The resilient vulnerability loving ‘sensitive’ people exhibit

The sensitive person is quite often criticised for being too soft.  But much of the world hardly recognises that what is within the sensitive person is a special portion of vulnerability that those who are ‘tough’ can only marvel about and envy.

They know all too well who is the strong one.
Not that the ‘tough one’ will readily admit their weakness.

So, it is down to the person who is vulnerable, who is most often attributed and criticised as being sensitive, who adds their strength to situations and loans their strength-of-kindness to others, even as they are called to suffer the indignities of ridicule and malice.

For those who are sensitive to the world, who are more truly vulnerable as truth would have it, bring their strength to all kinds of relational situations.  The world would be a living hell without them.

They tend to overlook the offences done against them.  And they feel tempted to accept many unfair consequences.  They make no excuses for when they get their love wrong.  And they seem to have a wise sense for just how their wrongs have hurt people, even if that sense of discernment isn’t reciprocated.  They go unforgiven, though they’re quick to forgive, and they find they must routinely put the past behind them.  Until, that is, they’ve been offended once too often.

There comes a time in all our lives when we are compelled to reconsider our modus operandi.

Perhaps we have forgiven over and over and over again, and for bearing ourselves vulnerably we’ve won nothing but pain.  It was serving nobody any gain.

We decided that, though we could bear the pain, and though we had much capacity to forgive, it wasn’t serving either party well, us being the doormat.

We came to a new resolve as we re-assessed our lives in the context of the particular relationship and how poorly it was serving the both of us.  As they insisted on treating us with disdain, we came to comprehend that there was no love in us allowing them to behave consequence-free.  That is not love, it’s enablement, the opposite of love, which denies the truth we know.  Certain situations call for the love of accountability.

And yet, we could still not bear to treat them with the same disdain that they treated us with.  We knew that we deserved better treatment from them, so we were prepared to treat them as we could only have wished to be treated.

Indeed, jettisoning the existing basis of the relationship for a new more reasoned model, we decided to be kinder than ever as we put our boundaries into place.

We were hardly ready for the vitriol that came, but that, from the perspective of hindsight, was to be expected. Still, it both hurt us and confirmed to us that our action to protect ourselves was both reasonable and appropriate.

~

The resilience of vulnerability is prominent in that we would willingly bear the pain of betrayal and rejection if only the person betraying or rejecting us could begin to see the error of their ways.

Whenever we’re capable of seeing and responding to our own wrongs, we are sensitive persons to live this life with.  We have humility enough to be honest, which is resilience.  Able to take responsibility for our own actions we’re safe individuals to relate with.

It’s a delight to be in relationships with
people who have the capacity to relate.

That is, they have the capacity to reciprocate love.  You love them by being honest about your flaws, and when they’re honest with you about their flaws, they show love that is able to put others first.

Photo by Reign Abarintos on Unsplash

A prayer for those whose grief was triggered by spiritual attack

Dear God,

You know how it truly feels when our hearts are breaking because of a confounding set of circumstances that conspire against us.  It swarms in our mind, lodges deep in our heart, and seeks to destroy our soul.  No matter what we do, we cannot escape it.  It’s frightening, dread-evoking and awful.  When we’re like this, God, we flit between irrepressible anger and such sorrow there are rivers of tears.

Because of the fear and self-condemnation, Lord, when we’re beleaguered by spiritual attack, our grief is triggered, and those vestiges of settled scar tissue are again interrupted, and what oozes soon begins to fester.

But then, my Lord, there is also the case of our bodies as they overwhelm us, almost as it were joining the fight against us.  We are emotionally distraught and physically in pain, spiritually attacked and mentally tormented.

There is no comfort in reach, but that comfort may still be in sight.  It is tantalising as we sit there flat, with no energy to do anything but slide into a sharp lament.

Suddenly it overwhelms us afresh that this is a spiritual attack, and we know it because we’re reliving our grief.  We’re reminded of a pain we thought was long gone, and we’re reminded of the interminable reality—this isn’t done with yet.  And how can THAT possibly be?

Lord, why is it that spiritual attack resurrects the grief we thought was done and dusted?

Swiftly, again, there is the most intense attack where conflict resonates within and without. All we can see are the problems, God, and if there are problems and we don’t have solutions, we feel we must apportion blame—whether it’s us or someone else or both.

God, You know how quickly and scarily we vacillate between the extremes of a deeply embedded grief and the self-recrimination that follows.  Once we’re spun into the web of grief, we find it ever so tricky to find our way out.  And all because a deceptive spiritual attack started it.

Many will say, oh my God, and some will mean it when they mention Your name.  I pray that when we do feel drawn into the intricacies of a plummeting that has a source in a conquest for our spirits, that we see what’s going on and thwart it with patience, gentleness and peace.

Oh Lord my God, as the wise one looks to You in their spiritual attack, I pray You alleviate the heavy burden of grief on their hearts.

I pray that they might say with confidence in the hours of ascension, “I cried out to God and God saved me!”  I pray first and foremost that they see what is happening—that grief is the sign they’re under attack, or that when they sense they’re under attack that they watch for evidence of reminders of their grief.

It’s in Jesus’ name that I pray these things,

AMEN.

Photo by Madhu Shesharam on Unsplash

Relational conflict strikes, creates stress, causes personal grief

One day recently, a triple-whammy struck me.  Three conflicts where the common premise was that I wasn’t doing enough—or, at least what I thought these people were saying about me... that I was lazy, couldn’t be bothered, or couldn’t care less.

The amount I do to prove to one and all that I do care.

Suddenly, what I observed in my spirit was a remarkable attack.  My heart was crushed, and my mind was stopped. I felt like a blob.  Times when I’ve got nothing left.  All the energy is drained from me.  It was even more of an attack when I heard the disparaging voice of self-condemnation characteristic of attack.

As I write I still feel it, it was that recent!  (When I say ‘recent’ I usually mean yesterday.)

We are most susceptible to feedback that is closest to us.  From those we love and who love us.  Yes, that’s right.  Relational conflict equals personal grief, and the closer we are to the people we’re in conflict with—the more trust and intimacy there—the deeper the grief we descend into.

Think about it.  Every conflict is proportionate to the grief we experience.

The worst grief I’ve ever had came from conflicts I just could not resolve—that’s loss.  These are situations that irresolvable, and let’s face it, all conflicts feel impossible until they’re resolved.

When I’m in conflict with those I love I feel so wrung of heart that I can feel that all my strength ebbs away.  Yet, I’m amazed just how two or three matters collude together to absolutely flatten me.  Even in the knowledge that this is a spiritual attack, I often feel beyond reconciling not just the conflict, but myself. 

When I’m estranged from someone, I feel estranged from myself.

There, enters the grief.  The conflict creates stress which causes grief.

Grief is a far more common experience than most of us realise, because in conflict we get a taste of loss, and that loss promises us something that we cannot face; we have hurt someone or we ourselves have been hurt.

Every single one of us is prone to feeling attacked when we feel conflict descends without warning which takes away our sense of control.  If the conflict was laden with hope it would be a different story.  If it descended slowly and not so suddenly, we may be better prepared.

But conflict descends abruptly, as does loss that carries us off directly to grief.

What do I do when I know I’m under the acuteness of attack, borne of conflict which creates stress that causes grief?

I know I can’t shift it.  Perhaps it’s as simple as staying calm and saying, “This, too, shall pass.”  I know if I act out of my unregulated grief, I know I stand to hurt others or myself.  Grief can feel a dangerous place to be.

I’ve found it better to do nothing, tell myself to be calm, and try and be at peace with tormenting thoughts and feelings that make me mad and sad and even fearful.  I try to recognise it is grief that makes me feel like I’m dying.  And I’m so thankful for the person God has given to me to hold my hand and just be with me when all I can do is utter nonsense, stare blankly, and weep the odd sob.

It’s grief and that’s okay.  To acknowledge it, to let it sit with us for a while.  That’s all that’s required.

And, do you know the funny thing?  If only we let our grief stay, and we bear the pain of loss in conflict, this too does pass!  It really does.

Bearing pain isn’t rocket science.  Holding and containing our grief is simple, and it isn’t even that hard.  We just need to be true to our experience, however ugly that feels, or uncomfortable or even “boring” that is.

Healing is more straight-forward than we had imagined.  It just really isn’t pretty or glamorous.

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We all grieve differently, your grief is yours, nobody else’s

We all grieve differently.

Many people could read the material I write and conclude that they might be grieving incorrectly, because I suggest the need to be real about our emotions. The trouble with this, of course, is not everything I write caters for everyone. And at worst it could lead someone to feel they’re doing it wrong, when really, they may not be.

If a person reads what I write and it doesn’t resonate with their experience, they may also feel strongly that their process is right, and what I write may simply serve to exasperate them.

Others I know appreciate the point of view from which I write from.

All of this to say, there is no common way to grief. To feel it all or to choose not to. To allow the intrusion of past, that in faith and with time, healing will occur, or to insist on keeping moving forward. Or, any other method, for these are just two obvious ones to mention.

I can only write from my perspective, from what I see, and I definitely come from the feeling aspect. I’m not really simply a thinker and a decider. And yet there’s still so much I cannot and do not see.

This is why community is so important for all of us; so we can other perspectives. But community is only a blessing when it validates our individual experience and decisions and why we made those decisions. Community is beautiful and safe when it says, “I value your experience, your analysis of what happened to you and what you think and how you feel about it. Your perceptions matter here.”

If you normally agree with my perspective, this could be God inviting you to consider those who grieve differently.

When we go to another person we normally don’t agree with and say to them, “Please, show me your perspective...” or, “I don’t own the intellectual property on how to grieve best, and I know I can learn something from a person who does it differently...” we build relationship.

Humility warms hearts and it reduces relational distance.

The main thing that we should agree on in terms of grief is everyone ought to be validated for what they think and how they feel, and for how they’re doing their grief—because, let’s face it, we usually don’t have a choice! Those who are grieving should have the support THEY need.

As it goes for me, I have some ideas about traversing the tumultuous terrain of grief borne out of life experience, and knowledge from the studies I’ve done and the qualifications I hold—which simply demonstrates my interest in the area of mental health for over 20 years.

But I need other people with different perspectives to show me continually what God needs me to know—we all grieve differently.

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Be STILL and KNOW, God is Present to Keep You STILL

I was talking about the power of God to heal with the administrator of our church recently, Elizabeth, and she said to me, “Do you realise I used to have such a fear of heights that it would cause me to see black and freeze?” I said, “That sounds like a phobia!” Then Elizabeth said, “I guess that’s what it could have been.”

Then I responded, “You used the phrase ‘used to...’; what happened?”

“I went skydiving!” she said with a broad chuckling smile, now a woman in her late 70s.

What? Skydiving?          What was she thinking?

Then, later, chatting the following day, she mentioned that in the lead up to the jump, many times she felt like pulling out. Indeed, on the morning of the jump she was very fearful.

We’ve all been there, haven’t we? About to enter some cauldron-like arena, we flirt with the fright, and we may even imagine the worst possibilities. Panic attacks are born from such things.

But we’ve possibly all been in this situation and then somehow been rescued by God.

Elizabeth, we can imagine, was feeling tempted to back out. At the edge of a precipice, with a phobic dread of heights, we might all sympathise if Elizabeth had have said, “Ah, not today!” 

She may well have toyed with that idea until she looked down at one point and saw in her daily devotional a message from God: it simply read, “Be still and know that I am God.” (Psalm 46:10)

This is something many of us have experienced. God speaking through our circumstances and not least via the biblical passages. It’s all we hope for, even if we’re always surprised by God’ impeccable timing!

As she looked at that verse for the day — “Be STILL and KNOW that I am God” — it spoke with more resonance than ever — BECAUSE of her context that very day!

Elizabeth reported to me that it dawned on her that God was there, present with her, and that she was being reminded that she was safe. She felt such a peace — a peace that is hard to describe to those who have never experienced it — and that resolute sense of peace remained with her, even through the adrenalin rush that came with jumping out of the plane.

God asks us to be STILL because God will keep us still, if only we can rest in this fact by faith.

God reminds us that we can KNOW that God is real and present with us by a living Spirit.

God will keep us still — at peace — and God will keep us still — perfectly safe — if we’ll rest in the truth that faith is the way in the presence of fear.

From Elizabeth we can know, there is a power we can tap into whenever we feel we CAN’T do something. It is amazing what we can do and how we can think and feel when we know God is there with us, giving us peace.

Photo by Jakob Owens on Unsplash

When “Time’s Gone” and What’s Beyond It

James Blunt’s new song “Monsters” mentions the phrase, “the time has gone,” and there is such vulnerability in the video that it actually depicts the incomprehensible reality we face in the full grip of loss.

The song resonates because it demands the listener face a reality that none of us can deny. Well, either we admit that the love we have means loss is a crushing blow, or we insist on denying the pain to our own peril.

I think of our parents, my wife’s maternal grandmother, our son Nathanael, well, my daughters and their partners and children, our siblings... the list goes on and on. At some point we will lose them, or they will lose us.

The finality of death resounds into eternity, which is just over the cusp of anything we can ever be aware of.

The thrust of this article is the poem below, but there is a truth we can miss even as we’re unravelled by the grief in loss.

Most of us never realise the opportunity for a deeper healing all our lives have been heralding—a healing hidden within the undoing of us in grief—and we stumble across it serendipitously by accident. And, in that, hope becomes glorious, and finally having tasted healing we feel spiritually invincible. Yes, because grief undid us!

Here’s the poem:

TIME’S GONE

Photos on a wall, memories in the pages,

Speak all too often, of our inability to grasp,

That descending reality, echoing through the ages,

Loss comes to haunt, then stripped is the mask.

Seconds tick by oh so silently,

Catching all of us ever too unaware,

All of a sudden reality springs violently,

When there are no seconds to spare.

Bearing the starkness of a frightful truth,

The loved one to whom it’s goodbye,

Life amid grief is its very own sleuth,

Nothing can be done when the end is nigh.

Reminded by chance, the suddenness of shock,

Death waits for nobody, morning, night and noon,

Not a moment too late, the Lord does knock,

Taking the life we loved always too soon.

~

The poem is inspired by Blunt’s song.

The amount of times I’ve gone to a photo album to access my emotions, to pour my heart out in the mode of healing sobs of loss that honour the truth, as the mind recalls memories that sorely need reverencing.

We hardly reconcile this truth, but it prevails eternally: in grief our masks of invulnerability are stripped off, and we’re laid bare, which feels like torment, but is actually incredibly redemptive, if only we can bear the pain of exposure. It just goes to show how important safe places and spaces are. The presence of these makes healing possible.

Living in the dimension of time, the seconds ever ticking forward, and they seem slow don’t they, but they ever teem forth to such a point, proof of which loss is inevitable.

Loss is a stark and frightful truth, a reality that dawns not a moment too late.

But, what’s beyond loss? Is there any hope beyond the despair of it?

As mentioned above, none of us ever realise the opportunity that exists wholly and solely in grief. The opportunity is for the deeper healing all our lives have been heralding but as yet we’d been unaware of. This is a healing hidden WITHIN the undoing of us in the grief itself. And we stumble across it serendipitously by accident.

All of this because LOVE is so strong it cannot be denied.

When entrenched conflict in your life creates anxiety and depression

There are many reasons why we suffer poor mental health. Some of these are attributable to grief, trauma, and biological and psychological factors. But one of the biggest causes of anxiety and depression is the presence of entrenched conflict in our lives.

What is meant by the term in entrenched conflict?

Entrenched conflict speaks of a toxic and dysfunctional dynamic that is present in a relationship where parties are locked into their own view, which is usually poles apart from the other parties’ view. Where “truths” are nowhere near close, one to another.

One of the saddest things in anyone’s life is the presence of entrenched conflict that meanders on for years without hope of any reconciliation.

It may be that we are the ones that are hoping for a change in the other person’s heart.

In holding out hope, our hearts can grow sick when that hope is “deferred,” as Proverbs 13:12 mentions. In all truth, so many of us have had to get used to the fact that particular conflicts may never be resolved. There may never be reconciliation, even if we are prepared to forgive and/or be forgiven.

It may be that the other party is in control, and will not relinquish control, and so therefore we may vacillate between forgiveness and bitterness. In biblical terms, bitterness is not straight-forward within entrenched conflict. Bitterness can be because of grief. That’s not sin. Bitterness can also be in the other party for reasons they somehow enjoy. Bitterness is not simple.

Entrenched conflicts grieve the heart of God.

Sometimes it is us who have made the stand to separate ourselves from another person, people or community, for want or demand of self-protection. And even though we have created safety for ourselves by that separation, it can still often mean we may suffer anxiety and depression because of the truth we cannot deny, that never goes away, that we may not possibly become free of.

I also think of those of us who may feel threatened because of the mere presence of another person living in their proximity, or even the thought that the other party is an ever-present threat, whether they’re present or not. We can at times feel haunted.

When we feel anxious and depressed, because we are preoccupied by the hopelessness of our situation or are overwhelmed by our inability to have even a semblance of control over such an important part of our lives, we face truths that are altogether too stark.

These can be too much for us to bear,
where our hearts grow sick, and
our minds can feel tormented.

How do we derive hope in these situations?

How can we envision a better future, or at least a satisfactory one?

In some ways, the present entrenched conflicts determine the shape of our future, until, that is, we recognise that we are in “the valley of decision.”

In Joel 3:14, the prophet uses this term, and the term implores serious reflection; a place of heart and circumstance where we have no option but to choose one way to go.

There comes a time in all our lives when we are brought to such stress in order that we would be forced to decide something. When the pain of change is less than the pain of staying as we are.

The greatest gauge for decision-making must be to do what is right, and that is not about doing what is right just for ourselves. Inevitably, however, we usually find the best decisions are somewhat self-serving, because others who are relying on us are simply trying to live their lives the right way and need to be supported.

If we are suffering anxiety or depression or exhaustion because of entrenched conflict, it may be that we stand on a precipice, at a poignant time of the year, when new decisions are easier to make, and new things are seemingly easier to do.

When we stand in the valley of decision, looking at the peaks on either side and ahead of us, it doesn’t just take courage to take the first step, because we need to discern in what direction that step is to be taken.

But, if we already know what direction
we need to head in, we simply
need the courage to take the first step
and by that courage the
spiritual stamina to keep stepping.

We must remind ourselves, and often,
that the Promised Land gets closer with each step.

Photo by K on Unsplash

Those parts of your loss you never stop grieving

Image of Nathanael’s hand and mine (2014).

It’s doesn’t happen every day, but it does recur without warning. The subtlest of reminders are all it takes, and a mental note is made. Like every single baby. Most news stories on infant loss. Children of similar age. Ultrasound photos posted on social media. Even the odd story of church brokenness. Those kinds of things.

It’s not that I want to be placed in a bubble away from experiencing these things. Most of the time it’s just a mental note taken. It’s something you realise you just have to get used to. I certainly wouldn’t want friends and family to need to change for my sake.

Indeed, it’s something that very many of us encounter. These are not so much “triggers” in a post-traumatic stress way of things, but they are constant reminders of what we had, cherished, but no longer have.

I have found that, by choice, I can go into the grief that has become part of my life now. I can go in and honour Nathanael’s memory. I can weep my tears, and as I do, I’m met by God. Such a phenomenon doesn’t make the experience easier or more special or anything like that. I’m just aware God is there, that’s all. The more I’m touched in the sadness of a fragment of a memory, the more I feel deeply connected to the God of Nathanael’s creation.

All this sheds light on the matters of grief that don’t go away, that don’t change.

~

Whichever way we look at it, life is tough for those who have endured loss.

But the amazing thing is, we look around, and we find there is suffering everywhere, but many people choose to put it behind them (by functional denial) or they find negative distractions, the worst of which are addictions.

It is hard living in the face of truth. This is not to say that life doesn’t hold joys beyond the ugly truths of loss, for it does. We do tend to move on. And that at times can be the problem—we don’t live in the moment of being present in the grieving space, for we’re often afraid of it. But...

Those parts of our loss that we never stop grieving aren’t there to torment us.

They aren’t there to be run from, nor are they there for us to resent bitterly, even if bitterness is a sign of healing to come.

Those parts of our loss that we
never stop grieving are an invitation.

The only way we can reconcile pain is by facing it. And we can. We may then find that what it takes to face our pain is easier than we thought. Yes, there is a third way.

We don’t have to deny it. We don’t have to resent it. We can make peace with it.

This is the reason why irreconcilable pain is a thing. If God had no purpose for it, God would not allow it.

Go into the pain and cherish it honestly so it overwhelms sensibility unto tears. But don’t do that without the Presence of God there to guide you and to be with you. Our Lord is gentle and beautiful and good, trustworthy as a safe travelling companion on the scariest of roads. Often God also puts other companions who are instruments of divinity on our road with us.

Loss and the permanence of change in grief

Significant loss takes us on a journey of no return to what was!

What we had is gone, and what is left is something we can only learn to accept. And it feels impossible to adjust to.

Pain hammers the stake of reality in a bleeding heart that cannot adapt, but is challenged to. That’s grief.

Whether it was a loved one we lost, a career that was curtailed, the end of a marriage, finding ourselves in abuse and confronting it, a prodigal child who hasn’t yet returned, or any form of untenable life, what it comes down to is loss. And “closure” is, I feel, something of a myth. I think closure is more akin to denial; it’s a lie we’re tempted to tell ourselves in our grief, because the world is telling us to move on, and let’s face it, the pain is far too real to ever be palatable.

This article is about something better than closure.

When I lost my first marriage, I felt I’d lost everything overnight. Wife, easy access to my children (who I missed terribly), home, and even my job had to change. Within three months I’d made massive adjustments to make my life, and my daughters’ lives, more livable for the future.

Losing my first marriage is still something that I regret for the lasting impact on the family I love. And yet that regret leaves me motivated always now to be better. In our comfortable western lives, we grow accustomed to resisting pain, but pain, however unbearable it is, makes us stand up to attention.

Not one day in the first three months (nor most of the days for the first eighteen months) did I not feel the dread of hell. Pain was just something I was unable to escape from. Yet, in the worst season of my life, somehow, I had impetus to be brought to my knees and to begin to live the life I always promised myself I would live—and finally achieve it!

17 years on and I still can’t quite explain how it feels right to say that the worst thing that happened to me became the best thing. But I’ve learned that accepting mysteries is a central to maturing.

When we were losing Nathanael and then finally lost him, even as it was for us in the most unpredictable situation, we never felt we had a grasp on the elusiveness of our grief. Like losing my first marriage changed me permanently, losing our son ended one part of our lives that has never returned. 

So much change around that time of our lives also blurred our ability to feel safe. So many times, and in so many situations we’ve had to tell ourselves to grasp the present and hold onto hope for the future, rather than lament the past we wish never died.

Grief in many ways casts us away from the familiar. We feel like foreigners in our own lives. And yet, there is actually a blessing in this experience, as well as a blessing in being held in a state of pain.

Grief has so often caused me to think, “this will never change” or “How long, O Lord?” as per Psalm 13. But I always somehow held onto the hope that I could only learn if things DIDN’T change, if I was held in that time to endure. This hope helped me to endure when I would gladly have said goodbye.

Loss does change our lives permanently, and for a time we feel like strangers in our own lives, but hope can be gleaned in the idea that somehow it will be worth it in the end.

Venture through grief by steadfast faith, because that hope emerges in the reality of hope.

Loss changes us permanently, but grief in and of itself forces us to adjust and finally accept that a life of faith is the only way to survive. And by it, eventually too, do we thrive.

Despite the change we despise in loss, it is not the death of hope. Quite the contrary, it is hope brought alive through a faith that can live no other way.

If there is one permanent change to embrace it is to find ourselves steadfast of faith.

Loss holds open to us this opportunity.

Photo by Greg Ortega on Unsplash