Deep emotional healing is not something everyone experiences in this life. As I continue to reflect on the past month since I have begun this new job, I’m remembering something that came to mind when I was earlier on in my internship placements. Healing is a gift and a privilege. Everyone doesn’t have the time to invest in personal therapy or deep diving. The women at Contact were simply surviving.

It’s easy to think you have the answers. I am such a brainy person that I have to resist the impulse to constantly educate, teach, explain. So what if I recognize all of the patterns? So what if I can tell you exactly what is going on? If I have not love-the validation, the heart, the empathy-I’m simply droning on to evaporate later. If everyone would just listen to me then we could skip the long-suffering.

But there is more to healing than being taught. It is meeting people where they are at and not pushing them to be something they can’t be. I am not the catalyst for every person’s profound depth-work. I am the presence in the moment, the person who may or may not work out. This helps to take the pressure off of me and remind me the healing is in God’s hands. I am simply a vessel to hold the light and dark.

And the light and dark comes out from me because I am not made in a way to carry both features. I praise God for the ways he has driven out darkness, and inoculated me from old sins taking root. I am a captive who’s been freed to release and love the other captives. My mind has returned and strength became a different kind. I had a lighter load this week as it does take time to fill days and build cases.

A man discussed his captivity. I am both parts fascinated and completely unmoved by the predictable workings of his mind. Ages ago I wouldn’t have known my own weakness. I wouldn’t have known that this is what human beings do. I wouldn’t have been able to be free and anchored. I wish this freedom and anchoring is something everyone could know. But at the very least I bow my head in thanks to our God.

The boys and I picked up Dad from the airport after supper. He called right as we were sitting down at the table and I told him we’d be there in fifteen minutes. I picked a Matchbox 20 song to listen to on the way there. The boys had the chance to pick the next one which was I Still Haven’t Found What I’m Looking For by U2. After that I had them play the song One by U2 so that was playing when he got into the van.

He turned down the volume when he sat down. I asked if it was too loud and he pointed to the back where one of the boys who had just climbed into the back asked if someone could turn down the music. I said now we have to have our romantic reunion kiss so we kissed until the boys were politely begging us to stop. I could tell he hadn’t trimmed his beard at all because of the lip suction. So then we drove home to more songs.

For Fat Tuesday the boys stayed up until midnight playing Minecraft. Dad was not here so I led the family talk asking about what everyone is giving up. I told them that I better not have to come out there and tell them to go to bed after 12. I woke up exactly at 12AM, looked at the clock, and heard them playing in the living room. I gave it 20 more seconds and by then I was hearing sounds of laptops closing and lights shutting off.

I guess they had planned this one last move to happen right at the stroke of 12. Today was one of my work days so all three boys left in the morning for school. They were meeting Elianna at McDonalds for breakfast who was also going to pick up her brother and take him back with her to Grandma’s. We had a staff meeting today and I met the woman I share an office with. She was the only one I hadn’t met.

I’m still liking it there which is good. Really the hardest part about it all is the sitting. It just makes my body hurt so I am not quite sure what to do about that. They tell you in school that you aren’t supposed to be doing more work than the client. In one of my sessions I ended up sitting in a lot of silence and saying that this has to be something you both want in order to work. I’m ultimately not able to make that decision for them.

God mixes it up so there are easy and hard ones. Easy ones so you do not get discouraged, and hard ones to keep you humble and challenged. Afterward I came home and grabbed something for supper before heading back into town to meet the family at Our Saviors. I was expecting it to be a low attendance service like the Epiphany one, but in the parking lot and I thought it was from a sporting event.

But all those people were there for church. So that was kind of interesting. I scanned the crowd and found the kids and my mother-in-law very close to the usual spot. There was just enough room for me to fit and I got there right as they were starting ashes. In the parking lot the boys and I were walking to the vans. At first I thought they would all ride together but one of them did end up walking my way and rode with me which was sweet.

The office I’m sharing has a corner shelf full of books. One day while I had some free time I was reading through the titles and found one called, Breathing Under Water: Spirituality and the Twelve Steps by Richard Rohr. Over the past year or so I’ve become kind of obsessed with the 12 steps. I am fascinated by what seems like a radical, hard, true, and slow progression from death to life.

On the last day at Thrive as a student we sat in the supervisor’s office, he at his desk and Arya and I on the couch and chair. I was feeling like I needed some time to process the ending of this experience that had been so oddly impactful. So he said, “What do you wish would’ve been different?” I started to tear up at the unexpected question and the answer that flowed. I said, “I wish I would’ve given more for you.”

Like I wish I would’ve stepped up more and not held so much back. I said it was imbalanced and he said it was supposed to be. I didn’t go into it all, but I knew that I often took the comfortable, easy way of being quiet. Not talking in group, keeping fear in the way. Letting the phone ring, even when it rang countless times in my hand. If I ever get the chance I would do things differently.

I’ve discovered that what keeps pain alive is constant connection to one’s self. It’s easy to see when I am the outsider, and I can sit there and think gosh, I am not going to let these kind of inevitable misunderstandings and hurts take over such control of my life and relationship ever again. But in the moment the pain is real and the requires some kind of delicate handling so as not to carelessly inflict any more.

The same is true for desires, which can become a source of pain for a person, which again continues because of that connection or attachment. The wounds and desires of a person feed off of that person and remain alive in a way that keeps pain ongoing. A friend was telling me about “the Jesus box” that her counselor utilizes in sessions. It sounds completely stupid until you think about it more. I think I like it.

There has to be a healing that can take place, and a cessation of the repetitive hurting. We used to write out our sins on a piece of paper and watch as they burned at the foot of the cross. I understood the concept, but not the impact. The same idea, I think, can be used for grievances. Let’s pause for a moment, write these down, get them off of our chest and out from inside of us where they can be aired and taken away.

There is no rehashing. There is no taking sides. There is no acting as some sort of judge who is going to decide where most of the fault lies. I really think it has to start there, particularly in cases where there is a colossal heap of hurt. And if someone doesn’t like the Jesus box that is fine but the concept and truth is still the same. This is not going to fix or resolve itself while two people are carrying and impacted by pain.

We surrender these things for Jesus to carry so that our flesh is no longer their source of aliveness.

The boys had to dress up for their dinner. The youth group was helping with the Marriage Renewal event being put on by the church. They had well over 25 couples signed up. Before it was time to go I cut my son’s hair which needed trimmed and shaped up. I swept up the trimmings while he went downstairs and got dressed. They both emerged looking handsome and put together.

I would’ve gone myself but I had already told Elianna that we could watch Zorro for the day while she was gone visiting Miles. He hasn’t had any other incidents and I don’t really feel afraid of him. Dad is on his annual NLOMA work trip. He tried and brought it up multiple times for me to go with him. It was hard for me to make a plan and commit. If we were going to go somewhere I wanted it to be when he’d be more free.

I dropped him off at 3:30AM. The local airport is only 10 minutes away from our house. He found a camp friend in Chicago who’d be on the same flight to South Carolina, so that was cool. Some of the guys he used to hang out with have moved on from camp ministry, but they’ve also been replaced with friends like this one who we’ve known since teen years as well as kids who have worked here.

I was up from 2-4 watching Dawson’s Creek videos and reading tributes to the actor who played the lead role. When I would see him throughout the years in this or that social media way, I always thought he was still handsome, even more so as time went on. And as much as you could ever really know a person you’ve never even met, he seemed in real life to be a genuinely kind and humble person, the truest beauty.

Josh gave me a card and orange rose for Valentine’s Day. At least it looked orange to me in the not yet fuller morning light. He said he and my son thought it was yellow. When I saw it I had the vaguest sense that I had seen it before, and I said, “Oh, one of the fake flowers”, thinking it was one of the dried flowers the kids have pinned to their walls from my father-in-law’s funeral. Those were real, so my thought really made no sense.

“Fake?”, he asked strongly, not really offended. For the past twelve hours the rose had been sitting in a jar of water on my dresser. He said he put it there because he didn’t think I would notice it, which I apparently didn’t. I opened the card and laughed through the words, “…sometimes I’m kinda quiet, especially when I’m worried, sometimes I’m just plain stubborn when I think I’m being hurried…” I like the funny, rhyming ones.

And then he signed the card with something I’d never read before, “Thank you for being the love of my life”. Why did that feel so strong and romantic? I started telling him how Dawson’s Creek was just pure romance crack. He used the term teen soap opera which fits well too. It’s no wonder we, okay I, was so high on dock scenes at golden hour. And Katie Holmes was, gosh, so lucky. Her beauty and her kisses with Dawson and Pacey.

I never liked Joey (Katie) and Pacey together. Or Dawson and Jen and whatever love interests they introduced along the way to keep things going. At the time, Dawson and Joey had it all. The friendship, the proximity, the unconditional and timeless acceptance and love. My mind flashes back at times and remembers things I rarely think about. The letters, cards, and gifts on note cards I have never redeemed. I have always been loved.

I woke up in the middle of the night and made somewhat of a (for lack of a better term) Freudian slip. It was one of those things where something I said was bothering me, like something inside was stirring me up and saying, “think that over”. I sat up and it was one of those moments where I knew that I was supposed to talk to God about this. At that point out of nowhere I said, “Lord, heal my prayer”. I didn’t mean to say it like that.

It was just how my tongue kind of stumbled through the words in a half awake moment. But then I kept saying it and kind of like that prayer now.

It was a good day at Hope. My license finally went through this past week so that was the last thing I was waiting on in order to be fully official and done with the hoop jumping. That felt really good to have done.

My body and mind are still in a swirl from the changes. Yesterday I had three couple sessions along with two individual ones. I’m finding four to five sessions a day to be the current sweet spot, and preferably never more than four in a row. The expectation at Hope is that I will eventually average 18 sessions a week. That isn’t even possible right now because of the office space situation. I think they should have a lesser option.

Meaning an option where people could average 12-15 sessions a week, or even 10-12. With three women now who are pregnant and planning on taking maternity leave, I feel like it might be a better option for the women who might want to cut back on their hours once the babies are born. This would not be as big of a deal if I was not also trying to keep space or a day for the people at Thrive. I really enjoy my people there.

The older clients, as in the ones I’ve seen for longer, seem almost effortless compared to the new ones I’m seeing. There’s something about having to start all over, which I wouldn’t have anticipated and am learning as I go. I still really love the familiarity of Thrive while I am also really enjoying the newness and expansion of opportunities at Hope. I like that I’ve been able to jump right into gaining hours and more experience.

I just need the exhaustion to start to ease up. I feel like I’m back in that place where it’s my full time job to take care of myself. It’s fine to a point, but there are still people here who need food, attention, and a wife and mother who is functioning. I guess there is a part of me that does just need to be thankful that they can all self-manage and are fine just hanging out with each other, the guys. I just miss them and time keeps on passing.

My aunt has one of those sayings that goes something like, “If He leads you to it, He’ll lead you through it”. It’s a thought and attitude I return to and it brings me peace to be there. One of the clients from today got me thinking about what it would look like to do therapy intensives with individuals. You could spend a day or several hours doing therapy with one person which would allow for greater progress without all the breaks.

Josh came into the room and said not to ruin your day, but did you hear that James Van Der Beek died? I hadn’t. He had seen and told me the news that he had terminal cancer but that was several weeks ago. He’d already told me earlier in the week that the lead singer from 3 Doors Down had also died from a strange cancer at the age of 48. That was sad too since these were people from our youth, and of course, real life people.

Before that, I’d spent the day at Hope, came home briefly for supper, and then went back out to meet with a friend who I hadn’t seen in a while. It was time for a catch up. Something about this woman was meant to draw out my callings and I love the way we are able to talk so freely with each other. We made plans to read a book together called Unwanted: How Sexual Brokenness Reveals Our Way to Healing by Jay Stringer.

I have read it before and thought I remembered liking it but bought the paperback version recently to read again as a refresher before starting at Hope. I just haven’t gotten to it yet. Recently I was trying to figure out where the interest for this topic comes from and I really couldn’t think of any kind of a story, at first. I think it goes back to being young and having questions and wanting to know how to handle my passions.

So that would be part of it, but the other part is simply just seeing the need. People need to be able to talk about these parts of their life for the purpose of finding greater peace and healing from whatever it is that is disturbing, disrupting, or torturing them.