Spiritual Things Matter

A truly great man never puts away the simplicity of a child. ~Confucius

I grew up in an orphanage and those childhood years afforded me many opportunities to imagine how it would have felt to have been a part of a more traditional type of family. Since Father’s Day is just around the corner, I would like to write about my childhood dreams of fatherhood.

As a child, when I felt afraid and alone, I would reflect upon what it would have been like to be able to sit on my father’s lap. In my mind, I could see him wiping my tears and giving me a tender kiss on the forehead, and letting me know that all is well with the world. I would imagine my father embracing me at night and wishing me a good night sleep after reading me a bed-time story. Then, I would rest peacefully knowing that my father is always there. I would wonder how my father would handle someone treating me unfairly and wanting to hurt me. In my heart, I would believe that he would be there for me always. My father would right all the wrongs, make dark days brighter, and always be able to bring me to laughter as he would play and rough-house with me. I would feel the safety and the comfort of having a strong and loving father in my life. Those were just some of the dreams I had when I was a child.

I remember one year in the orphanage, when I was about nine years old, we had a sports competition. Among the other children my own age, I had always been the fastest runner in my school as well as in my orphanage. Of course, I was proud of that fact and I poured everything I had into this competition. That year, another girl ended up winning the race, and I went off alone to sit down and cry. I remember feeling so sad mainly because no one really knew how losing that race made me feel. I also realized that I had nobody to even encourage me to try again the following year, and so I simply never entered the competition again. I can only imagine, had there been a father in my life, that situation would probably have been viewed differently. He would have talked with me about the value of character, and how moments of defeat are only opportunities to try even harder the next time, and that the triumph would then be even sweeter. I know that he would have embraced me with his strong arms and lifted me - holding me close to him, and I would perhaps even have felt his heartbeat.

Today, I am the mother of two beautiful children. As I observe their relationship with their father, it moves me beyond words. I see tender moments between them, and it touches me when I see him taking time to encourage them and to teach them the lessons that life offers. It makes me proud when he leaves work early to be a part of one of their special activities or some other performance that they have worked hard to perfect. My daughter and her Papa both love music, and I smile when I hear them play their musical instruments together. When our son decided to join the school orchestra and learn to play the cello, it was wonderful to see how much interest his Papa took in making sure that they chose just the right instrument. Both of our children will always know just how much their father loves them. They also know that their Papa is always going to be there to comfort them and to encourage them, even when things are difficult.

Fatherhood is a very special gift. The pride a father feels the very first time he holds his tiny baby in his strong arms is, to me, the most beautiful ‘poetry’ of tenderness and strength. During that special moment, he ponders all the possibilities for his child, the joys and the pains his children will experience to make them who they will become. That creates in him an enormous sense of responsibility and devotion. His determination to protect is strong, and his desire to meet their needs will be a driving force to help him stand strong even during the most difficult of times.

Fatherhood is not for the weak of heart. It takes an enormous amount of strength and effort to instill in children the love and value their father has for them. It is all too easy to see the negative side of situations, but it takes effort and far more creativity to teach children the valuable lessons that life has to offer. If a father has a willingness to teach by example and to recognize teachable moments, he will know that he has done his job and will eventually see his children mature into kind and loving people. They will honor and love him as they know for certain that they are tucked away in his large and loving heart.

I have long laid my childhood dreams of a father aside, but I am thankful that my husband fulfills them in our children.

Happy Father’s Day!

…the flower withers, but the seed remains. ~Kahlil Gibran

Each year, at Easter, my mind wanders back to my orphanage years. Easter was celebrated by going to church, and then later hunting for eggs that we all painted together.

One year, when I was about eight years old, I received a package in the mail. It was a huge surprise since I had never received a package before. I was excited and very curious as to who would send me a gift and I wondered just what might be in it. I noticed that the package was from my brother, Jean.

Approximately six months prior to Easter that year, my brother had been adopted out of the orphanage by an older couple who had lost a baby during WW II. It had been their only child; the mother had been unable to nourish her baby with her breast milk because they had been fleeing the Nazis and had been malnourished. The baby died in her arms. Years later, this same couple wanted to adopt a son. My brother was one year younger than I and we were very close. I was always very protective of him. Even though he had his own set of friends in the orphanage, we were fortunate to be in the same group since many siblings were split up.

I remember the day when that couple came to pick up my brother. We were at “Fraule’s” house. There had been no forewarning to my brother or myself that a couple was interested in adopting him. The couple liked me as well and expressed an interest in me, but they could not take me because my mother had never signed any papers of release for me. She had only signed papers for my two brothers and my youngest brother had already been adopted a number of years before. I don’t know why my mother did not release me.

It was a strange day, one moment my brother and I were together and the next moment he was gone from my life. I felt empty and alone. I felt sad and forgotten.

Nevertheless, that Easter a package came in the mail from my brother. As I opened the package, I reached in with curiosity and excitement that only a child could feel. I pulled out a little pink rabbit. What happened after that was beyond my own understanding. I clutched that little pink rabbit and started to cry as I had never cried before. I fell down to my knees and wailed with sadness because for the very first time, I could physically feel my heart break. I then realized he was not coming back and I would not see him again. I felt lonely and abandoned and in that moment all of my emotions which I could not put into words, came to the surface.

That little pink rabbit was somehow lost in the orphanage. The loss of my brother, Jean, however, has always stayed with me. The pain of that moment was so profound and deep that all I have been able to do is to deal with it at the various stages of my life. Today, in my mid 40’s, I write about it. Over 30 years would pass before I would see my brother again; in 1996, Jean, called me because he was getting married and he wanted me, his sister, to be a part of this special moment in his life. I was ecstatic and could hardly wait to see him again after so many years.

I am happy for people who have siblings with whom to share their joys and sorrows. My own two children have each other and I try to teach them never to take one another for granted. I always tell them that none of us knows what tomorrow may hold because one moment something is ours and the next moment it can be gone forever. I also try to teach them the value of spiritual truth which will abide forever. Hans Christian Andersen says, “The human life is a story told by God.” No matter what the story may be, may it always bring honor to the One who has created us. God’s love can heal all broken hearts. I truly believe that!

At the heart of our loss is gain - unseen, and yet eternal.
At the heart of our gain is loss through too much knowing.
At the heart of our joys are mysteries that remain untold.
At the heart of our tears is wisdom - embracing the cycles of life,
thus, finding stillness and peace within.

~Viola M. Jaynes

Knowing others is intelligence; knowing yourself is true wisdom; mastering others is strength; mastering yourself is true power.
~Lao Tzu

I read a wonderful essay that Dr. Sanity wrote which gave me so much to think about. If you like, you can read it in its entirety. She speaks of the defense mechanism strategies that we humans use in order to protect ourselves and then she says the following:

“The most psychologically healthy of these strategies are those that allow us to transform primitive instinctual energy of even the most destructive emotions into works of art or entertainment that give pleasure to others (sublimation and humor); or behavior that is socially beneficial (altruism, anticipation, suppression). People who achieve optimal psychological health are those who have come to satisfactory terms with their neurobiology. They are people who have learned to accept their anger, rage and other potentially deadly emotions and, instead of destructively acting out, repressing, denying or projecting; have creatively expressed those feelings in a way that improves life both for themselves and for others.”

In my younger years, I used to be so embarrassed when feelings of anger and even rage would rise up from within. I would try to hide the anger and suppress it as long as possible and only on very few occasions did someone close enough to me even gain a glimpse into the frustration that I often felt. I remember once, when studying at a school of ministry and also employed at the same place, the pastor once asked me very calmly and lovingly, “Viola, who are you mad at?” My reply was, “I’m not mad at anyone.” In fact, I did not, at the time, really fully understand just how angry I really was. I did not even understand why he was asking me that question since I was going about doing my usual work.

Because I grew up without parents and without my siblings, I, not only had to learn to “parent” myself in many situations, but I also had become accustomed to simply handling whatever came along and burying much of the fear and insecurities that I was feeling. Too much of the time, I was an island unto myself and would not talk through things with anyone. After I gained my independence and began to established a life of my own, I found myself weeping quite a bit. I could not understand where so many tears could come from and I took note that it was from such a deep place in me.

It was only with added years that I have learned to understand myself better. When I would gain a glimpse into my own heart, I would simply cry out to God to heal me and to help me. I would turn my anger over to Him, each and every time it arose, and I would be honest enough to recognize it for what it was. I started to give myself much more room to allow emotions to come to the top and than examine them as honestly as I could with the understanding that I had at the time. That was not always easy as I also had to work through embarrassment and the tendency to simply hide. As Dr. Sanity so aptly described, however, I came to a place in my life where I could accept my anger and my rage and allow the transformative power that lay in my own heart to change me. Often, it seemed that the changes were so minute, but with time, with much time, I realized that I was on my way to becoming a whole person.

It is good to know that it is just fine to be angry and to be even full of rage. It is equally good to know and extremely freeing, that this energy can be turned to one’s own benefit. The benefit of healing and of creatively allowing it to tunnel though oneself, emerging into understanding, kindness and compassion for oneself as well as for others…instead of destruction and hate. With the help of God, this wholeness can and will be a reality by continually, day in and day out, having the desire to be honest with Him and with oneself.

Growth requires self-examination. Growth requires self-honesty. Growth requires the willingness to be humble and to take responsibility for our own life, our own happiness, and our own peace of mind. Most importantly, growth requires repentance, which simply is a change of mind, a change of attitude. In short, it is a position of humility that is consciously and willingly taken up for a higher purpose and a higher goal.

This is extremely powerful and transformative! For many, it will be the start of a much happier and more creative life.

Never fear to look into the eyes of your own anger. Beneath this anger you will find some measure of brokenness and fear. This brokenness and fear can be healed with love. This love has been freely provided for.  Not for some…but for all.  Embrace it through self-love that you may be healed and be made whole.

Love-which is God- will consider our sighs and tears as incense burned at His altar and he will reward us with fortitude. ~Kahlil Gibran

In 1995, my husband, Scott, was attending college and also working on weekends while earning his advanced degree in geology at the University of Houston. I was full time employed at a local medical clinic. We had no children at the time. We had decided to wait until the college years were behind us so I could raise our children and avoid putting them into daycare. Our lives were occupied with school, projects, field trips, homework, and our jobs.

It was on one such busy day that I received a phone call from my brother, Jean, who was living in Germany.  He had called to tell me that he was engaged to be married in May. Jean invited me to be a part of his wedding.

I have written here about the day he was adopted, and how I came to realize that I would not see him as a child again. Losing my little brother was a loss that would stay with me always. In time, I managed to bury the tears deep within me, and remove the memories from the forefront of my mind of that very painful day so long ago. It was a loss that I had to eventually find the courage to look at again. It was a loss that I could not make any sense of, and yet with time, I was able to accept it and find meaning in it, which brought healing to my heart.

Words cannot describe how excited I was to hear from Jean again after all these years of wondering where he was and how he was doing. I quickly realized just how rusty my German had become, and I was much relieved when I realized that he was able to speak English. That day, it became a mission of mine to regain my German language skills, to better communicate with my newfound family!   Because my husband was in college, flying to Germany was going to be more of an expense for us than what we could afford at that time. However, the idea of our not flying to Germany to be a part of Jean’s wedding was out of the question. We were simply going to make that trip!

Some of my friends at work were so excited about the prospect of me seeing my brother again after so many years that they and my supervisor took up a collection to help out with our expenses as we prepared to fly to Germany.  Contributing toward this reunion was a very generous and kind gesture from those who did not really know me that well.  I was deeply humbled and thankful for their kindness and generosity.

As we flew to Germany, I was nervous and a bit apprehensive. I imagined every possible scenario under the sun. Would Jean recognize me? Would I recognize him? Would we both feel comfortable with each other or would our time together be awkward?  When the moment arrived, and I saw Jean for the first time in 25 years, I felt something that words simply cannot explain.  I recognized him right away even though over 25 years had passed. As we held one another in a tight embrace, the years melted away, and I cried. I cried for our loss. I cried for our reunion. I cried for this very profound moment in both of our lives. The emotions that welled up in me were overwhelming as my heart raced and my body shook. There was no awkwardness as we knew we belonged to each other.

The wedding was beautiful, and visiting with Jean and his new bride was a special time for us. They welcomed my husband with open arms, and the four of us had a wonderful time together.  During this busy time, Jean and I did managed to have some time alone. We spoke about our childhood and the day he was taken away from me. Jean told me about his life with his new family, and we discussed how life had been for me staying behind in the orphanage and eventually moving to America. Though there was much to talk about, there were also times we would not say a word.  Somehow, we understood each other as only siblings can. That understanding, we realized, was a part of the feeling of a deeper belonging and a deeper love.

In the years that followed, although we’ve spoken periodically on the telephone, I have not seen Jean since he was married in 1996. Much has taken place in his life as well as in our lives. As I spoke with my brother just a few days ago, we both knew it was time for another reunion. We will be traveling to Germany again soon, and I can’t wait to see him and spend some time with him again. I miss him. My two children also look forward to meeting their Uncle Jean, and my husband will enjoy clanging his beer krug once again with Jean’s. Life is good!