Being Held Securely

Kind of awestruck here .  . . realizing that letting go and holding on permeate this life. Try as we do, our attempts to hold on are about as successful as carrying fists full of watery sand with us.

Again, I think of Michelangelo’s “Creation of Adam” on the Sistine Chapel ceiling.

Bound to existence in human bodies, we want to claim and keep, only to realize how temporary days, seasons and lives are.

I believe that God placed us here and extends His hand toward us, ever so closely. We can see life from new perspectives when we turn our eyes toward Creator instead of focusing on ourselves. And sometimes, we can even be aware that we’ve brushed up against something beautiful and holy.

As I’ve faced countless moments of holding on and letting go, this advice has been of great help:

“Whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy—think about such things."-Philippians 4:8

And as life has knocked me around, as life is wont to do, I've kept my eyes looking beyond the easily visible to a higher power and have been able to proclaim:

“Do not rejoice over me, O my enemy. Though I fall I will rise. Though I dwell in darkness, the Lord is the light for me.”–Micah 7:8

My blog is going to pause for some yet undetermined period of time now as I set aside writing for living, singing Who am I by Casting Crowns.

Today and always, may God hold you in the palm of His hand.

This blog post is part of a series of writing (May 31-June 2012) by Tammy Fletcher Bergland about holding on and letting go.   tbergland.blogspot.com

Letting Go to Death

Death . . . the final letting go, an experience that belongs to all who live. We can try to come to terms with it. We can fail at running from it. We can ignore. Those amongst us who hold to Christ are certain that bodily death is a step into eternal life, which softens the letting go but does not eliminate the grieving.

Death begged to be mentioned as I near the end of this particular walk through the theme of holding on and letting go.

Here is a song that always makes me smile (with tears) as I think of saying farewell to well-loved kindred travelers.

The Gathering of Spirits 
from Carrie Newcomer's The Gathering of Spirits Album

Let it go my love my truest,

Let it sail on silver wings.

Life’s a twinkling that’s for certain,

But it’s such a fine thing.

There’s a gathering of spirits;

There’s a festival of friends.

And we’ll take up where we left off

When we all meet again.

I can’t explain it. I couldn’t if I tried.

How the only things we carry

Are the things we hold inside

Like a day in the open,

Like the love we won’t forget,

Like the laughter that we started

And hasn’t died down yet.

Oh yeah, now didn’t we?

And don’t we make it shine?

Aren’t we standing in the center of

Something rare and fine?

Some glow like embers,

Or light through colored glass.

Some give it all in one great flame,

Throwing kisses as they pass

East of Eden . . .

But there’s heaven in our midst.

And we’re never really all that far

From those we love and miss.

Wade out in the water;

There’s a glory all around.

The wisest say there’s a thousand ways

To kneel and kiss the ground.

Let it go my love my truest,

Let it sail on silver wings.

Life’s a twinkling that’s for certain,

But it’s such a fine thing.

There’s a gathering of spirits;

There’s a festival of friends.

And we’ll take up where we left off

When we all meet again.

*Note: I’m not claiming that the words here are exactly in line with scripture as I understand it . . . but I think it is a beautiful expression of letting go and holding on . . . and I've not yet been to heaven to know for sure what it will be like:-)

This blog post is part of a series of writing (May 31-June 2012) by Tammy Fletcher Bergland about holding on and letting go.   tbergland.blogspot.com

Holding to Stories From Survivors

I like to read writing of substance; often the thicker the book, the better for me. Even so, I’ve discovered that not all worthwhile stories are in books heavy enough to be used as anchor weights in a storm. Regardless of my usual preferences, good stories aren’t necessarily literary or lengthy.

I find that survival stories can be powerful. I’m not talking about today’s real-life TV kind of survival stories. I’m talking about stories that people tell as they reflect on difficult times that could have broken them, such as these few examples:

-Many voices (holocaust survivors)

-Stories from Hiroshima, survivors memories collected and told by John Hersey 

-Dave Pelzer (child abuse survivor) 

-Kien Nguyen (son of an American soldier and a Vietnamese woman, unwanted in South Vietnam) 

-Lost Boys of Sudan (genocide survivors)

All of the above folks lived through times much harsher than any life I’ve experienced or want to experience. While it brings me no comfort to know that others have faced unfathomable and almost unspeakable events, I find wisdom and strength and hope in their stories. They are experts in letting go, holding on, and carrying on with life.

I’ve discovered survivors all over the place. They walk amongst you and me every day. Few of them write their stories; they just live their lives day by day. Survivors often have a quiet strength borne through suffering. Simple and humble, they can be . . . and worthy of being heard. I suggest we listen to the survivors amongst us, honor their experiences, learn from them, and use their stories to help make the world a better place.

What survival stories have you found especially remarkable?

Are you a survivor of times that you know could easily have consumed all that you are? Might your story be able to light the way for someone else in this big and challenging world? Tell someone who needs to hear, and let the hard road you’ve walked through help another along the way.

This blog post is part of a series of writing (May 31-June 2012) by Tammy Fletcher Bergland about holding on and letting go.   tbergland.blogspot.com

Seeing the Grasp Change

Ill-Fated

Criss-crossed

Obliviously lost

a boy

a girl

Watch future unfurl.

Hour. Day.

Ages away

Until the moment of insight

When unconsidered could-have-been

Stands clearly

Never to be.
                                     -Me

Midlife, where I and many of you are, is a natural time of life to evaluate hopes and dreams. Some visions will continue to call us forward. We'll set our paths in some exciting new directions. And there may be some well-worn desires that need to be released, hopefully remaining as more sweet than bitter could-have-beens.

Wishing us all (regardless of our age) the wisdom to know what to grasp and what to release when the time is ripe.

This blog post is part of a series of writing (May 31-June 2012) by Tammy Fletcher Bergland about holding on and letting go.   tbergland.blogspot.com

Readjusting the Grip

During the months after my first round of cancer battles, I pushed to carry on with life as I knew it. I don’t know how successful I was; memories are hazy. Mostly, I remember being unable to communicate what I needed to say in word or song or prayer, staring at walls for hours that seemed like moments, and playing this song over and over and over . . .

Lying at the bottom

I can clearly see the top

Pressed against this firm foundation

I count none of this as loss

As I struggle up each mountain

With every bloody knee

I am often prone to stumble

It’s this rock that catches me

It’s this rock that tells me

That’s what valleys are for

It’s from here that we measure

Just how far we must go

You don’t know how tall you stand

Until you fall

Mountains cast a shadow

At times it’s hard to tell

Will the darkness overtake you

Will you succeed or fall

Though I’ve climbed a thousand mountains

Stood upon their peaks

I still draw my greatest comfort

From the rock that lies beneath

It’s this rock that tells me

That’s what valleys are for

It’s from here that we measure

Just how far we must go

You don’t know how tall you stand

Until you fall

-Eli/ “Valleys” from Second-Hand Clothing album

I thank God for all who share the light you’ve been given. Hold it tightly and high for all to see!

This blog post is part of a series of writing (May 31-June 2012) by Tammy Fletcher Bergland about holding on and letting go.   tbergland.blogspot.com

Limbo

There was a time when I stopped caring, a time when I couldn’t care.

I could breathe.  And I did. And that was enough.

I always thought depression meant sadness. Turns out there’s a land more remote than sadness. Sadness requires emotion. Emotion requires caring.

Before I journeyed away from myself, I believed not caring indicated ill-will towards someone, something. As it happens, not caring doesn’t have to be directed towards anyone or anything.

Not caring is like being away in the prison of the mind while familiar shapes and noise bustle around on the outside, watched, but otherworldly.

Time moves strangely in such a place. Even time is unreal.

God can be there. I’ve walked with Him there, through that place, and back to this life I’m living again.

I’m looking at you through the glass,

Don’t know how much time has passed

Oh God it feels like forever, but no one tells you that

Forever feels like home, sitting all alone inside your head

‘Cause I’m looking at you through the glass,

Don’t know how much time has passed

All I know is that it feels like forever, but no one ever tells you that

Forever feels like home, sitting all alone inside your head . . .

How do you feel? That is the question . . .

But I forget you don’t expect an easy answer

When something like a soul becomes initialized and folded up like

Paper dolls and little notes, you can’t expect a lot of hope

So while you’re outside looking in, describing what you see

Remember what you’re staring at is me.

‘Cause I’m looking at you through the glass,

Don’t know how much time has passed

All I know is that it feels like forever, but no one ever tells you that

Forever feels like home, sitting all alone inside your head . . .

- from Stone Sour/ “Through Glass” from Come Whatever May album

My experiences with depression were temporary, a result of other medical conditions (not that I had an understanding of that at the time). Not everyone has the same experience with depression, but depression is prevalent in our country. In 2012, one inten U.S. Adults reported living with depression of various types.

If you are losing or have lost yourself in depression, I encourage you to let someone know.

    People who care:

            Family

            Friends

    Resources in your community:

Churches

Doctors

            Hospitals

            Hospice

Social Services

    Support Groups:

Alcoholics Anonymous

Grief Support Groups

Narcotics Anonymous 

    Support Groups for various illnesses/ conditions

Reach out. Hold on. Life continues, and I pray for us all to feel like part of it.

This blog post is part of a series of writing (May 31-June 2012) by Tammy Fletcher Bergland about holding on and letting go.   tbergland.blogspot.com

Holding to Joy Through Tough Times

For those of you who know me, you know I’m a genuinely joyful person, so you may wonder where all these uncomfortably sad or hard topics are coming from. Joy is so much more than happiness. Joy transcends difficulties. Both letting go and holding on can threaten to rip a person apart; the subjects simply can’t be covered in a lighthearted way. Hope brings lightness, but journeys through life’s valleys can threaten to buckle a person under the weight of the load. Period.

I remembered hugging my boys as they left for school earlier that morning, when our lives were normal.

Standing at the bank counter, I played the part of normal, smiling at a tan man, a pregnant woman, people talking about 3-month and 6-month CDs as though future days would certainly arrive.

For the first time, I understood that an off-the-cuff, “How are you?” can strike the air from one’s lungs. I answered the question with a lie and knew I was forever changed.

Just an hour earlier, the doctor said the lump in my neck was cancer. I didn’t know how a person with cancer was supposed to feel or act. I wondered how I would tell my boys or hold my husband or look in the mirror.

I walked to my car from the bank so very aware of life, other people’s lives that would continue regardless of what happened to my body, knowing that life was good and mysterious and powerful. The previously undetected black, life-swallowing lump in my neck throbbed just a little, already having altered my life and the lives of others in yet unknown ways.

“My flesh and my heart may fail, but God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever.”-Psalm 73:26

*Note: This is a memory/ not the present . . . cancer still here. We co-exist. Life is rich. But you can bet my vision has changed.

This blog post is part of a series of writing (May 31-June 2012) by Tammy Fletcher Bergland about holding on and letting go.   tbergland.blogspot.com

Falling While Holding on Tightly

When I got the call at home that my brother-in-law had been in a car accident, was in a coma, and was being life-flighted with much uncertainty if he would live until we could get to him, I moved.

Quickly and efficiently, I calculated and followed through on what needed to be done, trying to keep order. With our preschooler at the end of my arm, I stepped into a college computer lab while my professor husband was administering a final exam. He needed to be told about his brother.

As words came out of my mouth, I watched my husband’s eyes close and his knees drop, pulling me and our boy into a silent, but groaning, prayerful huddle as the students clicked their computer keys in the background. I had been doing. My man knew to hold to the only hope his brother had.

Being knocked (or pulled) to one’s knees can bring a person powerfully to God.

When God is all I’ve had, I’ve realized that God is all I’ve ever had, all any of us have ever really had.

Have you been there?

This blog post is part of a series of writing (May 31-June 2012) by Tammy Fletcher Bergland about holding on and letting go.   tbergland.blogspot.com

Dangling While Needing to be Held

Time for some Michael Card . . . I LOVE THIS MAN’S SOUL!

It’ll drive a man crazy; it’ll break a man’s faith,

It’s enough to make him wonder if he’s ever been sane

When he’s bleating for comfort from Thy staff and Thy rod

And the heaven’s only answer is the silence of God.

It’ll shake a man’s timbers when he loses his heart,

When he has to remember what broke him apart;

This yoke may be easy, but this burden is not

When the crying fields are frozen by the Silence of God.

But when you have to listen to the voices of the mob

Who are reeling in the throes of all the happiness they’ve got,

When they tell you all their troubles have been nailed up to that cross,

Then what about the times when even followers get lost?

‘Cause we all get lost sometimes . . .

There’s a statue of Jesus on a monastery knoll

In the hills of Kentucky, all quiet and cold;

He’s kneeling in the garden, as silent as a stone

All His friends are sleeping, and He’s weeping all alone.

And the man of all sorrows, He never forgot

What sorrow is carried by the hearts that He bought;

So when the questions dissolve into the silence of God,

The aching may remain, but the breaking does not,

The aching may remain, but the breaking does not,

In the holy, lonesome echo of the silence of God.

-sung by Michael Card/ “The Silence of God” from the Hidden Face of God album

This blog post is part of a series of writing (May 31-June 2012) by Tammy Fletcher Bergland about holding on and letting go.   tbergland.blogspot.com

Holding To a Higher Power Together

The Ache of Recovery

So here you come without your falsehoods;

Now you bow with aching truth,

Saying this time you’re repenting,

Claiming sorrow as your proof.

I wish for some way to believe you,

But I know I never will.

You’re the one who broke me,

And I’m broken still.

I remember before the deception,

Before this one and all the rest,

When our hopes were new and many,

Before they hadn’t faced such hard tests.

Your words I took forthrightly

Until I learned that lies could kill.

They slashed me open, poured my trust out,

And I’m broken still.

As I live, I heal without you;

As I breathe, I mend for me.

I don’t want to live shattered, doubting.

I will live and will live free.

If you want to still walk beside me,

You must really change today.

Bend your knees and cry out to heaven;

God show you the way.

I see your face, so sad and downcast,

Haggard shadow of what I used to see

When our hopes were new and many,

Before I was gasping to break free.

I pray that I should believe you,

Find discernment and the will

To kneel beside you and face this together.

I love you still.

As we live, let’s heal together.

As we change, let’s bend our knees.

Let’s not live broken, unforgiving;

Let’s hold to truth and both live free.

If we’re to journey with each other,

This must end before it kills.

Walk with God. Pour our pride out.

He loves us still.

                                          -Me

Holding on/letting go is hard for one person. It sometimes takes a whole extra level of strength to negotiate such things through the complexity of relationship. Hmm? May we all have wisdom and strength as we hold to relationship through the ups and downs of life!

Disclaimer: My husband was NOT in my mind when I wrote this poem, and he graciously agreed for me to use a photo of our hands from our wedding day as the photo here.

This blog post is part of a series of writing (May 31-June 2012) by Tammy Fletcher Bergland about holding on and letting go.   tbergland.blogspot.com

Letting Go With Purpose

 

Do you know anger? Anger that you swallow and feel tightly constricting your stomach, a constant tightness in the center of yourself that makes you want to wail loudly to the skies?

I struggle with such anger sometimes, and when I do, I can stuff it deep and refuse to release it or the anguish behind it. I’ve carried such heaviness for different seasons, and it wears on a life.

The anger in my case is triggered by hurt. I love deeply, and when someone I love hurts, I hurt. When I watch someone I love struggle, suffer or die while knowing his hurt could have been prevented, I downright seethe. I guess I allow rage to eat away at me because, somehow, I feel like I’m in control of rage. I’m afraid of unleashing despair, a hopeless darkness in response to lives that could have been better. The despair I refuse to unleash is bigger than I am. If I give in to it, I fear it will destroy me; I’ll have no control over anything. Having no control in the midst of despair terrifies me.

I want the people I love to live good lives, to experience joy, to know hope. But that doesn’t always happen.

I can’t control other people, even to keep them safe. I can’t control circumstances outside of my power. I’m in control of very little, if anything, other than my own choices. No one is.

And so I’m working on transforming my rage and black despair into mourning . . . something lighter. Grieving is letting go . . . a sad letting go.

I have to release those I love and myself to a higher power. And there, in that higher power, I see hope for us all.

Click here and drink in “My Hope is In You," performed by Aaron Shust.

“Jesus said: ‘I am the light of the world. Whoever follows me will never walk in darkness, but will have the light of life.”-John 8:12

This blog post is part of a series of writing (May 31-June 2012) by Tammy Fletcher Bergland about holding on and letting go.   tbergland.blogspot.com

Gripping What Needs to be Released

Asleep at the Wheel

Somewhere

Someone

Drives though the night,

Staying awake in spite of the

Black wooshing wind,

Dark sleeping tunes,

Headlights that blend into

One long stream of

Blindness—

Wrong for this darkness,

And closes her eyes for

One sleeping second

Lured into blackness,

Calmed by

Noises shifting to silence and

Cradles

Me into

Dreams of

Someone

Reading at night in my

Comfortable chair at

Home where it’s

So safe to doze off when

All the world’s sleeping.

I float

Sleeping and

Dreaming of

Driving myself through a

Long night full of wind and blurred lights on a

road where

Someone is driving--

Falling asleep at the wheel, an

Accident not yet happened.
                                             -Me

For over a decade of my early adulthood, I carried too much, rested too little, pushed too hard. I think I wanted to do it all and do it all perfectly. Ignoring the body I live in, I stayed up late, woke up early, and rationalized that my too-little sleep was enough. Night drives pretty much guaranteed I would doze off at the wheel; eventually, I progressed to nodding off during daytime drives, squinting from sunshine.

But I changed when my boys were born.

Or at least I thought I did. I learned to pull over when I was drowsy. I learned to avoid long drives alone with them. I let my husband drive at night.

I wanted to be the perfect parent. And the perfect wife. And the perfect teacher. And so I worked into the nights and got up with the babies and awoke before the house stirred to get head starts that didn’t seem to get anyone any farther ahead.

One day I opened my eyes after a 3-hour, nightmarish struggle to awake from a nap I had fallen unwillingly into to realize my little guys had been left unattended, unprotected, open to danger. And God opened my eyes:

“Unless the Lord builds the house,

    its builders labor in vain.

Unless the Lord watches over the city,

    the watchmen stand guard in vain.

In vain you rise early and stay up late,

    toiling for food to eat—

For he grants sleep to those He loves.” –Psalm 127:1-2

New course charted. This irresponsible driver gave over the wheel, and God absolutely grants me sleep, energy, and refreshment as I carry on. Admittedly, though, this imperfect woman still tries to grab the wheel back, only to be taught the same lesson again. I can be a slow learner.

What about you? What are you holding on to that really needs to be laid aside?

This blog post is part of a series of writing (May 31-June 2012) by Tammy Fletcher Bergland about holding on and letting go.   tbergland.blogspot.com

Letting Go Defeatedly

Laundromat Attendant

And the change pressed her hard

in the middle like an

age-hardened collar

been left in the closet too long

to be crisp like the

spark that she was before duties and dimes and dust

of the laundry

dried the bundle of dreams

she carried so long

until dryer made dampness

crept into her visions

and driers and washers

folded her

days

in

to

their clothing.
                      -Me

May we attend to each other more than we attend to lesser details.

This blog post is part of a series of writing (May 31-June 2012) by Tammy Fletcher Bergland about holding on and letting go.   tbergland.blogspot.com

Looking for Something to Hold

More Than Flesh

Mortality takes

Dying for living as though

We weren’t born to

Die as if we

Don’t die to live

Winded by

Rushing now,

We gasp

To conceive inspiration

And often miss

Vision beyond sight

Language beyond speech

Oh, for still sense

of More

than blurred presence

of more that radiates

unseen

unheard

and more than

flesh.

                    -Me

So let us know, let us press on to know the Lord. His going forth is as certain as the dawn, and He will come to us like the rain, like the spring rain watering the earth.-Hosea 6:3

This blog post is part of a series of writing (May 31-June 2012) by Tammy Fletcher Bergland about holding on and letting go.   tbergland.blogspot.com

Seeing Nothing to Hold

Stray One

Breathing summer nights

of endless stars and noisy silence

sighing a frenzied dance of stillness

homeless and loveless

an eternity from heaven

Once below a present time,

he might have

made a difference

had a purpose

an identity

But now,

air is his haunt

ground his rest

remains his unfill

Others stare through cares

not his

He knows his memory

dreams

past

reality

and hears a humming infinity in each moment

bound to earth

as a dog

             -Me

Prayers for eyes to see hope. . . for all of us.

This blog post is part of a series of writing (May 31-June 2012) by Tammy Fletcher Bergland about holding on and letting go.   tbergland.blogspot.com

What Do People Hold On To?

Imaginary Family Feud game show time again!

Yesterday, I asked you to imagine a game show question centered on what people let go of.

Today, our imaginary game show host voice asks: “What do people hold on to? Top Google search answers below:”

(Imagine answers revealing themselves one-at-a-time in some intriguing way.)

            -Parachute

            -Hat

            -Security

            -One’s Center/ One’s Self

            -Higher Power

            -Thread

            -Loved Ones

            -Job

            -Beliefs

            -Nothing in particular . . . just holding on

            -Information

            -Health

            -Money

I will definitely hold on to my parachute if my husband ever wears down my defenses and gets me to go skydiving, and I hold on to my hat if I’m ever wearing one and it’s trying to run off. I might say I’m hanging on by a thread sometimes. But I really wasn’t thinking of those kinds of things when I asked what people hold on to.

The other items on this list are certainly things that people (myself included) expend much energy and emotion clutching. Holding on to some things is hugely important. Other things really aren’t as important and probably shouldn’t be grasped as tightly as we might be doing.

And then, there are those things/people that we’ve never picked up to hold that we really should.

I’d love to hear what you’d add to our game show list above.

Knowing what to hold and what to release isn’t always as easy as I may have made it sound. Life decisions and actions can be confusing. The voices inside our heads and being thrown towards us from the outside are not unlike congressional bills, with all the special interest strings attached, whose urgings could result in us picking up or putting down things that we don’t want to change as we attempt to address the main decision of the moment.

Such moments of decision are darned good times for the famous Serenity Prayer.

You know, even though I’m guilty of saying it, upon reflection, “Just hold on . . . “ isn’t really good advice. It doesn’t even make sense. “Holding on,” by it’s very nature requires something to be held to. Holding to nothing . . . I think that’s about as far as the popular “just hold on” phrase gets us.

This blog post is part of a series of writing (May 31-June 2012) by Tammy Fletcher Bergland about holding on and letting go.   tbergland.blogspot.com