I’ve been noisy.
Noisy as hell.

Not a shrill, eardrum-breaking noisy, like the sound made by high-strung teenage girls during a basketball tournament game. The restless type of noisy that comes from deep within my insides that only I can hear, and makes me irritable as sh*t. Like a static-y radio station that can’t quite be tuned clear no matter how much you fiddle with the tuner knob. Ever so slightly turning the knob to the left, then to the right, then left again, (…come on, already!…) all because you want to listen to that favorite song you can barely hear playing just beneath the fuzziness.

Internally noisy, my spirit was begging for stillness and silence.
And instead, I turned to my cell phone.

Addicted to the constant, low-grade panic that comes from being around electronics too much, I’d check my cell phone just because it was in front of me as if it was going to bestow a magic answer, like one of those Magic 8-Balls that you shake then turn upside down only to find out that the love of your life was the kid who picked their nose all through 3rd grade. (Darn it, missed that chance. Better shake the 8-ball again.) I was binge-watching youtube videos, clicking want-items not need-items into my amazon cart, and riding the totally-rad wave of endless internet searches on my Safari boogie board. I was in a time-loop pursuing meaningless answers to worthless questions.

And it hurt like hell.
It literally, actually, physically hurt.
All over my body.

I knew I’d reached a low point when bathing with my cell phone had become part of my nightly routine. (Hey there, Judgie McJudge, I can’t be the only one…) And much unlike that time I imagined I was bathing with a sexy, Kevin Costner look-alike with broad shoulders and really great chest hair while bathing by myself in the largest hotel bathtub ever known to me, bathing with a cell phone is, um…, counterproductive to relaxing.

And it was there, in my bathtub, that I hit my rock bottom.

Through the zombie-fog of the blue-light brain freeze, I threw my cell phone out onto the bathroom floor. Disgusted with myself, I yelled, “Ugh! I need SILENCE!” Charles, my house cat who perches himself on advantageous flat surfaces so he can adequately supervise me, gave a casual, unassuming downward glance as he watched my iPhone bounce across the fluffy, padded bathmat. By the soft shimmer of candle light off porcelain, I could see him turn to look at me. Angling his perky ears back to half-mast, he slowly squeezed his eyes into a cool squint as if to casually ask me, “And, just who do you think you are…?”

Yes, I’d been haphazardly searching for that answer for months. Errantly thinking I could find it rummaging and rifling through Safari rather than within the stillness of my own soul.

Nearly 20 years ago, while attending seminary, I spent 3 years as a student chaplain at a multi-tiered retirement community and nursing home. It was in this nursing home that I met Gloria (not her real name).

When I knew Gloria, she was a frail, petite, 90+ year old woman, who was suffering from the effects of Alzheimer’s Disease. This thief of an illness left her in constant commotion, restlessly patrolling the parameter of the prison that was her mind. Each day, Gloria put herself to the task of searching the closet in her room. Like most all closets in nursing homes, it was small and held the bare minimum of clothing a human being would need. Each day, every day, all day, she rummaged, rifled, and, as my grandmother would say, “rooted around,” constantly looking for her car keys. Keys to a car that she no longer could drive. Keys to a car that was benevolently sold for her by a caring relative. And in my imagination, keys to a “magic” car that she could use to magically free herself from her painful, deeply personal prison.

“Whatcha doing, Gloria?” I’d ask as I walked past her doorway. Her answer was always the same. Shaking her head, she’d reply in that thin, soft, high-pitched voice elderly women develop as they age, “My car keys. They’re in here somewhere. I just have to keep looking. I just have to keep looking.”

Rummaging. Rifling. Rooting.
Clearly, Gloria was in need of stillness.

We all have a bull’s eye story. That one story that we allow to define who we are, and that frustratingly bites at us when we least expect it, like the “no-see-‘em” bugs that come out in late summer. Over the years, I’ve been honored to hear many people’s bull’s eye stories, and I have yet to hear one that is not rife with emotional pain, heartbreak, rejection, and/or lack of nurture. In the slim moments when Gloria’s diseased mind gave her a reprieve, she was able to share her bull’s eye story with me. I’ll share a much-condensed version.

Gloria’s father had been an engineer working on a significant, well-known structure in the early part of the 20th century. Due to an unanticipated illness, he died when Gloria was 5 years old. With a stoicism that was heartbreaking for me to watch, Gloria shared how her life was forever altered the moment her daddy died. She shared how she didn’t get the chance to adequately grieve the loss of her father at the time, and had to move on without feeling emotionally secure. A grief that must have been excruciating and confusing to a little girl. Gloria shared with me many details of how her life changed from blessed to broken because of that one huge event.

Because Alzheimer’s Disease robs a person of mind and memory, Gloria’s bull’s eye story eventually shorten to its most essential bit. Near the end of her life, this essential bit was all she could recall about herself and then say in reply to me when I greeted her.

“Good afternoon, Gloria. How are you today?”

“My daddy died when I was 5 years old, but I’m over it now.”

A simple, concise statement that was always painful to witness, and still makes me tear up at the memory of it.

At her words, I would silently absorb and feel the pain Gloria had numbed-out for so many years, and spoke in a gentle voice that only I hear in my own heart.

“No, Gloria, you’re not over it. And you don’t have to be.”

Without her father’s strong, supportive presence in her life, and most importantly, without being able to properly grieve the initial intensity of his death, and then develop healthy coping mechanisms to grieve and honor him, Gloria went through life with a deep wound, trying her hardest to ignore it. Like a traumatized warrior stumbling forward, unaware they are dripping blood from a wound they are too in shock to be able to feel.

I choose to believe that in Gloria’s closet rummaging she was really looking for the key that would unlock and set her broken heart free. At 90+ years of age, with over 8 decades of blocked grief, and with a brain disease stealing her cognitive function, making it so talk therapy wasn’t a viable option for her anymore, rummaging through a closet was Gloria’s version of dealing with the noisiness in her soul. I am honored to have witnessed her courageous vulnerability.

My “bathtub incident” was a wake-up call for me to be still, face my noisiness, and nurture my soul. By the time I threw my iPhone out of the tub, it was past time I got real about my bull’s eye story, a story that pivots and swivels on fear of rejection. A story that can fester and ooze if I’m not mindful to cleanse it properly and often, and I have times when spirit-vultures circle, just waiting for me to have a weak moment when they can rip at my spiritual flesh and make the old wound deeper. This time around, I found stillness during a few days’ worth of spiritual retreat, where I stayed in a cabin that didn’t have TV or WiFi, shared prayer with a wise nun, participated in a Sweat Lodge ceremony, and took long walks in nature. I am grateful for Great Spirit beckoning me to the River of Life once more, and being with me in my stillness so I could deal with the real issue fueling my cell phone addiction and cleanse and renew my spirit.

The stillness of silence is where I am able to hear the everything in the nothing, and find the answers I seek.

Take a moment to be still and silent. This can happen anywhere you feel safe and grounded. Relax… Breathe… Welcome the stillness.

When your insides have quieted, allow yourself to be present in the moment and listen to the voice within you. Breathe…

How do you feel in this present moment? No worries from yesterday. No anxiety about tomorrow. How do you actually feel in THIS moment? Be patient with yourself. If you have been taught to stuff-down your emotions, this will take longer than you anticipate.

• What is your bull’s eye story?
• How it is manifesting at this point in your life?
• What are you using or abusing to avoid dealing with the noisiness?
• What benefit do you get from not dealing with your issue and living with noisiness?
• Who could you enlist to help you create a healthy way to deal with your issue?
• What would it look like if you found the key you need to unlock your bull’s eye story? • What pain within you would that key set free?

——
Patti Guenther. A student and facilitator of healing communication because I believe people are worth the risk. I write about what inspires me.

Writer’s note. Thank you, Adam Gisch. Through you, I was reminded that God is mysterious, wise, and technologically savvy. ~ I believe, brother. ~ And, thank you, “Gloria.” I felt your spirit present with me as I wrote this story. I choose to believe you found THE KEY and you are now free from all emotional and physical pain. You taught me so much in our short time together. I am grateful and blessed to have known you. Your story continues to have positive impact on me, and I believe it will create positive impact in our world.

© 2019 Patricia S Guenther All rights reserved. 515-341-2916 http://www.pattiguenther.com

I love 70’s and 80’s classic rock.

Big hair tortured under the weight of a dried-out spiral perm. Semi-orgasmic guitar solos played by a tall, skinny guy in faded blue jeans that are a couple octaves too tight. A mega-cool lead singer who wears more black eye liner, flouncy scarves, and mismatched jewelry than your gaudy Aunt Lillian. And, epic rock ballads that profess the hunger pains of angst-ridden love. Scratchy, intense, road-weary vocals convey longing and yearning that ring true the world over for anyone who has a deep desire to connect with the natural forces of The Universe.

Sigh…  All we need now is a love-struck boyfriend to make a mix tape with a playlist handwritten on a piece of spiral notebook paper.

In all seriousness, God bless the men who were once the teenage boys who put forth the effort to spend innumerable hours fast-forwarding, rewinding, and then listening to each song as it copied over from one cassette to the other. A true test of personal willpower that combined desire, the patience of Job, and the goal-oriented aptitude of a field general. Be impressed.

I think those teenage boys where on to something important. That music has the power to bond people to one another through shared experience. A powerful connection that gives us a way to heal what’s broken. And, a way to let the things that aren’t broken the space to just be.

I believe this because it’s my experience. For example, when a song’s music and lyrics strike a chord with my emotions, I play that song over and over.

And, over and over…

Mesmerized. Like being drawn to a light.

Because in my mind that specific song belongs with a specific memory of a specific moment. And as I reminisce about what was and what wasn’t, the music’s message helps me make sense of how that moment belongs in the bigger picture of my lived experience.

Waiting for a girl like you…

Two weeks ago, my niece, Michaela, and I went to the Iowa State Fair to hear Foreigner, one of the most popular classic rock bands. I love Foreigner. I love Michaela. It was a beautiful combination.

As we entered the fairgrounds on the eastside of Des Moines, that strange mixture of greasy deep-fat fry and burnt tire rubber filled the air. A distinct odor that screams, “State Fair.”

Walking through the fairgrounds, the feel of the moment became more intense the closer we got to the Grand Stand. Through the turnstile ticket gate and up the first flight of steps, I sensed the crowd before I saw it, I sensed the crowd’s roar before I heard it. As a buzzy feeling danced alongside my pulse, I was drawn deeper into the building, deeper into the experience. As I got to the top of the steps, emerging from the Grand Stand’s underbelly, I felt a fresh, cool breeze on my skin that roused me, and I became one with the crowd’s energy.

My internal energy became in tune with the synergy of the people around me, and I started to strut to the beat of the music rather than just walk. This belonging to the crowd wasn’t just “in my head.” It was a visceral and physical experience as the music vibrated the cartilage plate in my chest, and buzzed my limbs in the delicate layer of tissue that lies between my skin and my muscles. Hit song after hit song, the crowd ebbed and flowed with the experience. For example, we swayed in sync to the beat of the music as we sang along with the lead singer as he belted out the famous lyrics, “I want to know what love is…” Swaying and singing in unison, transfixed by the beam of the bright lights illuminating the stage as if we were staring at an alien spaceship hovering over us, calling us home to the motherland. In this moment, I looked out over the crowd and imagined the thousands of individual, unique memories about love and lust that were intertwining in that one moment, like coming home and seeing a mass of yarn strands covering the living room floor with the house cat lying in the middle.

For a few hours on one August evening, the experience I shared with this band, this crowd, and this niece made me forget my hurts and pains. In those few hours, I set down the old, tired, worn-out, emotional baggage I carry around with me every day – loneliness, rejection, feeling misunderstood, and worrying if I’m good enough. In those few hours chillin’ out in the Grand Stand with my niece, listening to songs from my youth, I simultaneously reminisced about adolescent experiences that I keep tucked away in my private, mental “play list” of personal memories, and created a new positive memory “track” with a person who is dear to me. 

Connecting and bonding with one another in ways that create positive memories is essential for our overall health and sense of well-being. Absolutely essential.

I’m a fan of John Gottman, an American psychology researcher and clinician who has studied marital stability and divorce prediction for over four decades. I believe his research into human relationship is universal enough to transfer to friendships, work relationships, and overall human decency. Gottman’s research shows that there are several predictive measures to whether a marriage will work in the long-term. (Let’s stretch this to mean any relationship). The TOP 2 actions are showing each other KINDNESS, especially during a stressful event that requires a difficult conversation, and being intentional about creating POSITIVE ENERGY which leads to positive memories, specifically at a ratio of 5 positives to 1 negative. In other words, a good relationship doesn’t just happen. It takes intentionality to create kind, uplifting and emotionally soothing moments that will neutralize the social hurts we all experience throughout each day.

As a spiritual person, I choose to believe that human connecting and bonding – in other words, having a way to belong to something bigger than just your own, private experience – is The Universe’s way of giving us a mechanism to help us cope and make sense of the ups and downs of life because, let’s face it, living life is an emotionally vulnerable experience. We need to have deep connections in order to feel safe enough to share our creativity, our productivity, and our authenticity so that we can actually believe that when we call out for help that someone will be there to notice and respond in a way that soothes our spirit and helps make things better.

As an aunt, all 9 of my nieces and nephews are valuable people to me. I remember where I was when I heard about each of their births, and hearing each unique name for the first time. At the time of each of their baptisms, I made a promise to God that I would protect and provide guidance. A promise that I take seriously and am devout to.

I’ve always known that each was an important relationship that would grow and develop over time. From the start, getting to know each for who they really are, seeing into their spirit, was important to me. My end goal was for them know that they could count on me for support, encouragement, truthfulness, to fill in the gaps to increase understanding, and have a place for balancing serious reflection and laughing at life. I’ve made mistakes in these relationships, for sure. Looking beyond the mistakes, empathizing, relating to authentic feelings, and being able to approach difficult conversations has always been an important goal for me because I knew that if I’d laid a foundation for being able to talk about just about anything that in me they’d have at least one person they could rely on in a shaky moment. Trusted support from someone who is 100% vested in them and their future. I wanted to create a connection that would give them a way to heal what’s broken. And, a way to let the things that aren’t broken the space to just be.

Twenty-five years ago, I could only dream of how important that foundation was going to be.

As time passes and my nieces and nephews become young adults, I now receive emotional support as well as give it, and we share intellectually interesting conversations about topics that aren’t part of my usual day, and we get to have fun experiences based on their interests, not just mine, and they bring new people into my life that I wouldn’t have otherwise met. Realizing this level of connection, bonding, and belonging brings tears to my eyes as I remember visioning this future while sitting in a church pew during that first baptism at the Corwith United Methodist Church over 25 years ago.

Relationships are a long-term commitment.

Now, when I think of those teenage boys who made mix tapes, I truly believe they were attempting to make good relationships great. Thinking beyond the immediate moment. Putting their hearts on the line. Sharing a positive experience in order to create meaningfulness with another person.

Creating meaning in a long-term relationship is like making a mix tape. It takes time to do things that move the relationship forward. It takes time to rewind, sharing and reflecting on thoughts and feelings. And, it takes time to listen and appreciate the chords, the lyrics, the harmony… the music of a relationship.

Do things that create and maintain positive momentum in your relationships.

• Be kind, especially during stressful moments. This isn’t about being spineless. This is about seeing the world from the other person’s point of view so together you can create a better outcome.
• Build trust through authenticity. In other words, have the courage to “lay it out on the table.” Authentically sharing both your thoughts and feelings honors you, the other person, and the relationship, which builds trust through shared vulnerability.
• Find all kinds of ways to let that person know that they matter to you. Being specific about their actions will amplify the effect. And, letting them know you are proud of them and proud to be with them is golden.
• Turn towards the person to acknowledge them. Open body language and eye contact are a big deal because doing so builds trust and rapport. These seemingly simple body movements fire off thousands of biochemical reactions in the human neurological system – it’s how the human brain and neural pathways are wired.
• Do what it takes to create meaning in your relationships before you wish you had because relationships have a price tag… time. Make sure your special person has a play list of meaningful memories that they can play over and over. Over and over. Mesmerized. Drawn to you and your relationship.

——

Patti Guenther.  A student and facilitator of healing communication because I believe people are worth the risk. I write about what inspires me with the intention to create positive impact in our world.

Writer’s note.  Thank you to my niece, Michaela Christian. You rock at listening to my “shitty first drafts” as I reflect upon my feelings and thoughts in a free-flow kind of way. You are an amazing listener. Thank you for reviewing what I’ve written, and encouraging me to share this story. I believe it will create a positive impact in our world.

© 2019 Patricia S Guenther All rights reserved. 515-341-2916 Follow me at http://www.pattiguenther.com

I’m a Star Wars fan.

As a young girl, I totally geeked-out over space ships, lightsabers, and my Princess Leia paper doll. My favorite characters are Yoda and Obi-Wan. Their composed inner strength, wise counsel, and ability to guide the next generation to a better way of being win me over every time. Committed to developing those who will become their legacy, they make it possible for hope to awaken. Plus, them ol’ boys got some kick-*ss lightsaber skills.

As Obi-Wan explains to a young Luke Skywalker, The Force is an energy that surrounds us, an energy that lives within us, an energy that binds us together.

Hope is an energy. Hope is a force. Hope is a connection to something greater than ourselves. And when awoken, hope is the essence which gives birth to a more blessed future.

Deep within you hope lives, yes?

Over the past few years, I’ve witnessed friends become grandparents. Patiently, quietly excited, they look forward to the moment. And when able to officially bear the title, they bask in the glow, radiating pride, surprised at the amount of love their hearts can hold.

I can only imagine what it’s like meeting a grandchild for the first time, holding the blanket-bundle in your arms and carefully lifting the edge of the cloth, like pulling back a tuft of grass protecting the opening of a bunny nest. A pastel-colored stocking cap perched atop a fuzzy head evoking warmth and gentleness. From the blanket-bundle, a tiny, precious life emerges with brilliant, bright eyes, soft skin, and wiggly cuteness. One can only marvel at the sight of such a lovely creature so full of promise, who holds the history of generations past in the palm of one small hand, and hope for things yet-to-be in the other.

I’ve been told that becoming a grandparent is a different feeling than becoming a parent. The pride, joy, and love, as well as the caution and concern a grandparent feels seem to have an aged quality, like whiskey that’s been seasoned 30 years in an oak cask. A mellow wisdom that can only be gained through years of experiencing and absorbing all the salty and sweet flavors life offers up.

When I ask about the feeling of becoming a grandparent, most chuckle as they say it’s great because there’s so much love, and none of the responsibility. I wonder at this because those who say it are always such responsible people. Which makes me think, perhaps when one becomes a grandparent the responsibility doesn’t really go away. Instead, the focus shifts from tending to the tangible – like food needs, education, and paying the bills – to making time for the intangible. Simply being present and loving the kiddos for who they are and, in turn, teaching them how to love. Guiding and supporting in a physically and emotionally safe environment so they may develop into their true, authentic selves, free to create their own brand of magic. My grandparents made time to build a meaningful relationship with me, which included an equal measure of laughter and well-timed advice. And, I truly hope you have, or have had, someone like this in your life, too. Because when someone takes time to truly “see” you and your potential, love you for it, and walk with you on life’s path, the long-reaching positive impact is quite remarkable.

Risking running amok with a famous newscaster who wrote an equally famous book about the World War 2 generation, my faith and belief tell me that *the* greatest generation will always be the next generation. No doubt, previous generations deserve our respect and appreciation for their commitment to freedom, liberty, and progress. And on the other side of the scale, the next generation, awaiting like the dawn sitting on the horizon, is vitally important. They are essential for not only our survival as a species but, more important, for our hope in a future that promises to be more secure, more vibrant, more blessed.  Like Moses in a basket of reeds, like Jesus in a manger, a child heralds new hope, calling us to a new way of being, a new purpose. Profoundly awakening and inspiring us to something new happening around, within, and between, deepening our connection to one anther.

The next generation is hope among us. And, is best served when fortified by someone who makes a promise to it.

You don’t need to be a grandparent to make this promise. Heck… you don’t even need to own a lightsaber. You do, however, need to purposely engage with the future.

Taking responsibility to prepare the next generation for a future yet-to-be awakens hope, and empowers and develops those who will walk into that future. Regardless of whether the next generation is a young child innocently gazing into a foggy cloud containing their destiny, or an adult child asking questions in order to clarify the next chapter of a succession plan, guiding the next generation to a better way of being requires vision, intention, and preparation. It also requires genuine connection to yourself and others, tapping into and flowing with the life force that lives around, within, and between, in order to bind together and preserve who and what really matter, as well as cut out that which doesn’t belong nor serve the higher purpose anymore. In other words, taking responsibility for creating a future where hope can flourish requires having the courage to love so deeply that you are driven to make hard decisions, and compelled to stand up for something bigger than just yourself.

What promise do you make to prepare the next generation to be more secure, and more empowered to create a vibrant, blessed future? 

Awaken hope. Build a legacy that enriches and empowers.

——

Patti Guenther.  A student and facilitator of healing communication because I believe people are worth the risk. I write about what inspires me because I believe that well-told stories are capable of creating positive impact.

© 2019 Patricia S Guenther All rights reserved. 515-341-2916 http://www.pattiguenther.com