A “wreath” of reflection, making, and owning
This week, I share some reflections
on grief and healing as well as on
wreath-making, and how to be
grateful in the loss (if desired).
Happy Thanksgiving to my American friends.
With love,
Jessie
I've seen in my own life that grief and loss can slowly harden a heart if grief and loss are not paired with perspective and forgiveness. And, oh, how this is a journey.
Perspective and forgiveness are not words to simply be thrown around. From an understanding found deep in the bones and belly of the body, I hear and see my own limitations and woundedness. The journey from acting from those way to healing from those ways rests in an acknowledgment: that I can and do act from a wounded heart. The only way I have found that gives me sight and hearing—helping to unlock the wisdom and knowledge found in those bones—is the Way of Life. I find the fullness of that Way, Truth, and Life in the embodied Christ Jesus. (Who was body, had a body, and bled and rose. And Who invites me to recognize my body, that I have a body, that I bleed, and an invitation to live again—not from my ways, but his ways.)
Life can be so messy.
Oh, so messy.
Often when there is a personal tragedy, the closest relationships that we are in need of most are often the ones that become most stressed, incapacitating the greatest gift they hold: loving another with a big perspective, gentleness, and compassion.
It is a real loss when those in grief may isolate themselves further from taking out their anger on others. Perhaps it is an even greater loss when those others may not be able to understand the loss for their own personal reasons. And still yet, perhaps the greatest loss is when a heart hardens and deafens its ability to hear and be massaged by the gentle voice of Love who cares about every teardrop shed.
Help me, Lord, to not be my own prison cell—keeping myself safe in the absurdity and often in the uncontrollable and unintentional ways. Be my compassion and be near me as you are the only one who can understand, who knows my ways, and knows the generational cacophony in which I find myself in (and in which gives sound to my tones and rise to my motivations). And how much more is this the case in my grief. Heal not just me, but all of me. Heal the generations passed—so that the generations present and future can live in and with a true and abiding spirit of perspective and forgiveness, truth and compassion with one other. Or in the very least, from one heart to You. From mine to yours. Comfort those that hurt and may hearts be softened, opened, and hearing. May our hearts simply ‘be’ in your presence with the ability to deeply mourn all the loss there is, especially the loss that may still be living underneath experiences and emotions yet to be discovered. And may we experience the comfort of the silences in and with You—the holiest and holiness of Love.
wreath making
I have recently appreciated making wreaths—it first started when I finally saw wisteria as a gift rather than a bother. Her beautifully braided vines could actually become a beautiful wreath, I thought. And so I set out to work on not just pruning but bundling, braiding, and abiding with appreciation for the malleable material in my hands.
I once heard these words from an old friend:
nothing is ever wasted.
I believe this to be true—especially
in the pruning process:
all pieces still hold beauty,
even those that feel ugly, piercing,
or incredibly hard.
This isn't just about holding a "positive"perspective—
it is about living from a breathing, creative one.
With creativity—
a heart is malleable material
that can be reshaped, recreated from the
Creator itself.
Being recreated is its own
gestational journey
but the new body will no doubt be one full of
peace, compassion, sight, and hearing.
(Indeed, a true and new creation!)
I appreciate that the wreaths
are circles—symbolizing the fullness
of death to life,
going low into a valley
and at some point,
rising up to meet the Beginning.
Do I find my source of life in the Source? In the Creator incarnate that was like me but not me? Do I tend to seek approval, affection, and affirmation, ironically, from others rather than from Love itself?
The answer deep down is yes. I can be scared to make a mistake. I live with a lot of fear. This isn’t usually conscious—but deeply subconscious. Like in the muscles that guide the hand. I also can experience shaming that’s embedded in a sigh, an eye roll, gossip, or unspoken obligations that tag along (and plague) a relationship. So when I live from my way—this way of ‘relating’—I can seek out approval (unknowingly) by, for example, not bringing something up or not living into an uncomfortable situation. This then results in me finding my life source from another instead of the Great Other.