Found

I have talked in previous posts about feeling a bit broken, lost, and wanting to be whole, but yet being a bit afraid of it. (Never Rock Alone Post) Well, I have a story to share.

I have always believed in healing. I have been functioning fine for quite some time now. Healing and grace must be at work in my life, I concluded. I know things can't go back to how they were before. And maybe they would never be that good again, but I could still heal.

Though I believed it, I have had quite the difficult time feeling it. Since the year of death in 2013, I have felt a piece of me was lost most of the time, except for some flickers here and there. Most of the time, though, I have simply had to have faith that they were near, because it was so hard and rare to actually feel it. I didn't really feel homeless. It felt like having a home, but having lost a member of it. I felt like I put up “missing” posters on every street corner, hoping that part of me was still out there and would come back. I clung to a picture of that missing part for years, “Have you seen this girl?” I asked everyone. Once in a while, I would find a trace of myself (like a nine one thousand hug at the storytelling festival and being rocked during my Thrival) and it would renew my hope that I was still out there. Then I moved to Logan where no one knew that girl or that dog at all. There began to be more times when I wondered if that part of me that loved like I did and felt like I did was actually gone forever, that this loss was simply part of growing up. I even took down a few of the “missing” posters.

Accordingly, I was pretty unfeeling and neutral when my parents told me that my Dad had quit his job and gotten a new one in SLC and they were moving. In fact, I felt that I would maybe be okay if I never went back. I haven't been home in two years, not since around the time Gar died, and the two days I flew home to be there when Harmboy died. And one day I was there in Feb to drive to Kentucky for an interview. Going home has meant loss, and “missing” the past two years. A part of me got lost in Tennessee under the dirt, but every time I went there looking for her, she wasn’t there, or at least I couldn’t get her out, and digging had become exhausting. My parents’ moving meant even less frequent returns, so I felt no choice but to let go. I flew home to help my mom pack and say goodbye, finally accepting that part of me was gone, but that somehow, it would be alright someday, even if not until heaven. I couldn’t keep digging for that part of me. I even found that my favorite color had changed from “golden Gar fur” color to a “new leaf green,” but I couldn’t explain it, and I struggled to accept it for a while until moving to Logan.

Then, something happened when I got off the plane. Something I could not have expected. When I got off the plane, something hit me besides the humidity. It was me. I felt home without any effort. I felt alive just from breathing in and out. I went to Harm's and Gar's graves and you know what? It felt different. It didn't feel like being trapped under the ground or being in a jail, or “missing.” It felt much more like a "waiting together" or "sitting with" or “visiting.” It was liberating!

I went to the high school Homecoming (how appropriate right?!) football game and I felt more like I was home than I ever let myself feel there. I teased the old fogie club who welcomed me in like I never left. Lampley shared his famous Utah Mormon joke he made up my sophomore year, one more time. I sat with Mama Amy and told her everything. I borrowed my dad's bike and went for a ride on my favorite winding narrow roads on a Sunday morning. I nodded at people out in their fields and yards and wondered why they were all smiling so big when they saw me. I checked my own face. I was smiling so big, my eyes were all squinty, that's why they smiled back so genuinely! I was so happy that I laughed out loud down the hills with my hands in the air like wings and the fall wind in my hair, I laughed until I cried. I've not been that happy in years. I heard my own inner voice saying with joy, "I'm Back! I'm Back!" I missed me. At church, my little branch family wrapped me up in hugs and gave us a picture of the branch family all together in a frame and I cried. They said we’d always have a home there. Yep. I always will. It is so strange that letting go allowed me actually to feel closer!

I found that part of myself! I know I lost myself beneath the dirt, but I didn't find myself there! That part of me had simply been swallowed by my anguish and fear of its loss, waiting for me to let it go and realize it was still there. This last trip forced me to find closure and healing that I've been afraid of. Afraid, because closure felt like betrayal. Letting go had meant “not as important.” But when I least expected it, the closure was more an experience of Loyalty, Love, and Reuniting. I was able to step away enough to really see clearly, instead of holding so tight that I lost sight of it. I still have downs and ups of course; that hasn’t changed. I still have times I feel alone and miss Gar and others; that has not changed either. What has changed in me is that, through grace I believe, I have been able to let go of Gar and Tennessee just enough to see them and feel them better. 

          When I was absorbed in them, I could not feel them in my arms. The part of me I thought was missing was right under my nose!

The missing part of me has been freed.

          When driving back to Logan, a song came on my phone and it was just way too perfect. Have you ever heard "The House That Built Me" by Miranda Lambert? That song was pretty much my experience of going home. Go ahead and give it a listen. 

 

It's good to be found!

A Nine One Thousand Giver

Once again, I report my special moments at the storytelling festival. There were some funny ones and some hard ones, all unexpected as many great stories are. I even was able to tell a story to an audience of about 60 people. I told a story I wrote about my experiences with my grandpa who died before I was born. It is a story of learning to process and use perspective when reconciling positive and negative information about people you don't know all that well. It was powerful. I made at least 3 people cry. I guess I'll be a good therapist after all... :)

The best moment, however went like this:

I had been following Carmen Agra Deedy around for most of the day, walking from tent to tent, wherever she was performing. She's a favorite and always has been, but something was extra special this time. I was drawn to her, not only from her stories and skill, but something about her and the way she walked off stage said, "Jill, she's one of your people!"

Several of her stories from the day echoed something her spicy Cuban mother, Ester would always say, "If dju don't ask, dju don't get!" and I began thinking of things I didn't and don't ask for, and don't get, even when I need it very badly. I did a little check in with my heart to see what it needed for the day, so I could make sure it got a chance to ask during this favorite time of the year, the Timpanogos Storytelling Festival.

You see, I often speak of the great divide between my head and my heart, especially in social situations. I have even given my head and heart separate identities, because it feels that way. My heart cry for connection is one that sings poetically to the other hearts around me. And it sings most often through my writing, I mean, read that last sentence, seriously (says the other identity, my analyzing brain).

There are not many, though I am sure that there are more than I think, who hear my heart's voice and feel comfortable with it and even talk back. There are only certain times, places, and people that are safe for my heart's voice. I know this because I have suffered the consequences of choosing the wrong place, time, and/or person to sing to. I have been sorely set aside and acutely misunderstood before from that heart's voice.

But, my heart has also suffered from not having its say. Like Ester always said, "dju don't ask, dju don't get." So, my heart has become quite attuned to finding the right people, places, and times by working with my heart and head together (though it mostly feels like bickering rather than working together at times). Both parts acknowledge the others' importance and try to help each other out most of the time now. It has taken quite the road to get my head and heart to stop trying to kill each other, let alone help each other out. Throughout the story, the silent conversations between my head and heart are demonstrated in red.

So, back to the story, my heart focused on Carmen Deedy. I knew I could connect to her. The Storytelling Festival is a good place for me to find my people. The right timing and places to connect are a little harder to work around at the festival. So, what did my heart want to get? Well it wanted to sit down and chat and talk about lots of different things of the heart and stories of how Carmen has heard her stories have affected others.

My head chimed in, "She doesn't have time for a chat like that with you, though. There are thousands of people who would like that. You can want that, but you can't ask for that. Think of something else more logical with our time constraints that you could ask for."

"Fine. Then I want an 8 second hug from Carmen Agra Deedy. There is enough time for that." my heart replied.

"You weirdo," my head chuckled. "Okay, well, I agree, she might understand a heart request like that, but the thirty people standing around her waiting for their turn to talk to her after her performance may not understand such a request. We don't want them to hear you ask for an eight second hug. So you'll have to be last in line to talk to her. Or maybe, could you just settle on a quick hug and telling her you are grateful for her work?"

"No," said my heart. "eight seconds. Nothing else will say it right. Nothing else will help me hear it right. I know what I need. I need eight seconds. Besides, could you see me saying some silly cliche fan club speech? That would be so sickening to me, I might vomit from the fakeness. If I can't chat, I want eight seconds of a hug."

"Okay, but just in case she doesn't have 8 seconds for a hug, what will you do then?" My head said, planning for all the ways it could go wrong.

"Relax. She is my people. When she hears my heart, she will make eight seconds for a hug if she didn't have them in the first place." My heart felt confident.

So I hid behind a tent pole after she finished her story, and I waited to catch her as the line got shorter to meet her. But, the line never died, there were always a couple people waiting. They just kept popping up as people noticed the line was small to shake her hand or mention a connection to her story or ask her to sign their program. She began to walk away, with a couple people still following behind her. She caught my face, excused herself momentarily from the group waiting to talk to her and came over to me. "Hi," she said, "We need to chat don't we?"

"SHE IS MY PEOPLE!" My heart soared.

"I can't talk with you right now, but did you need something before I go? If you want to talk later, catch me before I leave." Carmen was giving me her full attention, despite needing to go elsewhere with other people.

"I was just going to ask you for an eight second hug." I said.

My head was panicking. "What?! You actually said it. Eight seconds? What does that even mean? Quick, why eight seconds. What is the reasoning there?"

My heart explained the best it could through analogy - the only way they can communicate effectively with each other. "Well, I need eight seconds  because sometimes broken hearts in the process of mending get wrapped up in bandages, and I just feel like eight seconds is the appropriate amount of time it takes to unwrap it so it can be touched and healed a bit more."

My head accepted that picture logically. "Ok. That makes sense, but we cannot tell her that! We don't know her well enough to tell her we've been wounded. Quick! Think of a joke or witty comment about it so that you have something acceptable to say if she asks why eight seconds!"

 "Relax," said my heart. "Look at her. She is my people - She already knows we are wounded!"

"But-" started my head, but it was interrupted.

Without a moments hesitation of flicker of a question, Carmen threw her arms around me. She whispered softly in my right ear, "One one thousand, two one thousand..."

"See!" Said my heart, beaming. "Told you so!"

"...Three one thousand, four one thousand..." 

"Yeah," replied my head, not quite believing it. "but what if eight isn't enough. We always underestimate what you really need from others."

"...Five one thousand, six one thousand..."

"Then she will know. She is my people. Don't you feel it?" my heart reassured my head.

"...Seven one thousand, eight one thousand... Nine one thousand!" Carmen said with excitement.

Tears welled up in my eyes as the last bit of bandage was unwrapped and she touched my heart softly. And it felt really good! She grabbed my face in her hands. We were almost nose to nose looking into each other's eyes. I was shocked. Nine one thousand still echoing in my whole body. "So," I said softly, "Sometimes, I guess, if you don't ask,..."

Carmen finished my sentence with a huge smile as she shook her head with emphasis, "... YOU GET!" She kissed my cheek and said if I needed to talk with her, I could find her.

I was not able to find her later. I would have LOVED that. But I certainly got what I needed most, which was more than I asked for. I guess sometimes Grace lets our heart song mingle with another, and when there is a harmony of grace going on between two people, you needn't ask to get precisely what you really need most - To know that you are worth Nine one thousand to someone when you weren't sure you were even worth eight.

I want to grow up to be a Nine One Thousand Giver. And as I thought this, my mind held hands with my heart. My heart had the power, and my brain took off with it, making plans for all the ways I could be a little better one of my people for someone else. Maybe we were all meant to be THAT kind of people.

I'll Never "Rock" Alone

Two weeks ago I left on a week long backpacking survival in Southern Utah with some new psychologist friends mostly from the BYU CAPS but also a few people from Hawaii and a theological seminary in princeton. I only knew one of the 11 people when I left. Now I have 10 new friends forever. On my trip, I trudged through swamp, river, red rock, desert, and poison ivy. I jumped off a 15 and 30 ft cliff into water hand in hand with one of them. Some very hard and sacred things happened and changed me forever especially at the top of a 40 foot cliff that I did not end up jumping from. The entire trip, each day held something profound and healing fro me. And it was divinely timely. I was in a very rough spot. And I came back home to a tougher spot. So, I don't know what I would have done without that trip. I am so beyond grateful, and also feeling some very complicated feelings.

One of my girls from my treatment center took her life while I was gone. I found out one hour after getting home.

I was alone in my room when I got the message from my supervisor. After making sure she was okay, and the other girls, and asking about the family and other staff, I hung up and I immediately found myself rocking in pain. I love my girls. I was aching for her family and my other girls, her friends, the other staff that were particularly closer to her. I was aching for her with compassion, but also so very angry, and then guilty for the anger and not wanting to understand what don't want to make any sense. I also felt guilty for understanding completely why she did what she did. But not liking that I understand, wishing I didn't, and wishing I was more angry than I was. But not. It's complicated.

Here's the gift part, though. Rocking when I'm in pain used to be a way that I could shut down and wrap up in a safe cocoon and not let anyone in. This time was different. On the last night of my trip, apparently at the time that this girl took her life, our leader led a powerful discussion among us all and then he said that it was tradition that on these trips, two people are chosen to be "rocked" by the group. Two special friends were rightly chosen and I was so honored to hold arms with my other buddies as they fell back onto all of our arms and we rocked them back and forth and sang them a lullaby. After those two, my leader began to close, but stopped and said, "No, wait. There is one more that needs to be rocked this time. Jill." I was overwhelmed with emotion and fell into them and they rocked me back and forth and sang me a lullaby. 

I took the time partly to cry and close my eyes to be enveloped in the feeling of being held. I spent the rest of the time looking into the eyes of each of these incredible divine beings that dared to reach out to me expecting nothing but the opportunity in return.

Rocking back and forth in my room was no longer a lonely way to shut out the world and the pain. Rocking was a way to feel those 11 people around me, holding me still in their hearts. And to know, the strength in their arms all comes the same One who has been holding me the whole time. It reminds me of what Elder Holland said in "The first and great commandment" Once we have an encounter with Christ, we are never meant to be the same again. I will never "rock" alone again.

Since the initial shock and pain, the road has been bumpy, and I have fallen a lot and pushed people away and sought hope and relief from the wrong places. In desperation, I fell into old patterns I've been trying so hard to kick out. But I can just turn around and walk back in the right direction. I did it before. 

 On the topic of healing, I got the incredible opportunity to listen to a fireside by Kathy Clayton, a new friend of mine. She told a story about how she was looking for a home in SLC and needed to find one within a couple days. Her mother's house was available, however, she said that her childhood wasn't sunshine and roses and she was afraid to go back to living in that house because of the skeletons that she feared were lurking in the closets. She prayed long and hard about it and decided that she didn't have to, but that it was right. So she bought her mother's house and they redid some things like the floors and the paint. She went in to that house, unsure of how she would feel or what would come up, and she opened the blinds of the front room. As she did this, the light from the sun flooded the room and flooded inside her and as she stood in the sun, she felt whole. She said she had been living with scars. They didn't hurt anymore and they pretty much healed. But when she stood in that house where she had gotten those scars, the sunlight lifted them. "There were not even any scars at all. I felt completely made whole."



I don't know how to become whole yet. I want it. I got a taste of it in her talk and it filled me and I want it for myself. But I don't know how much I want it. I have scars that have healed and don't necessarily bother me day to day anymore, but they constantly remind me and keep me from doing things I maybe should do. But when I feel like wholeness might be there for the taking, I snatch back my scars and say, "wait, wait, please! not yet," just like I do when jumping into a pool of water or right before I have to have a shot or needle poked into me. "Wait, wait, not yet.  Just let me do it. Don't do it yet." I know it is possible to "jump in" and feel and become whole, but "something" is not yet ready. Will I ever be ready? I don't know what is holding me back from embracing the feeling of being whole. I don't know what I'm afraid to leave behind, or why. Yet. I'm working on it. 

It brings me comfort to know that Kathy did not receive this wholeness until 30 years after the time she got the scars... Maybe I'll be ready someday, and I don't have to jump yet. Like I did not jump from the 40 foot cliff. Or maybe I must give up my timetable and jump when life counts to three, whether I am ready or not, like I did from the 15, and then the 30 foot cliffs. Maybe wholeness will not be an event for me, but line upon line. Or maybe it is all building up. Maybe I'm waiting to feel the hand grab mine before I jump like I did from 30 feet above the water. I just have to wait and do my best in the meantime. 

And in the meantime, sitting in fear at the top of the cliff, I don't have to rock alone.