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Reflections on 2014

This past year was a year unlike any other as it marked a transition in my work situation. I’ve written far less blogposts during this time because it became difficult to know “what to say” as I underwent a major change in my life circumstances.

In mid-April, I left school and sat in my car and wept. I was going on medical leave for headaches and while I was (and am) incredibly grateful for the break, I felt torn and sad about leaving my school of 11 years and career of 20+ years. Staying with the decision was very difficult at first, to say the least. How could it be right when it felt so wrong? I felt I was letting many people down, especially my students. As someone who outwardly gave an optimistic face to the world, I’m sure many never guessed the turmoil and soul searching that led to the decision to say yes to what my friends and doctor were telling me.

In the nine months since this decision, I can say it has been a wise one, and probably one of the best of my life. Finding yourself in a “dark wood” (as Dante famously called a difficult time), made me dependent on God like never before, and I’m so grateful that I was not left alone in the impenetrable place of chronic headaches.

I could not have done it without many mercies that came my way. Here’s a list of the many ways God was faithful when I cried out, “Help me!”:

  • Community – God regularly provided the prayers and guidance of many people I have come to see as angels, both in and outside the church. My faith community of Watershed has given invaluable counsel, love and prayers during this time.
  • Faithful friends  – I’m grateful for two angels in particular — my friends, our pastor Paul and his wife Bev. Their counsel, much of it through email since I love writing, got me through many days of uncertainty and lostness. They 4697399154_5bcddffd3fremain an abundant source of wisdom, both in emails and in person in our community life together. As they do with so many, they stood with me and saw God in me when I felt less than human to myself. I hope that I will pass this on to others.
  • Outside help – The MB Teacher’s Society has had my back as well, giving step by step guidance and advice on how to continue, as has my wise doctor.
  • Signs – Along the way, there were also many songs, books, sermons, events, people, dreams, “synchronicities” that came my way — which continued to prove to me that I was being nudged along by an Unseen Hand. Two notable ones were:
    • When I initially went off work, I had a visceral experience in the middle of a bad night of praying “Help me” to God. It is hard to describe. It was more like God prayed it for me, bringing me to a confession that my own efforts on the spiritual journey were inadequate. When I shared this with Paul and Bev the next day, they said they had just read a meditation that morning entitled “Help me”, where a Canaanite woman in scripture begged Jesus to help her and desperately cried out when he ignored her the first time. “She pleaded again, ‘Lord, help me!’” (Matthew 15:25) At the time, it seemed like a sign that God had heard me, and it gave my heart peace. My efforts had taken me only so far on the spiritual journey before their inadequacy showed up. I’ve read that this is the goal of the crisis of faith: total surrender. A knowledge that, like the AA people say, we are completely dependent on a Higher Power. I know surrender is a lifelong process, but this moment was pivotal.
    • I discovered the song “Wasteland” from the group Needtobreathe, which perfectly articulated where I was at.
  • Meditation Room – The advice from Paul to spend each day “writing, reading and praying” in my meditation room was truly the best of all. I’m certainly no saint with a glowing halo. It’s more like I have discovered that a more contemplative life has been restorative, and has helped me take an honest look at the deeper roots of my health issues. For someone who has led a very extroverted life, the meditation room has become a magnet for me. One of the books I read this year was a historical fiction of the life of Julian of Norwich, a 14th century mystic who spent most of her life cloistered in a “cell” (a room)  beside a church as an “anchoress”. I began to see the meditation room as my “cell”, and it remains my favorite place to be every day.
  • Learning to use my inside voice – As I’ve written in the last blogpost, my headaches, while not gone altogether, have been eased by learning how anxious my people-pleasing had made me. Now I’ve just got to keep practicing what I’m oh so slowly learning.
  • St. Aidan’s Christian School – I was resistant at first, but as part of my “rehabilitation”, MTS mandated that I begin to volunteer. From talking to someone at Habitat one summer years ago, I learned about  a small independent school servicing immigrant students called St. Aidan’s, and chose that as my place to volunteer. I’m now up to 4 half days per week (soon to be 5), teaching English as an additional language one on one. I have been so grateful to have found a new home there, somewhere I can continue to work with young people. Grateful because for so long, I didn’t know what kind of future was left for me. I’ve felt a bit like an immigrant myself, having left the “old country” of my former work. The administrator there has been so welcoming to me (as she is to all the students), and being out of the class environment has been helpful in easing the headaches. My Jewish friends Arthur and Debbie have a Hebrew word, “bashert”, which means “meant to be.” I feel that my being led to St. Aidan’s has a “bashert” feel about it.
  • Reading – Besides writing my way through the dark wood, reading has provided another flashlight. Here are my favorite fiction and non-fiction books of the year:

I did many monarch releases in 2014, but one stands out for me. In July, our monarch committee did our annual workshop, and this year had been scheduled to take place in the school I’d just left. It stirred up all kinds of feelings to return. As usual for our workshops, we held a monarch release at the end.

I found myself in the gardens I’d planted, saying good-bye to the monarchs with the

Photo by Holli Webb Hearn

Photo by Holli Webb Hearn

adult workshop participants and children from the daycare. As usual, I invite people to say a prayer, which the monarchs can “wing their way to their Creator”. It’s a speech I’ve given countless times, but this time I could barely get through without getting choked up. I offered up a silent prayer for myself, and for everyone who is searching for a way out of a dark wood.

Those monarchs flew well that day. Just look what kind of a Creator we have. One who answers prayers with such abundance, and with far greater imagination than I ever could have.


For the past 3 months, I have been living the life of a hermit. Some might think this is a dream life, but it’s not as trouble-free as it seems.

When I was a kid, a life of solitude appealed to me. I spent countless time imagining that I could live by myself in the bathroom. I had it all figured out. The bathtub would serve as a bed to sleep in. I’d have enough water to drink, and I could relieve myself and take a bath whenever I wanted! A tiny window high on the wall would give me enough fresh air. The problem of a lack of food or company did not trouble me. I thought this tiny world would be perfect.

booksIt was the same interior world which made me long for the days off of school, which I would lovingly plan by stacking my bedside table high with books to read and color in the morning. A day with nothing to do but be with my books seemed the highest possible way to live.

When I went off work in mid-April, my pastor Paul gave me a few suggestions for living in the silence of days. The recipe was simple. He suggested that every day I read, write, and pray to ask God for guidance in my activities. It felt like such a relief compared to how I’d been living, which had drained me to the point of illness. The green meditation room has been a place of much soul searching and where I’ve been met with God, but it has not been an easy place.

My headaches have gone through periods of respite, but continue to pay regular visits. Lately they are worse again. Facing the frustration of illness in silent reflection is a challenge and some days it’s all I can do just to stay put and not run away into busy activity in a vain attempt to get away from the discomfort.

I realized if it were up to me, I would want two things – a life free of headaches, and meditation which is only peaceful. Blissful union with God 24/7.

Since I can achieve neither of these things, I have had to take another look, and thankfully, I’ve had a good coach in author David Benner. He writes about how to let our surface desires point us to our deeper longings.

Take headaches for instance. Despite my best efforts (and there’s been tons), they are still out of my control, and I usually think of this situation as ugly and irredeemable. My first response is usually frustration, and it’s hard to shake the feeling that I’m a loser.

In the midst of this God reminds me that there are no losers in God’s kingdom, and that I am loved in the “no-matter-whatness” of life, as Greg Boyle puts it. Even when I want to write myself off, I encounter love again and again, in community and in times alone with God. Hopefully one day I’ll believe it fully and see myself only as God sees me.

So, instead of desiring a life free from headaches, a deeper desire is to ask for the gift of trust that God can be with me in any difficult situation. I’d rather have a life of meaning than a life free of trouble.

In my other surface desire for only the bliss of meditation and none of the difficulty, I realize I am asking for a superficial happiness. Society promotes it inaccurately as the goal of solitude, but it’s actually not real or lasting.

Instead of desiring only blissful meditation, my deeper longing is for the kind of solitude that Jesus experienced. He went into the

Artwork by Ramone Romero

Artwork by Ramone Romero

desert and God was there, but so was the Devil, with all the temptations known to humankind. But because Jesus was rooted in his relationship to God, he knew that God would protect him and deepen him. Jesus knew that his Father was more powerful than any troubles that got lobbed his way. He knew that God would show him the way to lasting happiness, the kind that is forged on the anvil of suffering and not dependent on pleasant circumstances.

Jesus’ character was formed by God as hope and suffering joined hands. This is what I want. “Such hope,” says author Peter Gomes, “gets us through and beyond the worst that can happen.”  This kind of hope is not in people, but in God, who promises never to abandon us. With that kind of hope, all suffering can be borne and overcome.

My idea of a room of solitude as a kid wasn’t a bad one. What I know now, is something I probably knew as a child, but forgot for many years in between, and that is that God is in the solitude. I’m not alone.

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