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On healing
The best part of winter is the day when the hoarfrost sticks to everything. Last week it was half an inch thick on the long grasses down by the reservoir. The hoarfrost is stunning but what really takes your breath away is when the sky opens up and a shaft of sunlight splashes over the white world and all those frosty crystals reflect a brilliant light. You’d swear someone opened a bag and dropped diamonds at your feet. One day I realized that this winter has been a gift and a time of healing. The blanket of snow over the prairie, the long darkness, the colors of white and blue, of orange and grey, have wrapped themselves around me like a long hug. What made the difference was a present I gave to myself – a camera. Each shadow, tree and bale of hay became a potential photo. I began to look at the details of the way the wind bent the bulrushes, of the orange clump of berries still rooted to the branch. One fall day I was walking in the tall grass at the reservoir and crouched to photograph the lake through the grass. I looked down to get my balance and the tiniest white and yellow flowers were flourishing at the base of the grass. And I thought, “That’s me. Flourishing beneath many other bigger and more beautiful people.” I knew that I had come a ways in my healing as this idea did not bring me shame but purpose. This is my place. I remembered how often God has chosen the smallest and weakest to accomplish great things. Yes, I’ll be a flower in God’s garden. Healing moments have arrived, not because I have particularly worked hard this year, but because I am in a place where I feel relatively safe. Judith Herman in Trauma and Recovery, states that this is the first thing that needs to happen for healing to begin. Healing for me has come in many stages and places. Feel safe – heal a little more; feel unsafe – shame floods; feel safe – shame recedes. When I am in a place of safety then Herman’s next phase of remembering and mourning takes hold of me through the world of color and art. I am no Renoir but that is not the point – it is a way to express the inner world in a way that makes sense to me. Healing moments arrive as I look on the world through the lens of my camera. Trying to capture one blade of grass thick with hoarfrost, or a clump of dried up berries that even the birds won’t eat in this frozen land, or waiting for the exact moment when the colors of the sunset are at their most brilliant to snap the shutter. In these moments I seem to be able to set aside the sting of betrayal and see beauty. It is a comfort to imagine God with a camera looking around and seeing me as someone worthy to pay attention to and photograph. Healing moments arrive through music. Recently I heard the song, “I’m not ready to make nice,” by the Dixie Chicks. I had no idea why they wrote this song. I only heard myself in their lyrics and as I listened and took it in, a healing moment flooded my heart. Finally! I felt validated for not backing down when the whole family pressured me to make nice. Finally! I felt like I was given the permission to continue to speak out. And Finally! I was given permission to journey towards forgiveness in a new way. Healing moments arrive through the rituals of the church year. Last week, as I came from yoga at 7:35am the sky had some light in it. I stopped and felt my spirits lift. In a little while Lent will be here. A time set aside for reflection as the darkness of winter begins to make way for the coming of the light. This gives me hope. A hope that has its feet on the ground. A hope that knows the reality of betrayal and looks ahead with the sharp eye of realism intertwined with an open hand, firmly seeking options, ways to move out of familiar patterns. Learning to look with the heart as well as the eye – there is much goodness in the world, there are gifts all around us. And as the world begins its slow process of thawing, may you find yourself slowly letting go of the things that have frozen you into place. May you find yourself opening up to the beauty around you with wide-eyed wonder. There are safe places in the world where you can live. I mean, LIVE! Katherine Peters
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