Old Native American legends tell us the story of the Ghost Dance. American History enthusiasts (like me!) know that it was the Ghost Dance that contributed to the closing of the American West, back when white settlers and the Army Cavalry who protected them felt intimidated and scared by the ritualistic stomping and chanting designed to channel spirits (Mother Earth, the wind, the rain, and others). It seems that being afraid of things and people we don’t understand remains a tale as old as time. Read more
Life took yet another sucker punch at me yesterday when someone I love deeply was critically injured in a motorcycle accident. The layers of scarring that a heart can accumulate reminds me of the backs of whipped slaves. After the delivery of so much bad news, I have trouble now differentiating between which scars belong to which death, which hospitalization, which divorce, and the chapter in my life in which it occurred. All of my pains seem to stack themselves one on top of the other like a big tangled pile of ugly, stinking laundry, weaving in and out of thrashed and bloodied knots.
I survived these emotional beat-downs each time because of my faith, and like I always do, I turned to prayer to get me through figuring out how to sort through my feelings.