Month: July 2023

Loop Correction

/ Julie Gentz / Leave a comment

“Compassion is the thing that leads you gently back to yourself.“

Merle Shain

The other morning, I made myself sit down and do my meditation and devotions before I did anything else. Before I even did anything on my phone except my mediation app. This is not my normal morning routine . . . unfortunately. I am usually trying to do at least two things at once, because I can get more done that way, right? Wrong. Turns out that is faulty thinking. Science has shown us that there IS no such thing as multi-tasking because our brains are not wired to do two things at once, much less three or four. Brains can be working on more than one thing in the same span of time, but doing all of them at the same time is just not possible. It’s the old “start/stop/start/stop” routine, and, to feel productive we just tell ourselves we are multi-tasking.

I don’t know about you, but personally, I get stuck in the same endless loop over and over again. I’ll be doing something and then remember, “Oh! There’s this other thing I need to do, too!”, and before you know it, I have a whole raft of things going. None of which I will probably finish, or if I do, I won’t finish them well. In trying to feel “caught up” I just keep getting myself further and further behind. The inevitable result is always that I find myself stuck in the never-ending loop of just one more thing to do, and I eventually wind up feeling like the figure at the top of this page: frustrated, exhausted, and very stressed, batteries missing. And, since Brian died almost 2.5 years ago now, I can see that, even though I vowed not to, I have often used this “busyness loop” as a form of denial/escape. The result? I am feeling buried, too, only literally buried alive in too many things to do with no time to just “be”.

As luck would have it, this morning’s meditation was entitled “The Caring Loop.” It began by asking the listener if there was a secret to emotional and mental health. Of course, that would be too easy, right? And the correct answer here is, no, there is no secret. The quick fix we are looking for does not exist. It turns out that the solution is so simple that it is hard: We need to tap into the basic human satisfaction that we get, not only when we help others, but also when we make the conscious effort to nurture ourselves. So, I decided to do a little self-evaluation of how well I do at this. The question I asked myself was: How well do I apply the positive feedback loop that I get when I show care for someone/something to myself? I seem to do my best thinking in metaphors, so I loved it when the meditation leader suggested comparing this to taking care of a house plant — only this time I am the houseplant. Do I make sure that I have enough of what I need to nurture me to keep myself alive and vibrant? What does that look like? Is it reading a good book, talking to friends, going on a long walk? Of course, I knew that our minds and bodies need a break from always doing, doing, doing. That this is not a good loop to find one’s self stuck in. But, when the meditation leader said, “Sitting and doing nothing is a way to move from that constant busyness and into a loop of self-caring where we can experience the subtle satisfaction that comes from caring for ourselves.” (Jeff Warren, Calm), I knew that I had a lot of work yet to do. It was obvious to that this certainly is not my current way of doing things. Truth be known, I don’t do nearly enough of this. In fact, I hardly do it ever at all. And the reason? Because I tell myself that I don’t have the time for that. Obviously, however, I am not alone in this, or there would not have been a need for this meditation topic. And, yes, I agree that I need to do more than simply notice that I should pry myself out of the busyness loop occasionally, slow down a bit, and do a better job of taking care of myself. Will that be hard for me to do? You bet it will. But, just like all the other things in life that seem difficult to do, but whose results are beneficial to me, the more I notice even the subtlest sense of satisfaction in caring for myself this way, the easier it will become to not only do it more often, but to sustain it.

Will this be easy for me? Absolutely not. Am I worth the work it will take to remove myself from the busyness loop I seem to be perpetually stuck in? You bet I am! And the lesson that this meditation taught me is: The more that I consciously tune into this positive intention of making a spot in my over-scheduled life for the loop of self-care, the stronger it will get and the more grounded I will be.

While it may not be a “hidden secret,” it is an important change that I need to take in order to find my way back to a life I want to live — and one that I will not only enjoy, but where I will also thrive. One thing I know for sure, I need all the help I can get, especially from myself, to stay on the path to healing and renewal. Thanks, Jeff Warren and the “Calm” meditation app, for reminding me of the value of spending time in “The Caring Loop.”

“My mission in life is not merely to survive, but to thrive; and to do so with some passion, some compassion, some humor, and some style.”

Maya Angelou

Whose Packing Your Parachute?

/ Julie Gentz / Leave a comment
Photo by Ankit Pathak on Pexels.com





We all have to pull the cord and deploy our parachute sometimes to help us make safe landings when we face struggles and trials in life. When that moment comes, it’s important to have people in our lives that “pack our parachute” — the people who help us make it through tough times in so many unsung ways. Life is busy and we don’t often stop to think about who those people are or the little things they do for us that make a big difference. When we are grieving, these people and the light that they shine on the dark spots in our lives, are even more important. Stop for a minute and ask yourself, “Who in my life are the people that pack my parachute?” And then ponder how the little things they do and say help you make “safe landings” in the treacherous landscape of grief. While you’re doing that, I’d like to share a true story about Charles Plumb entitled, “Your Parachute.”







Charles Plumb, a U.S. Naval Academy graduate, was a jet pilot in Vietnam. After 75 combat missions, his plane was destroyed by a surface-to-air missile. Plumb ejected and parachuted into enemy hands. He was captured and spent six years in a communist Vietnamese prison. He survived the ordeal and now lectures on lessons learned from the experience.





One day, when Plumb and his wife were sitting in a restaurant, a man at an other table came up and said, “You’re Plumb! You flew jet fighters in Vietnam from the aircraft carrier Kitty Hawk. You were shot down!” 





“How in the world did you know that?” asked Plumb.







“I packed your parachute,” the man replied.





Plumb gasped in surprise and gratitude. The man pumped his hand and said, “I guess it worked!” Plumb assured him, “It sure did. If your chute hadn’t worked, I wouldn’t be here today.”





Plumb couldn’t sleep that night, thinking about that man. Plumb says, “I kept wondering what he might have looked like in a Navy uniform: a white hat, a bib in the back, and bell-bottom trousers. I wonder how many times I might have seen him and not even said “Good morning. How are you?” or anything, because, you see, I was a fighter pilot and he was just a sailor.”





Plumb thought of the many hours the sailor had spent on a long wooden table in the bowels of the ship, carefully weaving the shrouds and folding the silks of each chute, holding in his hands each time the fate of someone he didn’t even know.





Now, Plumb asks his audience, “Who’s packing  your parachute? Everyone has someone who provides what they need to make it through the day.”





Plumb also points out that he needed many kinds of parachutes when his plane was shot down over enemy territory — he needed his physical parachute, his mental parachute, his emotional parachute, and his spiritual parachute. He called on all of these supports before reaching safety.





Sometimes in the daily challenges that life gives us, we miss what is really important. We may fail to say :hello”, “please”, or “thank you”, congratulate someone on something wonderful that has happened to them, give a compliment, or just do something nice for no reason. 





As you go through this week, this month, this year, recognize people who pack your parachute.
(https://www.indres.com/news/who-packs-your-parachute-a-true-story-about-charles-plumb)





There are angels all around us 
     that help us through each day.
They bring us joy and  lift us up.
     They help us find our way.

The little things they do for us,
     the caring that they show,
might very well be helping us 
     in ways we do not know.

A loving hug, a cheery smile,
     a soft and gentle touch.
All of these are healing things
     that mean so very much.

Kindness really is a gift
     we can practice every day.
For the love we hold within our heart
      is always best when its given away.
Julieanne Gentz


     


			

	


			
				


	

							
Memories
						

			 / Julie Gentz						 / Leave a comment
								

			


		

		






It’s early morning,  and, yet again, thoughts are running through my head that are begging me to put them into words. This time it happens to be song lyrics (with the melody, of course!) that have woken me up. When yesterday turned into a rainy day, my overall mood seemed to follow suit. Sometimes, as I continue to work my  way through grief, I find myself straying off the path and sitting down with memories for awhile. Gray, rainy days can be like that for me sometimes. So, to no surprise, that is where I found myself yesterday — sitting down in an inviting grove of memories, trying hard not to stay so long that I forgot my way back to the path leading to happiness. I guess that this morning’s early  writing prompt was a result of that very thing.





The song I had stuck running  through my head on a loop, was “Memories” from the musical, “Cats.” In particular it was these three verses that permeated my sleeping mind:





Memories, all alone in the moonlight
I can dream of the old days
Life was was beautiful then
I remember a time I knew what happiness was
Let the memory live again.

Daylight, I must wait for the sunrise
I must think of a new life
And I mustn't give in
When the dawn comes, tonight will be a memory too
And a new day will begin.

Touch me, it's so easy to leave me
All alone with the memory
Of my days in the sun
If you touch me, you'll understand what happiness is
Look, a new day has begun.





Memories. They seem to thrive in the quiet. In the times when my mind has spots that are unoccupied, leaving memories a place to quietly slip in and, for a bit, stop me in my tracks. One would think that two years into this journey I would have come up with a better way to cope with the grief ambushes that I find have caught me off guard and put me at a tipping point, but it doesn't always work like that. However, I am happy to report that I am getting better at handling them. I don't fight them. I just let them come . . . play themselves out . . . and leave as quickly and quietly as they came. I don't like the alternative -- getting stuck in the ugly swamp of grief -- so I've learned not to allow myself to go there.






Going Forward
Life is for the living, as are memories of those who have gone.
It's our job to keep moving forward, to engage in life and go on.

That doesn't mean those we've lost don't matter. Neither does it mean we forget.
It just means we have things here to do. God has more plans for us yet.

So, with courage and love as our power, we move forward through life on our own.
Just because we can't see those we love, doesn't mean that we do this alone.

The love that we shared is still with us. We carry it deep in our heart.
And though our loved one is gone from our sight, we're never that far apart.
Julieanne Gentz

			

	


			
				


	

							
There’s No Place Like Home
						

			 / Julie Gentz						 / 3 Comments
								

			


		

		






July 5, 2023





“There’s no place like home. There’s no place like home,” says Dorothy in “The Wizard of Oz,” as she clicks the heels of her ruby slippers together three times and magically finds herself back home in Kansas. What I wouldn’t give if “going home” could be as magical and as simple as that. The old saying says, “Home is where the heart is,” but for a very long time now, I have not at all been sure where home would be, or if a broken heart can even have a home. And what I need right now, more than anything else, is a place that my heart, mind, and soul can call “home.”





I’m not talking about the actual physical structure we call our home. That is easy to find. I am there every day … alone. No, what I am missing are all the things that go with a love story of 27 years that turns that man-made structure from a house into a home. Things like knowing what made my husband tick. Or the silly, mundane things that we talked about each day — the things no one else cared about at all. It was knowing that there was always someone who had my back. Someone who would support me, without question, no matter what the personal or monetary cost. It was, in the end, that warm sense of familiarity, security, and rapport that just seemed to happen with no apparent effort on either of our parts. Things that happened because then, when I knew what “home” was, it was just the way things worked. 





But, for the last two years since Brian died, there has been no more of that. Things that had seemed to automatically just happen, because, well, that was how it worked, now just don’t exist at all. Everything I counted on has changed to “what was.” Every last thing has changed. Things like his smile across  the table at mealtimes. The one without words that said, “This is great! Thanks for making it!” It was his hand placed softly in the small of my back that silently conveyed the message, “I’m here. Don’t worry. I’ll support you. It’s all good.”  It’s the hugs that helped me through all the tough times, and celebrated all of the good times. It’s the feel of his body next to mine each night, that not only warmed me physically, but reached into my heart and soul, warming them as well. Simply put, it is all of the familiarity. The routines. The predictability. The unconditional love we shared.  Those are the things that for me were “home.”





So, yes, I want . . . no, I need to go home. My heart aches for an idea that can only be a sweet, unreachable memory now. All are memories now: The things we shared that grounded me and gave me a sense of security and the feeling of being home. Home in body, mind, and soul.





In the end, I try to remember that it took us 27 years to grow together as husband and wife, and I can’t expect my poor, broken heart to heal overnight.





Do you know?
Have you not heard?
He gives strength to the weary
and increases the power of the weak.
Even youths grow tired and weary,
and young men stumble and fall;
but those who hope in the Lord
will renew their strength,
They will soar on wings, like eagles:
they will run and not grow weary,
they will walk and not be faint.
Isa. 40:28-31
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Be strong now because
things will get better.
It might be stormy now,
but it can't rain forever.
Anonymous 







Photo by Gelgas Airlangga on Pexels.com




Sometimes when you're in a dark place you think you've been buried, but you've actually been planted.
```` Christine Caine