Category: Abuse

Abuse, Alcoholism, Faith, Religion, Spirituality

Letting It Go…to God

Lisa Burbank

I am distracted. And struggling not to be. Yes, it is 6:14 in the morning. Yoga, meditation, affirmations, some fictional writing and journaling have already been attended to but I’m losing focus. It makes me realize just how much time is truly wasted with drama.

Mom hit me with some family drama the moment I came in the door from work last night. We had a lovely day Saturday celebrating my Uncle Ernie’s birthday at his home on the lake. We chatted with family and friends, did some catching up here and there. I spent some time on the water, boating, with my Aunt Sharon and Cousin Jenny. And then we came home. Though lies, petty jealousies and childish attitudes have caused some recent splintering in this already fragile dynamic, there was little evidence of this at the cookout. Albeit, fewer faces of loved ones shared the day with us–and they were missed–but everyone in attendance mingled amiably, ate a lot of good food (so much for my 20 lbs by Nov. 20th…), and the gossip and drama appeared to be non-existent. Until yesterday. Apparently, one of my cousins seems bent on keeping the feuds going, posting some rather hurtful remarks on Facebook. I’m not sure why. And I’m not sure I want to know why anyone would get their rocks off of hurting their own flesh and blood; that sort of meanness is just something I can’t wrap my mind around. And, again, I don’t want to. Abuse, no matter what form it takes, is unacceptable.

Of course, this is all hearsay; Mom may have edited a bit to try to keep peace, as I know how deeply hurt she was when the family splintered apart after my grandmother’s passing in 1990. I usually avoid the ongoing dramas…especially on Facebook, where everyone suddenly finds the courage to say things to others they would never have the courage to say face-to-face. While I love many things about the Internet and social media, the use of it as a tool for hurting others is one facet of it I don’t like.

I’m Switzerland. I don’t see “sides”. There is no one member better than I am (or each other) nor do I consider myself better than anyone else; we are all the same in His eyes–and in mine. And there are more important things to worry about than he said/she said. My maternal grandparents had 11 children, 8 of whom are still with us. And, while we may often resemble the Hatfields and McCoys, there isn’t a single member of this family that I don’t love deeply. I may not always like the way they act, but I love them anyway. And yet, becoming that proverbial hermit-in-the-woods is pretty appealing at this point. There are times when I get so frustrated with everyone, it’s all I can do to keep from wanting to sit each family member in a separate corner for timeout so they can get their foolishness under control. This is not at all the way my grandmother raised them to be and yet they continue to dishonor her memory by creating these “sides”. My grandmother’s grave has weeds growing on it. There is an old wives’ tale that this is a sign the person is not resting in peace. I can’t imagine why…

I also can’t imagine that this is God’s plan for this family, that we should fight and bicker and throw hurtful comments back and forth. Yes, I know the old kiddie refrain of “Sticks and stones may break my bones but words will never hurt me.” That’s not entirely true. Words cut into the soul; sticks and stones only hurt the flesh.

Sitting back and observing, as only a writer can, it seems as this family tries to get back together–or, if we must put this in past-tense–when the family was trying to get back together, various members came back expecting others to have changed, to be different people than the ones they shied away from before. Yes, people can change. But I am reminded of something in my Al-Anon daily reader, “Courage to Change”, about how we expect others to act the way we want them to and then get angry with them when they act on their own. I’m paraphrasing but it is by-product of alcoholism, wanting to control each other, and having unrealistic expectations. No, neither grandparent was an alcoholic (nor, to my knowledge, is any aunt, uncle or cousin) but both great-grandfathers had a reputation for alcoholism. A. It can skip a generation and B. the coping behaviors learned by one generation often get handed down to another because there’s been no one teaching them a better, more respectful way of treating one another–and ourselves. As one of my best friend’s mother phrased it, “You can only work with the tools you’ve been given.” Yes, there are deeper issues behind the family feuds, but alcoholism lies at the root–the root that prevents the type of communication needed for healing to begin. (Denial is another symptom of alcoholism…)

I grew up in an active alcoholic home. My step-father drank heavily and was a violent man when he drank; he fit most of the stereotypical images of the flaming alcoholic. But alcoholism is often more subtle than that. Growing up with active alcoholism, you learn to keep your thoughts and your feelings to yourself. You don’t want to trigger another temper tantrum in the alcoholic nor do you want to be ridiculed or told you’re stupid for your views. This lack of communication, if left alone, often gets perpetuated through the next generation in a family. How can it not if speaking your mind brought on a string of repercussions? The only difference is, that because there is no visible, active alcoholism in the home in this next generation, it is easy to deny the effects, to be unable to recognize them for what they are. Lying, poking one’s nose in everyone else’s affairs, refusing to take responsibility for one’s actions, placing blame, denial, being overly sensitive, sarcasm, lack of trust, low self-esteem and blowing everything out of proportion are all side effects of alcoholism. There’s a reason why both AA and Al-Anon ask us to admit that our lives have become “unmanageable”; they have. How can this sort of behavior be manageable? And, as I type this, I think of how there is a small part of me that is still feeling the effects of my own alcoholic upbringing: I so want to call that “timeout” I mentioned earlier and “force” everyone to get along, but that would only do more harm than good. And that is not my right. So I leave it in the hands of the only One who can heal it, heal each individual, and lead them either closer together, by making all feel welcome and appreciated as is…or allowing those who have been perpetually wounded too deeply to go their own way so that no further abuse or ostracism can be meted out upon them.

Acceptance is where the healing begins. Acceptance that sometimes families are just not capable of being like The Waltons or The Brady Bunch; that is fiction and, while we love it, we cannot write the script or direct the actions of all the players when it comes to real life. Sometimes, though we share blood, we speak totally different languages. And that’s okay…as long as those different languages aren’t used to hurt and abuse each other. When the abuse exists, there’s every right to step away.

Forgiveness is the other starting point. Forgiveness isn’t about condoning another’s conduct. And it doesn’t mean you have to go back into the hornet’s nest and endure more pain and abuse; “family” is who you choose to care for, and that may not necessarily mean “blood”. Forgiveness is about the person, not the act. And forgiveness is for yourself, for your own soul. Matthew 6:14: “Your heavenly Father will forgive you if you forgive those who sin against you; but if you refuse to forgive them, he will not forgive you.” (The Living Bible)

I don’t know where He is leading this family. Again, I am Switzerland. Nobody has the right to bully another, whether by making them feel uncomfortable, placing words in another’s mouth, or by threatening to withhold their love and friendship for associating with “the other side”; there are no sides. And I had enough of walking on eggshells as a child. I am a child of God as is everyone else on this planet, whatever you perceive Him/Her to be. God did not create us to be perfect. He asks only that we love Him with all of our hearts, minds, souls, and bodies; and that we love our neighbors as ourselves. If everyone in this family can remember that, maybe we’ve still got a fighting chance…no pun intended.

May God bless you & keep you!

Abuse, Animal Rights, Gratitude, Herbs, Homesteading, Nature, Writing

It All Started with Dreams of Goats and Sheep

Lisa Burbank

My favorite part of the St. Louis Zoo was the children’s petting zoo, especially the area where all the kids and lambs were kept. I could have stayed there all day. We went to the zoo a lot in the summer months so at least I got frequent visits where I could feed my growing obsession. In between visits, I would fantasize about having goats and sheep of my own. It’s funny because I never saw this enormous farm. It was always a smaller place with just enough room for a small herd. And I always had a garden full of herbs and flowers–the Botanical Gardens were another favorite place to visit as a kid. I would even imagine myself in later years as an old woman with that herd of goats and sheep, and a yard full of flowers, herbs and vegetables. I can’t think of a better way to retire someday but I am working towards making that dream come true now. That old woman of myself was happily settled.

It started with the petting zoo. Books fueled it further. When my family relocated from Rhode Island to St. Louis, Missouri in December 1978, I felt completely lost. I missed my family. Granted, my stepfather’s family welcomed me as their own and I’ve been blessed with a third “set” of grandparents, aunts, uncles and cousins that I love dearly. It’s just the place where you’re born always has a special tug, no matter where you end up later in life. And I was convinced there would be at least one family member I would lose before we returned East again. You see, I lost my paternal grandfather shortly after we relocated the first time in December 1974. He was probably my biggest influence. He was a writer and a musician and he gave me a love of learning that I cherish to this day. He started teaching me chess at the tender age of 3–well enough that I held my own in a chess club against some with trophies bigger than houses, though I’ve never had an interest in competing; I enjoy the game just because it’s fun and requires one’s total absorption. My family managed to move back East just before Poppop’s passing in April 1975. Nanny, my paternal grandmother, passed almost a year to the day after Poppop and things were never quite the same in my world. Somehow it stuck in my head that major moves like that would result in losing someone dear again. And I did. My Uncle Jimmy was killed in a car accident 6 months’ after that second relocation in May 1979. We were only 4 years apart in age and our birthdays just 2 days’ apart. Mom and Grandma Heon would have a cake for us both on the day in between our birthdays. Anyway, at 12 years old, this was just too much grief and homesickness to deal with so books became my solace.

I remember being in Ms. Borden’s 7th grade class and picking up Elizabeth George Speare’s “The Witch of Blackbird Pond”. It was set in New England–Connecticut, more specifically–and the vivid descriptions of a Puritan village (I had already visited Sturbridge on a field trip and fallen in love…) and autumn foliage and the smell of salty sea air brought home a little closer to me. Maybe that’s where the dreams of myself being a little old lady with a bunch of goats really came from as the character of Hannah Tupper lives alone in her little dilapidated cottage with her goats and her cats (I am sort of in line for that title of “Crazy Cat Lady”…). She reminded me of another elderly woman who lived across the street from my maternal grandparents. Her name was Mae. And I know her last name but I am not sure of the spelling so please forgive the lack of etiquette. Anyway, this book became a major part of my life. I still have a copy. And I cannot count the number of times I have read it.

“Those Miller Girls” by Alberta Wilson Constant was another that captured my heart at that tender age. Though it was not set in New England like “The Witch of Blackbird Pond”, Swish the Goat was a major supporting character–at least in my book he was. This seemed to be a theme to my early readings. Ironically, I didn’t read “Heidi” until my early 40’s!

A couple of years later Mom had enrolled in the Doubleday Book Club. One of the first books she received was entitled, “The Tiger’s Woman” by Celeste De Blasis. Unlike “The Witch of Blackbird Pond” and “Those Miller Girls”, it did not feature any goats, though there were plenty of sheep. And this was not a young adult reader. If Mom had known the very adult content, she probably would have prohibited me from reading it at 14 years of age; the bedroom scenes were quite explicit. But this book actually became a major catalyst in my life as the lead character of Sarah-Mary Drake and I shared a common childhood: we both had fathers (in my case, stepfather) who wanted too much to do with us. I suddenly felt less alone in the world but, more importantly, the influence that this book in particular had on my life still has the power to astound me: my love of Newfoundlands from the character of Captain; my determination to learn American Sign Language from the characters of Maggie and Ben; Sarah-Mary learns gardening, spinning, weaving, breadmaking–all of the myriad aspects that make up homesteading. A later book by Celeste De Blasis, entitled “Wild Swan”, had almost as much of an impact as the lead character, Alexandria, is an herbalist, as is her grandmother, Virginia. The vivid descriptions of Virginia’s English herb garden stuck with me and put me in mind of Mae, too. Though I don’t recall Mae having an herb garden, she did know her plants, her herbs. Mom cured a case of pink eye (conjunctivitis) in me using a decoction of spearmint leaves, a remedy that she learned from Mae when she was a child.

I am definitely older now. Not sure if I’m any wiser. But copies of these books stand on the shelf of my library, tattered and torn, the bindings cracked, the pages yellowed from their many handlings over the years. Every once in awhile, I feel a need to re-visit some old friends and mentors, and remember the solace these cherished volumes provided for a lost and lonely little girl. It could be, too, that they’re simply some well-written stories with some vivid and memorable characters. I admit, if I can write just one complete novel with even half of the dynamics that Celeste De Blasis put into her novels, I will consider myself a success as a writer. She was an extraordinary author…even if she didn’t feature any goats in her novels.

Almost 40 years later, I am still in love with Swish the Goat. And I still linger overlong in the petting zoos.

May God bless you & keep you!

Abuse, Alcoholism, Faith, Frugality, Gratitude, Holistic Health, Nature, Religion, Spirituality, Yoga & Fitness

Recognizing the Little Miracles

Lisa Burbank

This morning 3:30 was a bit of a struggle. My body isn’t quite settling down to sleep at the earlier bedtime needed to support such an early rising. But I know it won’t be much longer. I feel myself waking up just minutes before the alarm and I am waking up on my own. This morning–barely! I was tempted to make a quick trip downstairs to the loo and then give in to the temptation to go back to bed for another hour…or two. But I drew a deep breath, pulled on the big girl pants and got on the yoga mat instead.

And my favorite yoga video–A.M. Yoga for Beginners with Rodney Yee (Gaiam)–broke. I popped the VHS tape (yes, it is that old, that beloved) into the VCR (yes, I still have one–two, actually) and there were all these squiggly lines across the TV screen (the TV is an analog, btw…) then the VCR actually shut off and ejected the tape–almost. It would only come out so far. So I turned the VCR back on and pushed it back in, hit rewind. It rewound. I hit play. More squiggly lines and, after another moment or two, the VCR shut off again, spitting out the tape; again, halfway. So I tried to extract it. And the tape snapped. Judging by the accordian-like folds in it, it has seen its better days.

Normally, I would throw a little temper tantrum; the peace of my day would’ve been totally spoiled. This would be “proof” that I should have gone with my first instinct and gone back to bed. But I think the combination of Al-Anon daily literature and Positive Affirmations for Life, “Affirmations for Living a Complaint-Free Life” (Farnoosh Brock) program is finally being absorbed somewhere in the DNA, or at least the psyche, because I had only a fleeting moment of calmly thinking “That sucks” and then I reached for a lesser-used yoga video, “Stress Relief Yoga for Beginners” with Suzanne Deason (Gaiam). It proved to be a nice change of pace and helped release some of the shoulder tension I had been holding onto. I remembered why it has also been a bit of a favorite of mine and I came away from that half hour feeling totally relaxed and energized…which is how one should feel after a yoga workout. So there’s the first little miracle of my day. I overcame a personal, well, not exactly a hang-up but I didn’t allow this little hiccough to overshadow everything else. I didn’t view it as “the end of the world”. (It’s funny because I usually maintain calm in major calamities (i.e. true crises) but its the little things like this that usually frustrate and irritate me to no end)

However, as I sat down to pray the Chaplet of the Divine Mercy, I started thinking that replacing it with the DVD version probably wouldn’t be all that expensive; I would really miss this video. It’s a very gentle series of stretches that really wake up the body-mind, helping me to focus. And, without it, those times when I’ve been lazy and given into that temptation to catch another hour or two of sleep, I find my joints really starting to ache. Yoga, in general, has been like food and water for me–I need it to feel healthy and strong each day. Again, I would really miss this one. So, despite trying to keep my spending to the barest minimum, it would be worth the investment. After my prayers, affirmations, Mind Movies (Natalie Ledwell), and meditation (another small miracle–I reined in my usual impulsive nature), I went online to http://www.gaiam.com and looked to see if this video was even still available. It was given to me in 2002 by a friend so it is at least 15 years old but, apparently, it is a popular seller because Gaiam still carries it.

And here’s the third little miracle of my day: Gaiam is hosting a big sale of their DVD’s. You could buy 4 DVD sets (i.e. more than one DVD in each) for just under $19. I had mentally budgeted myself that if A.M. Yoga for Beginners was over $30, I would just have to make due without it. Now I have 3 other DVD sets coming with it; should be here in a few days. Even with shipping and handling, I didn’t exceed the $30 cap. And this actually answered another longing in my heart. I’ve been thinking I would like to try some new yoga routines and here I have several coming to me. Proof that He really does give us what we need…and maybe even a few of the things we want. Earlier this week, my favorite juices, bananas, frozen strawberries, and Sunbutter (for making smoothies) all went on sale at Big Y–and that seems to be a regular thing. When I really need something, He provides a sale so that I can afford it.

I’m going to shoot for the stars now. With a little help from above, maybe someone will have a sale on a good pair of walking sneakers in the not-so-distant future. A little cardio would be a good thing and I have 20 lbs. extra to shed. You never know. Little miracles occur every day. And these are just the material. If we look closely enough, we may begin to see those little miracles everywhere. I’m going to keep looking for those little miracles. And be grateful for each and every one of them.

May God bless you & keep you!

Abuse, Alcoholism, Animal Rights, Environment, Faith, Frugality, Homesteading, Minimalism, Nature, Religion, Zero Waste

Sunday Laments

Lisa Burbank

28 people attended the 11 o’clock Mass this Sunday–and that was counting members of the choir, the Lector and Eucharistic Minister.
28?
And Father Elson (who would make 29 people in church on Sunday) made an announcement that every 5 years the Diocese of Norwich does an evaluation of churches to determine if there is enough attendance to warrant keeping them open. This year is the 5 year mark again for Our Lady of LaSalette. If we fail the evaluation, our doors may close forever.
What is wrong with this picture?
I remember as a little girl that St. Rita’s Catholic Church in Oakland Beach, Rhode Island would be full every Sunday morning. We’re only talking the mid-1970’s so what has happened in the last 40 years to take people away from church? Away from God? I am speaking, primarily, to Christians, because I do not know if attendance has fallen in the synagogues, mosques, or any other houses of worship. And, though I spoke of Catholicism, it does not matter the denomination. I have visited Baptist, Methodist and Episcopalian churches in recent years and their attendance is down, too. I think that it is truly sad that our modern-day society neglects Him so greatly–especially with all of the violence and degradation that seems so prevalent in this society.
Okay. Maybe it is not that folks are neglecting Him. Maybe the kids’ soccer/softball/badminton practice isn’t taking precedence over keeping the Sabbath Day holy. Maybe we’re not worshiping St. Mattress either. Maybe we’re not being influenced by all the anti-God media that laces our society. It could be that it is just the whole “organized religion” thing that has turned folks away. And I understand the myriad reasons that might happen.
Though this would fall under the category of “hearsay”, I have friends with parents who used God–or their religion–to punish their children when they did something wrong. I know of two such individuals who talk about having to kneel on popcorn kernels and pray the rosary for whatever offense they committed. Personally, I think this would be one of those individuals that Jesus said “woe unto them” for keeping the little children from coming to Him, not to mention a form of abuse. If a child associates the divine meditation of the rosary (or any other religious practice) with punishment, it is little wonder that their relationship with Him would be tainted from the very beginning. I know of one individual who was denied food for her children because she was not a regular member of the parish that she visited for help. Okay. I have visited the local food pantry in recent times and I know they have specific towns that they serve; their pantry is stocked only so full. So, on the one hand, I can understand this position, but children were starving. At the very least, a point in the direction of someone who could help might have been appreciated. Another refuses to attend because a beloved relative was denied a eulogy due to their civil union with a member of the same sex. Yes, I can pull Scripture that supports this stand. But I believe we are born with our orientation. I am hetero. If I were to date again, it would be as natural as breathing for me to date a man. It is not something I consciously think about and choose. And I have to believe it is the same for someone in a same sex relationship. If I am wrong, somehow I do not think continuing this modern-day witch hunt against the LGBT community is going to help the situation. The Bible also teaches us not to lie and to deny one’s orientation would be the same as lying. We do not know His plan for anyone else but we do know He also commands us to “love our neighbors as ourselves” and to “judge not lest ye be judged”. Sadly, in taking this stand, the loved ones who came to say their last goodbye were denied the healing closure of bereavement and worship. And, truly, a funeral or memorial service is for the loved ones left behind as much as for the soul of the departed.
Yes, someone (parents? grandparents?) rammed religion down your throat as a child. Perhaps they used a religious practice to punish you. But it was not God who used religion to punish you. Yes, you and your child were denied food but it was not God who denied you. It was a person. And it doesn’t matter if it was someone of the cloth. They may be a representative here on earth of our heavenly Father but they are still human, with all of the fallacies and short-comings of the human race. Yes, a loved one was denied a Sacrament. Again, it was a human being who denied it.
Something else I hear a lot of, too, is questioning. And the questions all boil down to the same thing: why does He let bad things happen? He gave us the Bible as a road map for living a good life here on earth. He also gave us the right to choose whether or not we will use that road map to continuously seek Him and to obey his commandments. He had to give us the right to choose or our faith would be meaningless if we did not seek Him for ourselves. I know it sounds like a platitude to say that others choose NOT to follow Him and so they commit these atrocities against the earth, it’s creatures and, most especially, our fellow Man. That doesn’t give much solace for the loved ones of victims from our fallen world, or even when illness takes those loved ones away. The truth is, I don’t have a better answer and I would to God I did. As a survivor of child molestation, there have been many times in my life that I have asked “Why?” myself, times when my anger has gripped me and left me railing at Him for forsaking me in my time of need, as I remember all the times as a little girl that I knelt beside my bed and prayed that the abuse–and the alcoholism that helped fuel it–would end. But it didn’t. However, I do believe that He has a plan even for that. And I do know that whenever I choose to follow Him, despite the loss, the horror, the pain of bad things happening–even to good and godly-people–that somewhere along the line, His grace does lead me through it and there is always that little nudge to take that pain and make something happy and positive from it. Maybe it’s a specific action to alleviate future sufferings. Maybe it’s simply a command to listen more to others, or to pray. Maybe it’s a command to listen more closely to Him…and to obey those instincts that alert us when something is wrong. Or perhaps it is simply a command to understand that in order to love my neighbor as myself, I have to learn to love myself enough to make that a valid command.
God commanded us to “remember the Sabbath day and keep it holy”. A bad experience in one church or with an individual from a particular church or denomination–a bad experience, period–should not prevent us from coming to Him each week in worship and prayer. It should not deny us the fellowship and support of a worshiping community either. God simply is. God is enough. And that should be reason enough to keep that Sabbath Day holy.
May God bless you & keep you!