Category: Wholeness - trish hermanson

What Tree Are Thee?

4/13/2018

I am a beech tree in a forest of oaks.
That’s what I discovered when my scientist son-in-law described how oaks are the king of the forest. Their colossal boughs create such a wide canopy they cut off sunlight so other trees can’t flourish, Steve said.
Except for one - the beech. Like the little engine that could, it chugs through the envelope of darkness that oaks create until it finds a space for itself, sometimes carving a path between the oak’s branches.
So I am a beech tree in a forest of oaks. An introvert in a world of extroverts. Others with huge personalities thrive in life’s forest, while I search through the tangle of branches to find my spot.
But being a beech tree isn’t a bad thing. I may never reach the heights or grandeur of oaks, but I’ve found my place and prosper there.
Maybe you’re an oak, your huge personality taking up all the space in a room. Have you noticed the beauty of the other trees around you?
Maybe you’re a beech like me. Have you determined to find your way in the forest, whether the other trees make room for you or not?
Whatever kind of tree you are, there’s a place for you to thrive.

Is My Life a Great Story?

3/9/2018

Ever compare your life to a great story? I have.
     By “great story,” I mean one that I don’t read; it reads me. It plunges me down the mine shaft of my soul, hands me a pickax, and demands I chisel at the dross until I uncover treasures. It reveals secrets I don’t know about myself, or something I know but feared to face.
     A great story seduces me, then abandons me on its final page, leaving me bereft. Yet its memory enables me to rise, still mourning, and re-enter life with a sturdier stance.
     A great story asks me whether I’m making a great story of MY life. Am I embracing both love and sorrow, adventure and solitude? Do I stay in the safe village, or do I sometimes venture onto the road of risk?
     When I reach my final pages, will I have forgiven myself and others for mistakes along the way?
     And even if I don’t understand all the twists and turns in the plot, will I shout a hearty “thank you”?
     That’s a great story - and a great life.

Why I Fight for Peace

2/23/2018

Within walking distance of our home, I stop at the front porch of a woman who survived the sinking of the Titanic because I’m trying to figure out how to survive my own shipwreck.
     Molly Brown built this summer cottage to escape a disaster other than the Titanic - the hassle of her modern life. From her home in downtown Denver, Molly would travel two and one-half hours by horse-drawn carriage along a dirt road to her lodge, a pastoral retreat near the banks of Bear Creek.
     Fast-forward one hundred years, and Molly’s haven is no longer placid. On two sides of what is now an events center, four lanes of suburban traffic whiz by. A strip mall with a convenience store sit across the street. And this is my neighborhood.
     But it’s more than the congestion of city life that rattles me. It’s the stress of 24/7 news and phone alerts and texts and social media. They’re all good communication tools, but they can be toxic, even addictive experts say, leading to never turning off.
     Most of us don’t have the luxury to build a getaway as Molly did. For me, it's crucial I create a time and space for a sanctuary at home, even if it’s only a chair, a lamp, and a cup of tea. Otherwise, the cares of the world - and of my world - run me over.
  How do you create your refuge?

Is Grief Good?

10/6/2017

I’m swamped with grief these days from hurricanes and the mass shooting. And then grief broke into my friend’s home, an uninvited guest that refuses to leave. It haunts her with the image of the young face that won’t be in the next family photo. For another friend, grief stole his wife of forty years. An unfathomable loss.
I’m awkward with those who sorrow. I make mistakes, just as others have made with me when I’ve been in anguish. Grief camped in my home awhile back. One friend announced, “God knew best.” Well meaning, but as cold as an ice storm. Another friend wrote, “I’m sending you a hug right now, and it’s a really good one.” That warmed my soul. So when I see my mourning friends, I won’t ask, “How are you doing?” (which puts them on the spot). I’ll throw my arms wide and whisper, “I’m glad to see you.” As they scale their mountain of shock, I pray that at the summit they’ll find Good Grief, a painful teacher who reminds us of the few things that really matter in life.
But it’s a long, hard climb.

Got More Misery?

8/4/2017

Even though I blogged last week about the pain of resentment, I’m still wrestling with how hard forgiveness is. A reader wrote me he’s in the middle of forgiving a friend of 53 years. “I’ll overlook a lot to keep a relationship going,” he says. “Grudges weigh too much, and I don’t need any extra weight.”
Nor do I. Yet I let grudges weigh me down. I may take a first step toward forgiveness by choosing to pardon, what Denver counselor Dr. Michael Ballard calls the “decisional” phase of forgiving. But what trips me up is the huge backpack of emotions I lug around. How can I unload them? When I don’t, I fall into a tar pit of misery, hurting myself way more than the original offense committed against me.
What helps me to unload the bricks in my backpack is to remind myself that my creator God could have turned his back on me when I turned my back on him. But he didn’t. In the same way, I shouldn’t turn my back on others, but extend forgiveness. This may not restore trust and friendship, but it’s a start.
How do you unload your backpack of tough emotions so they don’t weigh you down?

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