I believe my life’s work is about building relationships; touching lives at an intimate, real level that goes beyond casual associations. Relationships: it’s a fuzzy term with vague connotations and meanings yet somehow we sense what it means. Relationships are not always positive. We have all experienced negative relationships that have left us wounded and scarred so I need to clarify: my life’s work is about building positive relationships. But it’s more than that. My life’s work is about building positive relationships with people of all ages that have experienced gut wrenching loss. For example, people who have lived through the horror of 9-11 and Katrina, people who have been diagnosed with terminal cancer, and people who have experienced the sudden, traumatic death of a loved one. Even that description does not get at the heart of what I am trying to express. My life’s work is about building healing relationships with people who are emotionally raw, vulnerable and desperately searching for reassurance and comfort. Like fire fighters who are trained to run into burning buildings while everyone else is running out, I have been called to run towards people who are emotionally broken. I believe it is my sacred duty to do so.
Even as I write this I am flooded with memories. The first event that comes to mind is 9-11. There is the waitress at supper one night who shared her trauma when the events unfolded that fateful day and she was left to agonize about whether or not someone at the school had carried her handicapped son to safety (they had). There is the mailman whose brother had died in the towers but he had not yet stopped to grieve because he had a daunting job to do. There was mail to deliver to offices that no longer existed and people who no longer lived. Sorting all the mail out was an overwhelming and emotional job. There is the successful business man that lived off of savings until they were depleted and he had to humbly come ask for help from the American Red Cross months after the fact. He was grieving for people when he did not even know their name. He talked about the pleasant young lady that worked at StarBucks who started his day off with a smile every morning and there were the other guys he saw routinely on the elevator. He explained how people are creatures of habit so he would often run into the same people on a regular basis somewhere in the towers. He didn’t know their names to compare against the list of deceased so he would never know if they made it or not. He grieved for his friends and coworkers that died, he grieved his former way of life, and he grieved for the strangers he once took for granted every day.
There are memories from Hurricane Katrina. There is Tara from New Orleans, a young woman who gathered all her family and the strangers from the street into her second story apartment to escape the flooding. She took charge, found out who could or couldn’t swim, and went about using all her resources to create makeshift flotation devises. Tara blew up an air mattress, found various things to use as oars and taped together an inflatable palm tree for a life preserver. She had a plan and they were just about to get in ‘The Water’ when a neighbor came to their rescue with a stolen motor boat. The experience was life or death and Tara personally felt responsible for the lives of everyone in her apartment. It was a traumatic and life changing.
There are memories from Marsha, a 42 year old who was told she had terminal gastric cancer with only eight weeks to live. She didn’t believe them and refused to even discuss how her death might impact her three children, ages 16, 18, and 20. Everyone wanted me to confront Marsha’s denial. Marsha wanted me to sit with her and laugh about cancer. She joked about how she used to eat food based on how it tasted going down and since cancer she ate foods based on how it tasted when she threw it up. Marsha needed me to believe that God would heal her. We always closed each visit with a prayer for healing. Marsha lived seven months. I choose to believe her denial bought her an extra five months with those children she loved so dearly and that the time we spent laughing together made it a little more pleasant.
There are memories of the law enforcement departments I have helped after officer involved shootings and a recent line of duty death. There are memories about all the schools I have worked with following traumatic events such as the untimely deaths of students and faculty, multiple suicides, and the total devastation of an entire community following Hurricane Katrina. The memories are numerous. I could literally write a book about what I have learned from each and every person I have built a healing relationship with about trauma, loss, resilience, and hope.
The lessons I have learned motivated me to become a trainer so I could help others understand how to build healing relationships with people in pain. I want my dissertation to be an opportunity to study the literature, strengthen my foundation of knowledge, and to be yet another avenue of continuing my life’s work.
Sunday, September 28, 2008
Sunday, September 21, 2008
Me in My Dissertation
I find this assignment difficult because it is an intimate topic for me: One that can expose me and make me vulnerable to criticism...or being laughed at. It comes down to what we read last week about not wanting to talk about my topic just yet. But, I'll give it a try because I'm hoping writing about it will help keep me excited and moving in the right direction.
I continue to struggle with a clear direction for my dissertation. I have the 'Big Picture' of working with people in trauma but the specifics are fuzzy. The ME in the process is the easy part. On September 20, 2001 I deployed with my husband, Jim, to New York City with Samaritan's Purse to offer spiritual support to the city and assist in the opening of the Billy Graham Prayer Call Center. It was unchartered territory for Samaritan's Purse. Prior to 9-11, Samaritan’s Purse ministry had been in International relief of shelter, food, and clothing. For 9-11 they chose to work domestically and add Christian counseling to their ministry services for the first time ever. Jim and I were in the 2nd crew to deploy. There was no precedent, no protocol, and no mentors. We were told “Go Help” and New York City was our targeted audience. The following 10 days changed my life. I learned to approach total strangers, ask to hear their stories, and offer them emotional and spiritual support. I learned to give my heart to those strangers and to weave their stories into my life. The stories teach me how to help the next person in need.
Following 9-11, I’ve gotten hundreds of hours of training in crisis/trauma response. I’ve worked extensively with BCPS to formalize our school ASSIST Team. I’ve trained 100 Billy Graham Rapid Response Team members from across the nation. I’ve trained law enforcement, schools, fire and emergency management personnel from 10 different states. I’ve presented at 3 state, 1 national, and 1 international conference on crisis intervention. I have continued to deploy. I spent another 2 weeks in New York City. I spent a total of 3 weeks in Louisiana following Katrina. I have spent the past 2 years offering support to individuals with life threatening cancer. I offer voluntary services locally to first responders and schools who need assistance following a critical incident.
I deploy, teach, and present because I have a passion to help those in crisis. I believe that it is a sacred honor to work with these individuals because they are emotionally vulnerable and exposed. The everyday masks have been removed and it is like I can see straight into their souls.
The heart of crisis intervention is relationships. The heart of relationships is connectedness. The heart of connectedness is love. I want to write a reflective, narrative dissertation on the power of love as it impacts individuals in crisis.
I continue to struggle with a clear direction for my dissertation. I have the 'Big Picture' of working with people in trauma but the specifics are fuzzy. The ME in the process is the easy part. On September 20, 2001 I deployed with my husband, Jim, to New York City with Samaritan's Purse to offer spiritual support to the city and assist in the opening of the Billy Graham Prayer Call Center. It was unchartered territory for Samaritan's Purse. Prior to 9-11, Samaritan’s Purse ministry had been in International relief of shelter, food, and clothing. For 9-11 they chose to work domestically and add Christian counseling to their ministry services for the first time ever. Jim and I were in the 2nd crew to deploy. There was no precedent, no protocol, and no mentors. We were told “Go Help” and New York City was our targeted audience. The following 10 days changed my life. I learned to approach total strangers, ask to hear their stories, and offer them emotional and spiritual support. I learned to give my heart to those strangers and to weave their stories into my life. The stories teach me how to help the next person in need.
Following 9-11, I’ve gotten hundreds of hours of training in crisis/trauma response. I’ve worked extensively with BCPS to formalize our school ASSIST Team. I’ve trained 100 Billy Graham Rapid Response Team members from across the nation. I’ve trained law enforcement, schools, fire and emergency management personnel from 10 different states. I’ve presented at 3 state, 1 national, and 1 international conference on crisis intervention. I have continued to deploy. I spent another 2 weeks in New York City. I spent a total of 3 weeks in Louisiana following Katrina. I have spent the past 2 years offering support to individuals with life threatening cancer. I offer voluntary services locally to first responders and schools who need assistance following a critical incident.
I deploy, teach, and present because I have a passion to help those in crisis. I believe that it is a sacred honor to work with these individuals because they are emotionally vulnerable and exposed. The everyday masks have been removed and it is like I can see straight into their souls.
The heart of crisis intervention is relationships. The heart of relationships is connectedness. The heart of connectedness is love. I want to write a reflective, narrative dissertation on the power of love as it impacts individuals in crisis.
Sunday, September 7, 2008
Reflections on Writing
I absolutely love to write! I think it stems from my early love of reading. I never actually checked, but I like to believe that I read every book in the Whitnel Elementary School library in the eight years I was there. I especially liked the little red biography series. All the books looked the same: old; faded; dirty; and very well loved. To me they were little treasures holding the secrets to life. Each book held a spellbinding story of courage, commitment, compassion, and creativity. Most told of hardships that were overcome and successes that were hard fought for and won. In every little red book I found little pieces of inspiration and encouragement that I, too, could do anything I was willing to work hard enough for. I came to believe that the hardships I faced as a child would make me stronger and not define who I would become. I found hope and purpose in those precious stories of real people with real problems and real victories.
I also loved fiction. I read every book in the Anne of Green Gables series. I read all the Nancy Drew, Box Car Children, and Hardy Boys series. Books were my escape. Escape from a dreary, unimaginative childhood. Escape from my small town living in Whitnel, NC. Escape to something different, brighter, bigger, and better. I read in class whenever I could get by with it. I read in line going to lunch, music, and the library. I read for hours and hours at home once it was too dark to play outside. I lived for reading!
In seventh grade I accepted Jesus as my personal savior and I started reading the Bible. I read about love and kindness and forgiveness and grace. I underlined the characteristics I wanted to exude in my life. I practiced putting them into action every day. I literally willed myself to change and let go of my quick and fiery temper, attempting to replace it with patience and humor. I tried to love myself as I was; warts and all. I made a commitment to live out my faith in a real and tangible way so others would ‘know I was a Christian by my love’. I blossomed into a young lady no longer mad at the world.
I needed additional mentoring for this new life I had chosen and when I couldn’t find it in real people I looked for it in books. Two other books besides the Bible had a profound impact on my adolescent life: Norman Vincent Peale’s The Power of Positive Thinking; and, Dale Carnegie’s How to Win Friends and Influence People. I devoured the content in the books, deciding at a tender age I could choose the direction my life would take. I could be the person I desired to be. I was not chained by my temperament, social class, or destiny. I could be anyone I chose to be.
The passion found in books during my middle school years fueled a fire for writing in my high school years. I came through the education system when the academically gifted were taught alternative curriculums focusing on problem solving and creativity. I loved my English and History classes because I got to write speeches and act out all the different characters in a short play and design costumes and dances to teach about the Roaring Twenties. I thrived in that environment. My senior year culminated with a college level writing class. Appalachian State University allowed some of us to dually enroll into a Freshman English class that would be taught at South Caldwell High by Kathy Gregory. That class would change my life forever.
Ms Gregory had something to prove. She had to show ASU that she was capable of teaching at the university level and that we, her students, would get a quality university writing class. Boy, did she deliver! I learned to think like a writer. I learned the basic 5 paragraph paper: Introduction, three main points, and conclusion. A concept that was so simple yet profound at the same time. I learned the importance of knowing the point of my paper and planning ahead with an outline. I learned how to take notes and quotes on index cards and shuffle them into similar categories so I could prove my point coherently. I learned how to transition from paragraph to paragraph and have some semblance of flow. I learned to proof read and to rewrite. I learned the importance of having a passion for my topic and the power of persuasive speech. I learned to love to write!
In my undergraduate studies I continued to be inspired by my readings. I was introduced to Leo Buscaglia, an author who wrote unashamedly about love and loving. I fell in love with his books! Leo reminded me of my earlier resolve to love others and care deeply for them as individuals. His writing style brought me immense joy and motivated me to be a better person. He gave me hope that one day I could write and inspire others as his writings inspired me. I had the privilege of taking a summer writing class filled with assignments to write about things that were important to me. I wrote about my dad who had died when I was thirteen years old. I wrote about Brian, the love of my life and what I found so compelling about him. I sequestered myself in my bedroom at home and wrote and wrote all summer. I don’t remember all of the topics but I do remember the professor writing on the paper about Brian that he was ‘very fortunate to be loved so deeply and so fully.’ I was thrilled that the professor got it. I had managed to convey my love through the written word. I married Brian in 1983.
I left that class wanting to be a writer. I longed to write. I craved opportunities to write. I ‘wrote’ in my head all the time. And then, I started grad school. My MSW program was unforgiving. The demands were unmerciful and each class culminated in a 30 page research paper. At the end of every semester I had three to four 30 page papers due within days of each other: typed; APA style papers. I could not type and could not afford to pay someone to type so I would write out everything in long hand and revise, revise, revise. Then I would painstakingly type each paper. It was a miserable existence! The papers were returned with letter grades and one or two word comments. We joked that the papers were weighed rather than read. Academically I did fine. I figured out the rules of the game I needed to play. But I grew to hate reading and I grew to hate writing. I grew to hate Brian. I divorced Brian and burned my paper about him and all the letters we had written each other. (So much for taming that fiery temper!) I buried my previous writing ambitions and I moved on with the task of living. That was in 1985.
In 1999 with a new husband, an Ed.S, and three children I decided to pursue National Boards Certification as an Early Childhood generalist. The process was tortuous. I wrote reflexive papers in longhand, gave them to my mother to type, and forced myself to learn how to revise the papers on the computer. It was a painful experience and I did not pass. I’ve never failed anything academically in my life and I was devastated. Never mind the fact that I did not have a degree in early childhood or any other field of education. Armed with only a generic rubric and scores with absolutely no feedback, I tried again, and again, before succeeding. By then at least I had finally learned to compose my papers directly on the computer. I guess that new found skill along with a 12% pay increase made it worthwhile. The National Board experience only reinforced my dislike of academic writing. I put myself subjectively out there to be judged objectively with no discussion or feedback.
That pretty much brings me to the present. I bring all of this history to the writing table tonight. I still yearn to write intimately from the very heart of my soul. I desperately desire to inspire and comfort others by writing passionately and with abandon. I have tried to honestly put myself in the papers that have already been assigned for this EDL program. Once again, I have done well academically but the comments posted like ‘very well done’, ‘interesting’, and ‘thought-provoking’ have felt incomplete to me. At this point in my life I desire to gain insight into my writings and myself through discussion and dialogue. I want to explore the topics deeper. Borrowing a phrase from Dr. Smith, I want to ‘wallow in it’ and see what turns up. The task of writing as a stand alone assignment leaves me feeling vulnerable and exposed. It makes me question the dissertation process. It’s too risky to keep putting myself out there not knowing if what I have written made an impact or not.
I also loved fiction. I read every book in the Anne of Green Gables series. I read all the Nancy Drew, Box Car Children, and Hardy Boys series. Books were my escape. Escape from a dreary, unimaginative childhood. Escape from my small town living in Whitnel, NC. Escape to something different, brighter, bigger, and better. I read in class whenever I could get by with it. I read in line going to lunch, music, and the library. I read for hours and hours at home once it was too dark to play outside. I lived for reading!
In seventh grade I accepted Jesus as my personal savior and I started reading the Bible. I read about love and kindness and forgiveness and grace. I underlined the characteristics I wanted to exude in my life. I practiced putting them into action every day. I literally willed myself to change and let go of my quick and fiery temper, attempting to replace it with patience and humor. I tried to love myself as I was; warts and all. I made a commitment to live out my faith in a real and tangible way so others would ‘know I was a Christian by my love’. I blossomed into a young lady no longer mad at the world.
I needed additional mentoring for this new life I had chosen and when I couldn’t find it in real people I looked for it in books. Two other books besides the Bible had a profound impact on my adolescent life: Norman Vincent Peale’s The Power of Positive Thinking; and, Dale Carnegie’s How to Win Friends and Influence People. I devoured the content in the books, deciding at a tender age I could choose the direction my life would take. I could be the person I desired to be. I was not chained by my temperament, social class, or destiny. I could be anyone I chose to be.
The passion found in books during my middle school years fueled a fire for writing in my high school years. I came through the education system when the academically gifted were taught alternative curriculums focusing on problem solving and creativity. I loved my English and History classes because I got to write speeches and act out all the different characters in a short play and design costumes and dances to teach about the Roaring Twenties. I thrived in that environment. My senior year culminated with a college level writing class. Appalachian State University allowed some of us to dually enroll into a Freshman English class that would be taught at South Caldwell High by Kathy Gregory. That class would change my life forever.
Ms Gregory had something to prove. She had to show ASU that she was capable of teaching at the university level and that we, her students, would get a quality university writing class. Boy, did she deliver! I learned to think like a writer. I learned the basic 5 paragraph paper: Introduction, three main points, and conclusion. A concept that was so simple yet profound at the same time. I learned the importance of knowing the point of my paper and planning ahead with an outline. I learned how to take notes and quotes on index cards and shuffle them into similar categories so I could prove my point coherently. I learned how to transition from paragraph to paragraph and have some semblance of flow. I learned to proof read and to rewrite. I learned the importance of having a passion for my topic and the power of persuasive speech. I learned to love to write!
In my undergraduate studies I continued to be inspired by my readings. I was introduced to Leo Buscaglia, an author who wrote unashamedly about love and loving. I fell in love with his books! Leo reminded me of my earlier resolve to love others and care deeply for them as individuals. His writing style brought me immense joy and motivated me to be a better person. He gave me hope that one day I could write and inspire others as his writings inspired me. I had the privilege of taking a summer writing class filled with assignments to write about things that were important to me. I wrote about my dad who had died when I was thirteen years old. I wrote about Brian, the love of my life and what I found so compelling about him. I sequestered myself in my bedroom at home and wrote and wrote all summer. I don’t remember all of the topics but I do remember the professor writing on the paper about Brian that he was ‘very fortunate to be loved so deeply and so fully.’ I was thrilled that the professor got it. I had managed to convey my love through the written word. I married Brian in 1983.
I left that class wanting to be a writer. I longed to write. I craved opportunities to write. I ‘wrote’ in my head all the time. And then, I started grad school. My MSW program was unforgiving. The demands were unmerciful and each class culminated in a 30 page research paper. At the end of every semester I had three to four 30 page papers due within days of each other: typed; APA style papers. I could not type and could not afford to pay someone to type so I would write out everything in long hand and revise, revise, revise. Then I would painstakingly type each paper. It was a miserable existence! The papers were returned with letter grades and one or two word comments. We joked that the papers were weighed rather than read. Academically I did fine. I figured out the rules of the game I needed to play. But I grew to hate reading and I grew to hate writing. I grew to hate Brian. I divorced Brian and burned my paper about him and all the letters we had written each other. (So much for taming that fiery temper!) I buried my previous writing ambitions and I moved on with the task of living. That was in 1985.
In 1999 with a new husband, an Ed.S, and three children I decided to pursue National Boards Certification as an Early Childhood generalist. The process was tortuous. I wrote reflexive papers in longhand, gave them to my mother to type, and forced myself to learn how to revise the papers on the computer. It was a painful experience and I did not pass. I’ve never failed anything academically in my life and I was devastated. Never mind the fact that I did not have a degree in early childhood or any other field of education. Armed with only a generic rubric and scores with absolutely no feedback, I tried again, and again, before succeeding. By then at least I had finally learned to compose my papers directly on the computer. I guess that new found skill along with a 12% pay increase made it worthwhile. The National Board experience only reinforced my dislike of academic writing. I put myself subjectively out there to be judged objectively with no discussion or feedback.
That pretty much brings me to the present. I bring all of this history to the writing table tonight. I still yearn to write intimately from the very heart of my soul. I desperately desire to inspire and comfort others by writing passionately and with abandon. I have tried to honestly put myself in the papers that have already been assigned for this EDL program. Once again, I have done well academically but the comments posted like ‘very well done’, ‘interesting’, and ‘thought-provoking’ have felt incomplete to me. At this point in my life I desire to gain insight into my writings and myself through discussion and dialogue. I want to explore the topics deeper. Borrowing a phrase from Dr. Smith, I want to ‘wallow in it’ and see what turns up. The task of writing as a stand alone assignment leaves me feeling vulnerable and exposed. It makes me question the dissertation process. It’s too risky to keep putting myself out there not knowing if what I have written made an impact or not.
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