and fuels our fires to change the world.

Heather Honaker
Read more about her family’s oddities, challenges, and special needs at TypicallyNotTypical.com.

Joanna. https://www.joannaseibert.com/