Contemplation: Finding the place in you where you are here and now being created by God. Thomas Merton.
This weeks contemplation: Productive Rest
This week I am taking a moment to pause and rest.
If you read my newsletter last week you’ll know that it’s been a tough couple of weeks for me, and this week is no different.
I have found myself in an anxiety and panic flare-up triggered by old memories.
It’s funny how ghosts can have such an effect on your present day, but I am learning to hold fast to what is true (my post from two weeks ago on building your life on a “firm foundation of truth” is definitely being put to the test) and to let the emotions move through me, like wind between the trees.
Even though it has been a struggle, and at times filled me with an ice cold fear, even here I can praise Jesus.
I hardly ever suffer from anxiety anymore, I have been healed from depression and dissociation, I am surrounded by people who love me and pray for me, and I have had times of such deep peace I’ve felt basically back to normal. God really is good.
It’s times like these, when you feel tested, exhausted, confused, anxious and unsure — it’s good to be a little more gentle with yourself.
I’ve been conscious not to push myself this week, to sleep more, drink less coffee, spend more time with my family and boyfriend, to laugh and to cry (when needed). I call this Productive Rest - finding space for rest while still working and attending to your life (prevents the big adrenal burnout).
Remaining soft while experiencing fear is difficult.
Keeping your eyes on what is true when your mind is telling you lies is difficult.
But it’s so worth it. You can walk through these moments with peace and integrity while acknowledging your limitations and need for healing and rest.
It’s a tricky balance, but Jesus is right here with you, walking in the midst of it.
The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases;
his mercies never come to an end;
they are new every morning;
great is your faithfulness.Lamentations 3:22-23
This week I want to share two pieces of prose from my little book of poetry, Of Love and Lilac, one on grief and the other on trauma.
The first one, “Love, Death & Roses” I wrote after my grandmother1 died back in May 2021. While grief isn’t always from a death, the process of healing, I believe, is the same.
The second, “Eulogy” is a short story type piece I wrote to re-frame the place of trauma in my life, written back in 2019.
I have found that writing is the best medicine for the soul, and has the power to help shift and heal places within our hearts that need some love.
I hope these pieces benefit you this week as they have me.
LOVE, DEATH & ROSES
Something happens when a loved one dies,
something horrible
& yet also—magical.
All the years of love
collected like tears in a bottle,
through moments & words
& glances & hugs & time spent
drinking champagne through years of laughter,
—all of it comes brimming to the surface of our heart.
For you see
our heart is a garden,
the most lush garden of life & love
pain & tears
hope & fears
& filled with all manner of wild & wonderful things.
That brimming of grief is a bursting of collected love,
& it rises within us like a sea-salt spring
ready to water
new seeds of love to life.
And so,
what feels like a breaking
is actually a b l o o m i n g,
what feels like bleeding
is actually w a t e r i n g,
& what feels like death
is actually l i f e.
So let the brimming happen & rise
& be as tears
rolling tidal down your face.
Let them soak the pillow (& your friends’ shoulder),
for where the earth of your heart was once rent
like freshly dug graves,
—soon
the roses will grow.
EULOGY
It is quiet and still as I walk through the graveyard this night. A chill wind blows catching my hair in its grasp—familiar, an old friend just coming to say hello.
My feet know where to go, I have been here many times before, and yet my heart beats quicker, fluttering within my chest like a wild bird caged against her will. I walk past lines of head stones, I know each name carved on the old cold marble—after all, I was the one who buried them.
I come to the grave I'm looking for and, with shaky hands, pull the letter out from my black coat pocket.
. . .
My Dear Trauma,
When we first met, I must admit, I was afraid of you. You were cloaked in shadow, a darkness always behind me whispering lies in my ear, causing me to second guess my worth. Some days your whisper was so loud all I could do was cry.
One day you decided to visit when I least expected it. Just a song brought you back, the ground rumbled below, and before I had time to slam the music off you were there; hand bursting forth, clawing your way to the surface of my waking mind, dirt still in your yellowing teeth. Memories consumed me and pulled me under—heartbreaking grief, a flood of tears so strong I couldn’t breathe.
I grieved for the woman in that room listening to that song. I grieved for the day her dreams would be reduced to ash at her feet as she fell to her knees and wept. I cried and cried those ancient tears, until my body ached and fell limp upon the bed.
My dear Trauma, you were there in every tear falling to the floor in hopeless waves, and yet, you were also there in my standing back up.
I used to think you were a messenger of pain, a vulture of woe circling around my head looking for the corpses of hurts to feed on. But I was wrong. If every tear and every anxiety filled, over-thinking moment has taught me anything, it is that you were there to warn me, not hurt me.
You are like a magnificent knight protecting me from the same pain again, valiantly running into a battle I do not know is raging around me until your signal of tears. And so, I want to thank you, for defending me and for warning me of a danger which I do not see.
It is with greatest thankfulness that I say goodbye to you now. May your sleep be one of peace, filled with the sweetest dreams of me at ease.
. . .
And with that, I bow my head in thankful reverence and lay the wildflowers at the base of the head stone.
My dear Trauma, at peace at last.
May today be the day to lay wildflowers in the graveyard of your hurts.
With so much love,
x Zara
This is my Gran, Marjory. The most sunshine woman you could ever meet. Just look at her!
Oh me too. I love thinking that there are placing in me where God is continuing His work of creation
I love that quote by Thomas Merton. ♥️