The Shadowy Slope of Life

Behind every shadow cast, there must be light since, without light, the shadow would disappear.

On the other hand, something must partially block the light for the shadow to appear in the first place. 

I grew up in an era without cell phones or video games. Our black-and-white TV only had two channels. It was like watching shadowy pictures through a constant snowfall of static. 

Yet my siblings and I were rarely bored; we entertained ourselves in other ways, as simple as chasing our shadows. We'd mimic and frolic after them and even got frustrated when we couldn't outrun them. 

Unresolved grief, the effects of trauma, hiding one's sexual orientation, or other present and past issues, are internal shadows with the same control in that we can never outrun them. 

However, unlike our external shadows, light isn't needed to produce the shadows we carry within. On the contrary, light is needed to expose the shadows lurking inside the mind.

Unfortunately, we live in a society that often forces us into the shadow realm of "faking it until we make it." In the process, we deny or suppress or hide parts of ourselves to fit in, and years later, we are still held hostage, detached from our true selves, unable to sever the shadows that bind us.

 

Carl Jung, one of the greatest psychologists of the 20th century, quoted:" In every adult, there lurks a child…that is always becoming, is never completed, and calls for unceasing care, attention, and education. That is the part of the personality which wants to develop and become whole."

In retrospect, Jung's words are so true to my life. Left uncared for and traumatized, my inner child lurked so far inside the shadows of my mind that even as her cries manifested into feelings of being isolated, unworthy, anxious, and often on edge, her voice could not breach the echo chamber of deception. We were both stuck on the shadowy slope of life, unable to merge and move forward, until she finally caught my attention in my mid-forties.

Everything changed after I sought counseling and began confronting and bringing my youth's shadows into the light. It was the beginning of healing for both the adult version of myself and the little girl I'd left behind. And even though some of my past shadows are like boomerangs, my inner child and I now face them together, forever learning, evolving, and working toward the light.

And in one form or another, I often write about the shadowy parts of my past, not because I am an expert by any means, but because I know from experience how vital inner child work is for our overall well-being and how, when left at the helm, our shadows not only affect us; they affect the people around us as well. 

Furthermore, without exposure to the light, our shadows will hold out on becoming our greatest teachers. Why? Because they hold the key that locks us from becoming our true selves, they conceal the secrets that squash our happiness and deny us the freedom to reach our full potential. 

I know all too well that it isn't easy to believe in the light behind the shadow during life's struggles. As a result, our spirit may wander toward our darker shadow self since—at that moment—we cannot see a lit path forward. 

Most of you know my story and the shadow I hid behind after my daughter came out gay. However, the light of love overcame the shadow of estrangement and lit the path toward an amazing relationship with my daughter, her wife, and three grandsons.

Falling behind the shadow of domestic abuse at nineteen also left me feeling helpless and unworthy of love. Yet, once again, the light shone beyond the shadow and lit the path that led me to my wonderful, caring husband of forty-one years.   

Perhaps being trapped in the maze of the mind for so many years is why I'm always fascinated by the symbolism the cycle of life portrays in nature, especially during springtime, as spring reminds me of new birth, where the shadow of the dead-looking trees will soon bud into blooming flowers again. 

And it's so fitting that Easter, the ultimate celebration of life, also occurs during this season of renewal. A time when Christ endured much suffering, yet, in the end, He conquered the shadow of death through His resurrection.

While our journey on this earth will always cast new shadows upon us, Easter gives us hope that life will re-bloom—despite dark and dreary days—because Christ is always there, shadow-hunting on our behalf, patiently waiting to breathe new life into us again.    

                                                     Happy Easter!

                                                  

                                                                     

Childhood Memories in Rrual Newfoundland

Since moving to New Brunswick last year, its rugged natural beauty has transformed me back into an outdoorsy woman. 

Living near the ocean and seemingly endless hiking trails has offered an escape from the isolation that COVID (at times) represents. And being a part of our grandchildren's bubble has blessed Derick and I immensely. 

I am not sure if it's the similar terrain, the ocean air, or the familiar culture, but whatever it is, it often triggers the floodgates of memory, transporting me back to the Newfoundland of my youth. It's incredible how life looks once our heart is healed because it allows us to gaze through a prism, once clouded by negativity. 

Growing up in the 60s and 70s, with my eight sisters and five brothers, in a secluded village along the rugged coast of Newfoundland, definitely had its share of hardships. But life was much simpler back then. We'd the freedom to explore, take on new adventures, and allow our imaginations to run wild.

I was the second oldest girl of fourteen children. Perhaps that's why I became somewhat of a mother hen to my younger siblings, for a brief moment in time, anyway. 

In the summer months, somewhere around the age of ten or eleven, with lunch bag in hand, I'd take on the responsibility of trekking through the woods en route to what was called "Blue Rock," a secluded swimming hole area. 

Time wasn't of the essence. The only stipulation was we'd return home before supper. I guess some would consider it neglect by today's standards; however, we grew up faster in those days, often out of necessity. Besides, there were other families at the swimming hole, and we all kinda looked out for one another.

My husband definitely took on more responsibility back in his growing-up days as well. At eleven years old, he and his thirteen-year-old brother not only learned how to build their own lobster traps but awoke at four am, headed out on the Atlantic ocean, by themselves, in some pretty rough conditions at times, I might add. And after they had hauled their traps, they would return home in time for school.

Derick looks back with fond memories and appreciates how it helped mold his adult work ethic. But can you imagine allowing your young boys to do such a thing now? 

The wintertime of my childhood was indeed cold and often snow ladened. But we still managed to make the outdoors exciting and fun. After all, there were no electronic devices to distract us in those days.

 A couple of winter escapades stand out to me. One was when Dad replaced Mom's old vinyl flooring in our kitchen/living room with contemporary black and white tiles. 

Now, you had to know my mother. She was adamant about having her floors waxed every Saturday, so you can imagine the wax build-up on that old flooring. 

I am not sure who or what spurred us to pull that old vinyl out of the garbage and use it for crazy carpets, but it sure made for one fast ride down over a steep hill near our house. Not to mention how the lack of cushion (I can still hear our infectious laughter now) left us in a fit of screaming, "Oh my butt, oh my butt hurts so bad!!" Yet, we'd continue to do it for hours! 

Another spontaneous makeshift sleigh adventure was when my brothers disconnected the hood from an old car. We'd all jump on it, and with one big push, we'd fly down over the hill and out onto the frozen harbor. The only problem was we had to drag that heavy car-hood back up the hill again. And while there were many whines and grunts and groans, we did it anyway, for the thrill of the ride, if nothing else.  

On a more serious note, I look at the modern and diverse school system my grandchildren are enrolled in today — with its no-touch and anti-bullying policies — and I can't help but remember the distinct contrast of my school years. 

The community schools in rural Newfoundland were religiously denominational back then. 

For instance, in some protestant towns, like my husbands, there might have been a few small schools, each run by a different church. 

On the other hand, my hometown was entirely Catholic. Therefore, my school experience was embedded in a strict Catholic school system. 

The classroom's disciplinary nature was something some of my older siblings and I were exposed to. Two scenes come vividly to mind: 1) Standing in a corner with book(s) on our hands. 2) Being punished with a leather strap. Both were frightening and humiliating and weren't a positive learning experience for me. 

But all our experiences, both good and bad, mold us into the people we become. We can either allow the negative ones to control us, or we can allow our spirit to heal and become a beacon of light for others. 

It's been a challenging year. Last Easter, we were heading into the thick of the pandemic. And now here we are with another Easter upon us, with some hope in sight, no doubt.

I don't know about you, but as I celebrate Jesus this Easter, the Risen Light, I want it to be a reminder of how His light shone through those dark and difficult days, a light that continues to extend His gift of grace and hope to our world. 

The Climb

Born and raised in Newfoundland, Derick and I frequently took our two children back to visit family still residing there. And although we visited during various times of the year, I would say that July and August are the most popular to witness the island's vast beauty, and one of its gems is Gros Morne National Park, with the mystical Gros Morne Mountain rising out of its midst.

It's been more than two decades since our families' summer vacation led us on an adventurous, seven-hour journey to conquer this often fog-shrouded mountain, testing our endurance and perseverance along the marked path en route to the summit and back down again.

I still vividly remember the strenuous climb up through the gorge, and how painful and daunting it was for me. I moaned and groaned and gasped for air as I climbed over boulders, literally, on my hands and knees. My sore stretched calves had me resting every five minutes, and each time I contemplated quitting.

You see, I wanted the splendor of the mountaintop that awaited me, but I didn't want to do the hard work it entailed to get there: I wanted comfort. I wanted the easy way out. But thanks to Derick and our two children for urging me to keep going, the most spectacular view stood before us on the summit that day. From the broader viewpoint of the mountain, we were also able to capture a better perspective on how far we'd traveled, and it certainly gave us a different outlook than the forested area below.

However, after every mountaintop event in life, there's a valley in which we must descend. And it wasn't long into ours before we were temporarily forced to huddle together when a fast-moving rainstorm came upon us and produced a dense fog cover over the mountain. It not only dampened our summit experience, but it also turned the rocky terrain into a slippery, treacherous mess, heightening our sense of urgency to reach the base area safely.

But whether we are literally or figuratively climbing a mountain, both have pain and hard work involved. Because not unlike my mountain climb expedition, there have been times in my Christian journey where it felt like I was crawling along, times when I wanted to quit, times when I wanted it to be more comfortable, and times when I felt shrouded in a fog, not knowing my way out.

I am sure we can all relate to the many challenges life brings and to the fact that these challenges can—for a short time—veil our inner beauty, and even test our faith. However, there's no better way to weather the storm than to huddle together with those closest to us, to help us come to terms with our circumstances and regain our footing.

So often, though, our initial response is to pull back and try to face things on our own, and while this may be okay for a period, we aren't created to climb alone. Instead, Christ's calls us to encourage one another, to build one another up, and to give one another that extra support along the, sometimes, rocky path of life.

As we celebrate our faith and give thanks for the miracle of the Cross this Easter, let us also call to mind our humanness, to recognize that (just like us) Christ's closest followers had times when they were shrouded in a fog of doubt and fear. But the illustration of Him stumbling and crawling up the incline with the burden of the cross/world on His shoulders is one of redemption. He rose again to offer His grace, love, and forgiveness to a world that was and still is in desperate need of hope and guidance for all phases of life's climb, en route to the final summit (Heaven).

How will you climb?