Tag Archives: life

What transports you to your childhood memories?


As part of my work I frequently hear about the powerful ways that trauma and distress create chronic intrusive sensory experiences in the lives of my clients. Flashbacks, intrusive thoughts, and bodily sensations grab traumatized people and yank them back into the worst moments of their lives. Some of my clients wish they could have something akin to the neuralyzer (think Will Smith/MIB memory wipe). I don’t blame them at all, and yet would we also lose our ability to be transported to memories and experiences we would never want to forget?

The same brain and body mechanisms that bring up our nightmare experiences, also trigger positive flashhbacks. Take a moment and think about some situations that send you to your happy place. Is it the smell of rain on asphalt in the summer? Salt in the air when you get close to the ocean? The smell of baking bread? A particular song? Whatever it is, you may find yourself transported to memories you not recalled for years. And it isn’t usually just a memory but a whole body re-experiencing moment!

For me, it is the cold of snow and winter that takes me back to my youth in Vermont. In Philadelphia, we have had an extended coldsnap since receiving about a foot of snow two weeks ago that has not yet melted. I’ve lived more of my life in this area where snow and cold like this is rare. So, when we get snow and cold temperatures, they take me back to my childhood. Images such as walking in the moonlight on hard crusted snow without breaking in or leaving a footprint…tunneling through mounded up snow…walking in the woods, sometimes on shoeshoes, and stopping to have a fire to warm up next to while you drink hot chocolate from a thermos…the sound of silence while the snow falls around you.

Today as I walked in the woods of the Wissahickon I could nearly taste the smoky flavor of a toasted Peanut Butter and Honey Sandwich. Because it is so cold, I had the woods to myself and it transported me to walks in the woods behind our church where I was alone with my senses or observing what animals prints crossed my path.

Not all of our childhood memories are happy ones. Some of us struggle to remember any place where we felt safe and secure. For you, maybe it was just when a particular teacher noticed your good work…a time when you were alone and not being harmed…a time when you recall your strength and courage…a book that when you read for the first time changed your entire perception of the world.

What senses help you return to that bit of memory? Often, we don’t choose to recall these experiences, they just happen, as involuntarily as the bad experiences. But it is possible to seek some of our positive memories in a more intentional way. Listen to a song that you remember loving when you were a child. Eat a particular food that was a staple for you that you remember loving (anyone know if RC Cola is available today?). You might not still love that song or food but it can be a way to prompt you to remember experiences that have helped you become the person you are today. Even the harder memories can remind you of what you survived and what has shaped your way of being in the world.

I’ll leave you with a few pictures that remind me of memories of being alive in the snow. But ask yourself:

What senses or present experiences take you back to formative experiences of your childhood?

Today
Feb 1 2025, day of my father’s funeral
by John Monroe, snowshoes from earlier generation of Monroes
1971. neighbor Bernice (Dorothy), brother John, and myself

3 Comments

Filed under Uncategorized

On lymphedema, lament, and looking for beauty amongst these cracked vessels


Can you lament losses AND look for (create) beauty at the same time? Even more pointed, can you lament your own cracks and yet take joy in your current form of being? If not, what might be getting in the way?

I have lymphedema. It is a new diagnosis and one that appears to be something I will live with for the rest of my life. For those unfamiliar with this problem, it is a pooling of lymph fluid in a body part, often a limb, that causes swelling, changes in skin, reduction in mobility, and if untreated, infection. My lymphedema is likely due to successful treatment of a previous cancer. I’m cancer free but now I have this ongoing problem. It is new to me and so far isn’t nearly as difficult as some people’s experience. And yet, it is still life and mindset altering.

What about you? Do you have a change in life or health that now has you “living with” rather than resolving or fixing and “getting back to normal?” Do you have a daily reminder that life is not the way it is supposed to be? For those that do there is a heaviness and an otherness that is experienced. Every decision is now a labor, it must be thought through. If you have this experience, you also recognize that not everyone has this burden–hence feeling cracked and broken compared to those around you.

In some ways, my current treatment has me most discouraged. Treatments (management really) involve tight wrapping of my leg such that it is impossible to wear a shoe. Showering…well that is also next to impossible (apologies to those around me over this next month). There are some possible “fixes” out there that I hold out hope for but this is TBD for me. Currently, I’m on the “live as best you can with it” track. This is an additional form of suffering with chronic illness. Do you hope for change or do you accept management is your new calling in life?

We lament as a way of life

When something is broken, it is a gift to be able to acknowledge the loss. Silencing lament for what has been lost is about as helpful as ignoring cancer. You may be able to ignore it for awhile but it will catch up to you. Sadly, the people closest to us may silence us because either they cannot acknowledge losses or they believe that we’ve had enough time to lament and should now move on in order not to develop a victim mentality.

One summer when I was about 16 I broken my wrist. The cast on my arm made it difficult to enjoy such summer activities as swimming. Though I missed out on swimming, there was always the knowledge that my cast would come off and I could once again function as normal again. What do you do when you know a fix or a repair isn’t going to happen? Maybe you are wheelchair bound and know you cannot ride a bike. Maybe your PTSD means you won’t be able to be in crowds again, even for things like a concert or fireworks display. Maybe you have been betrayed by someone who will never acknowledge or make restitution. What do you do? You lament. You bring your tears and complaints to God and to those around you who are willing to hold and grieve your losses with you. There is no time-limit for this kind of grief. From a Judeo-Christian perspective, your lament is an act of communion with God, always invited, never rejected.1

And we continue to live and look for beauty

A lovely friend of mine gifted me Makota Fujimora’s Art and Faith: A Theology of Making (2020, Yale University Press). I have not finished it but his chapter on Kintsugi–the art of repairing broken teaware with gold–is full of reminders of brokenness AND beauty. He makes many points but here I want to highlight two key points:

  • “Kintsugi does not just ‘fix’ or repair a broken vessel; rather the technique makes the broken pottery even more beautiful than the orginal, as the Kintsugi master will take the broken work and create a restored piece that makes the broken parts even more visually sophisticated.” (pp 44-45)

This reminds me that beauty is not just in the original design but also in what has been made out of the fragments of life. If I only accept my body the way it was originally made then it will be hard to find beauty in what it can do now in my sixth decade. If you only want a body not changed by trauma, then it will be hard to find value in your body that is deeply perceptive of danger. Notice how we must accept losses (still lamenting!) in order to find new forms of beauty we had not yet imagined.

  • “The ultimate act of a Kintsugi master is not to even attempt to fix the broken vessel, but to behold its potential, to admire its beauty….What kind of church would we become if we simply allowed broken people to gather and did not try to ‘fix’ them but simply to love and behold them, contemplating the shapes that broken pieces can inspire?” (p 50)

Too often we are wanting to fix others instead of creating space for them to be and to discover who they are becoming. Fixing, Fujimora says, is not always a bad thing. You want your mechanic to fix your car. I WANT a fix to my lymphedema. You would be a bit crazy not to want a fix of your health challenge. But the search for a fix sometimes sends a message that what is broken is shameful or something to be hidden. The irony in the church is that it is founded on the theology of scars–the scars of One broken for the healing of the world. Might we find the beauty of these scars that we carry around in our bodies even as we hope for healing and for transformation?

For me, today, I take pleasure that I figured out how to go biking with one shoe and one slide. I felt the air move around me as I rode through the tall shade trees in a nearby park. I sped around corners and marveled at the cacophany of birds singing in the branches and the silent deer peaking between the leaves at this biker with a funny wrap and mis-matched shoes. It might not be on anyone’s list of beauty but for me, it was glorious creation.

How do you hold pain and beauty without minimizing one for the other?

1. Want help writing your own lament? Check out this free resource I and others helped create.

3 Comments

Filed under Uncategorized

Gardening illustration that works for persistent problems in life


5 years ago a friend of mine asked if I wanted some purple cone flowers for my flower garden around my house.

Having admired them in other gardens, I said yes and promptly planted them in a spot next to some other flowers. Turns out they were Brown Eyed Susans, a relative of the intended flower. And, further, they spread terribly. I enjoyed them the first summer but began ripping them out the next year as they spread through the iris and choked out some other plantings.

Now, some five years later, I am still pulling these plants. They grow and spread quickly. I never let them flower but pull them as soon as I can make sure I get them and not another plan that might be right in the same spot. When I pull them I know that some little root fiber remains and so I’ll be back pulling again in a week or so.

The truth is I will never be free from these plantings. I do have some choices:

  • ignore them and let them take over the garden (BTW, they would be fine in an isolated spot surrounded by grass so they couldn’t take over another planted area)
  • be irritated that I can’t get rid of them and thus fail to see the beauty around them
  • stay vigilant but enjoy the garden
  • try shock and awe by killing everything in that spot.

I find this is much like our persistent life problems. Whether by naive choice or by something beyond our control, we develop persistent struggles with things like anxiety, depression, addictions, relational challenges, etc. While God sometimes provide miraculous removal of these struggles, we rarely find complete freedom from these kinds of struggles. We may not be in crisis mode forever, but total relaxation and assumption of no return of the problem is rare also.

So, we too have some choices:

  • be angry and bitter that the problem continues to have some place in our life
  • blame others for our problems
  • ruminate on why only we seem to have these problems
  • try shock and awe and so destroy lots of other things
  • accept the need to stay vigilant, going after the roots and shoots as soon as we notice them.

Does this illustration work for you?

10 Comments

Filed under addiction, Anxiety, christian counseling, christian psychology, Christianity, counseling, Depression

Evaluating your life: Are you satisfied?


If you are in the Eastern part of of the US, you probably got an opportunity to feel some warmth, shed some layers, and see small signs of Spring. Its hard not to feel just a little less dismal about life. So, in honor of impending Spring, I’m going to post a few times this week about the continuous evaluations we make about life and their impact on our experience and feelings about said life.

Are you satisfied?

Just how would you go about answering that question? The very idea of satisfaction brings up many questions. What does satisfaction look and feel like? How does it differ from peace, hope, joy, contentment, etc.? Is it a feeling? A conclusion? What areas of life are we talking about?

Despite these many questions, part of the curse of living in Western culture is that we are taught to obsessively evaluate our lives and question if we are getting all that is available to us. (I’ve written in the past about tendency for individuals in my program to rate their optimism high but their happiness low–a sign of discontentment but hope for the future).

Of course, repeated evaluations generally lead to a sense of missing out on some important part of life (isn’t that what advertising is all about?)

What lack do you use to evaluate your life?

Most of us know we lack something that many others have. We may indeed have many good things–things that others would grab in a heartbeat. But those things we take for granted while we ruminate on what we wish for. “If only I had…then I would be able to…”

What is on your list? Home ownership? Education? Sex? Being pursued by someone? Children? Successful career? How does the lack you perceive you have shape your sense of life satisfaction? What does it cause you to ignore (or diminish) in your life that is blessing you?

Changing the criteria

If you have ever travelled to a part of the world where it is obvious that you are wealthy in comparison, you know that such an experience immediately changes your focus and evaluation. You see immense blessings. You feel guilty for spending 3 bucks on a coffee when someone in front of you hasn’t eaten for 3 days.

So, what might you use this week to change your focus? How might you look more at what you have rather than put your hopes in what you do not have but want so very much? How is God sustaining and enriching your life even though a desire you have (quite possibly a very holy desire) has not been satisfied?

Concluding thought

Satisfaction is not some higher plane of life; a nirvana. It happens in fleeting moments. We live with unmet desire but also with opportunities for pleasure and contentment. Challenge yourself to notice satisfying moments and take pleasure in them by engaging in thankful meditation.

2 Comments

Filed under christian psychology, Christianity, church and culture, Cultural Anthropology, Desires, Mindfulness