...from the Field Center
‘Tis the season to be joyful, but many experience something far short of it. The proverbial “blue Christmas” is one name given to that unique brand of sadness that seems to attach itself to the end-of-year holidays, especially for those who are struggling in the throes of contradiction in one or more of the four staging areas of experience: love, health, supply, and life direction.
Of course, only a Field training student would be likely to think of it in those terms; for others, the problem is “out there”—the loneliness of being without a partner or other family, the frustration of financial lack in a season defined by the giving of gifts, the added burden of a health issue at a time when the rest of the world is celebrating.
As always, though, a burden is a gift waiting to be unwrapped. This, however, is not necessarily easy to see, though seeing it invariably brings home the truth that sets free. One student, for example, was suffering greatly because a partner with whom she had spent many end-of-year holidays had up and left her, and this after a long and steady history of neglect and indifference that seemed to flow naturally from him.
No time of year has the power to exacerbate the loneliness of loss like the season of joy, and she found herself missing him acutely and wishing that she could be with him, even intending, in our terms, a rapprochement and reconciliation. She could not, in that moment, recognize all that she was being spared by his departure.
There is an old caution, perhaps its origins lie in the well-known horror story first published in 1902, “The Monkey’s Paw,” by W.W. Jacobs: “Be careful what you ask for lest it come true.” George Bernard Shaw expressed the same sentiment in his inimitable way: “There are two tragedies in life: not getting what you want and getting what you want.”
Along the same lines, there is this observation from a source I do not recall: “The magic wish is granted and can’t be taken back.” All of these remind us that there is often a grace operating in wishes not coming true. More than a matter of finding the proverbial silver lining in the cloud, or seeing the glass half full rather than half empty, recognizing grace in our disappointments, challenges, even burdens and losses calls for a “seeing through” the facts to a deeper truth: In the great punctuation of our experience, there is no period.
Things change.
The simple willingness to remember this, to refrain from assigning the status of a conclusion to whatever is happening at the moment, may open a window in the psyche and let in the fresh air of a broader context, one in which we can see the blessing hidden in the burden, the gift delivered in the unlikely form of a wound.
There is a famous Zen story (it has several forms) about an old farmer who lived on a small tract of land in a remote village with his son. They were dirt-poor, and worked hard just to get by. One day, a wild horse came out of the mountains and wandered onto their land. Under the law, this meant that the horse now rightfully belonged to them, and as horses were considered to be of great value, the incident made them literally wealthy overnight by their standards. The son, overjoyed at their good fortune, ran to his father and asked him what he thought about this miracle, to which the farmer replied, “We’ll see.” The next day, the horse ran away, and the son, bemoaning the crushing disappointment, went to his father again. “We’ll see,” said the farmer. The third day, the same horse returned from the mountains with half a dozen stallions following, all of which immediately became the property of the farmer and his son. Ecstatic, the son hurried to his father, thrilled and incredulous at the further turn of luck in their favor. The farmer said only, “We’ll see.” On the fourth day, the boy climbed on one of the horses and was thrown badly, breaking his leg. As the doctors were tending to him, the boy complained bitterly. Brushing the hair gently from his eyes, his father said only, “We’ll see.” And on the fourth day, the province went to war and the army recruiters came through the village to conscript all of the young men—except, of course, the one with the broken leg.
Grace works in our behalf continuously.
The whole of creation is grace in motion—but we are not always present to recognize and appreciate its ingenuity because our unhappy conclusions blind and bind us.
Simply to refrain from such conclusions, to be a little less infatuated with things that we only think we know, to be open and willing enough for life to present the treasure within the trial—these are things that can open us to the true magic of the season, restore the weary spirit, and give us peace.
