The trip is now 75% funded! Click here to contribute. Merci Beaucoup!

Do you see me in this photograph? Of course not! I make it a habit not frequent rooms with needles;

except when in dire need, which was  yesterday.

I knew it needed to happen, I needed to get my yellow card stamped. And they don’t stamp a Yellow Fever immunization card without first sticking it to you, literally! I was neither “happy”, nor do I feel “healthy” today.

I am proud to say, however, that my yellow card is officially stamped. Rwanda, I am on my way!

On second thought, I should have asked Ms. Doe to lend me hers.

If you would like to reward my bravery, donate here!

When is the last time you’ve had the joy of encountering the point of a needle? Comment below with your story.

Yesterday As Is came through for me once again, providing not only a lovely bowl for my eclectic collection but a fully functional and slightly marred bed frame at half the cost. No more sleeping on the floor for me, I’ve a real bed! What will my granola friends think? I digress.

While it is true I’m usually on the lookout for a good deal, there’s more to my love of the clearance isle than cost savings. The As Is Department speaks with a tangible voice to the beauty of story. It’s true, isn’t it, that most soul realities can be sought and found in the tangible realm? The bookshelf in my living room and now my bed remind me of the richness that can come from the scars of life.

A rough edge, paint that is no longer, a hole-punctured headboard – each tell a story. Each is marked with pain and also by an elegant mysterious beauty, a richness never known by the sofa basking in the spotlight of the showroom.

The reality is that each of us is As Is.  We are marked by pain we’ve encountered, the choices we’ve made, and are at uniquely different places of acceptance and redemption of the paint scratched surfaces of our life’s story.

As we enter this new year, may the rough edges of our hearts become a mark of beauty. May we begin to celebrate our As Is-ness; knowing there is One who delights in those who come to Him As Is and resting assured that what might seem an unwanted mar can, in time, become a mark of beauty, tended by the heart of The Artist himself.

In its pages I met myself in ways I had not put words to. I saw the person I want to be.

This particular book is an allegory in which ghosts from near-hell make an excursion to near-heaven. Most of them cannot handle the intensity of the experience and flee to comfort. One, however, stays with the pain and glory of the journey. He witnesses encounters between ghost-humans and celestial-humans who knew each other during their earth life. The former, I  find myself frightfully acquainted to, the latter embody an essence longed for.

The final scene is as a crescendo of the soul.  Other-centered Love meets the ghostly grime of one hiding in and infatuated with Self. One entering realms of glory, the other diminishing…in…to…nothingness.

A few things linger after this read: the most prominent is my utter identification with living the ghost-life, avoiding pain at all cost AND a receiving of an immensity of grace to enter more fully into who I am becoming.

I wonder what will linger for you.

:: :: :: :: ::

You can find The Great Divorce here: (Amazon.com) or (iBook)

(or, of course) your local library or used book store (always a treasure trove!)

“Remember, O God, that my life is but a breath”, the words of a man, Job, writhing in pain. He pleads for mercy, for sorrow to abate. This morning I find myself on another side of these words. This morning I am the one reminded of the brevity of this life. This time it is Father reminding me.

As he gathers my tears, our tears, and holds them near his heart – I hear him whisper, only a breath; this life is only a breath. Somehow I know it’s true. It doesn’t stop my soul, though, from racing to ask within one elongated sigh, “Why?!”; after which there is nothing left to do but let Comfort hold me, hold us.

Enfolded in his strength and tenderness, the sting begins to fade – at least a little. I hear his invitation to look. And I saw. You hold me, you hold us, here on this dirt floor, and you hold her too. As earth-eyes close in disbelief, hers light up at the sight of your face. We cry tears of sorrow [for which there is no shame], she cries with joy and genuine delight. Such depth of paradox breeds an inner silence; aching, yes; despairing, no; puzzled, most definitely.

One moment a fog, the next a tear then who knows what will show its face. In all of it, may I, may we return and return again to Father’s embrace and do the only thing there is to do; breathe.

If you find yourself resonating with the above, you are not alone. Adult children the world over face this, often crippling, sensation when engaging with those in their family of origin [those they grew up with].  This childhood self usually takes one of four forms – hero, scapegoat, lost child, or mascot.[1]

For some, this means reverting back to their role as the family Hero.  On the outside they exert the perfect performance (convinced this will smooth out any existing or anticipated waves).  They lead, have it all together (if only in their mind) and are often quite serious and admired. On the inside they live with a perpetual sense of never being enough.

Others, the family Scapegoat, assume the role of guilty. No doubt they have given up trying to please the family a long time ago, reverting to (what the family considers) rebellion against that which is deemed unfair or not right. They often have difficulty fitting in and find themselves compared to siblings. Inside they often feel left out of the family.

Then there is the Lost Child. This is the child who tries to be as unseen as possible. They often isolate themselves using means such as reading, music, television, or video games. A Lost Child tends to have a strong attachment to animals. Internally, they simply feel different.

Many families also have a Mascot child.  This is the happy-go-lucky child, often hyper-energetic and yet one the family views as fragile and in need of protection. This child tends to keep the spotlight on their self.  However, on the inside, he or she lives a fearful and anxious life, knowing something is wrong but that no one acknowledges it.

“Okay,” you say. “You’ve pegged me, now what?”

Begin by taking a deep breath. You have spent the past several decades living out this role; it isn’t going to resolve itself in a moment of insight.  The process begins by naming the role you have taken on in your family.  You will want to begin to understand the way you uniquely take on this role.  This will boil down to two tasks: notice & record.  When you step into the role, be aware of who it is you are with and what it taking place; then turn inward: what you are thinking, feeling, doing and saying? Once you have some date, be intentional recording your finding s. Start using a notebook, journal, or even a mobile device to write about what you notice. Tackle these (noticing & recording) and you will be headed in a beneficial direction. There are a few things, however, you will want not to do: First off, it won’t be to your advantage to identify and announce the roles of others in your family. It may be helpful for you to identify where each family member best fits, just keep that information to yourself. Something else to keep in mind is that when you begin on this path, things will most likely become more disrupted and messy before they make a turn for the better.  Hang in there, though. The cost pales compared to the worth of the journey.

By Kjersten Halvorsen, MA | 719.232.4132
Return to http://kjerstenhalvorsen.com

Depending on how we are wired and the circumstances in which we find ourselves, we navigate our way to one of these personas. We hide. We do what it takes to survive. Self, others, relationships, and the world begin to be filtered by our façade until self and mask enmesh, and the two become one.

Then we grow up. And one crisply bleak morning, we awaken and realize we have spent our entire life surviving. Somewhere, somehow life has become something that happens to us rather than a story we enter into. Damn.

Yet, perhaps the moment we name the reality that we’ve been among the walking dead is the very same moment we truly begin to live. We realize the shadows of our story’s past are not the end. There is more to the story. All these years we’ve been stuck on page three or four, utterly unaware of chapters two, seven, ten, and ninty-two waiting to be written. Our lives are nothing short of treasured novels in the midst of a deeper, much larger story, unfolding moment upon moment.

And so, to my Tough Girl sisters, may you discover Love that cannot harm, even if He wanted to (which he doesn’t). To my Party Girl sisters, there is Love that fills, and cleanses, He is a true Gentleman. And to my Good Girl sisters, may you journey to a place of encountering Love who cherishes you (not what you do). May we, moment upon moment, turn our face to the face of Love and receive all we need to begin to let the mask melt.

By Kjersten Halvorsen, MA | 719.232.4132
Return to: http://KjerstenHalvorsen.com

What is my true face? Who sees the real me?

With the dawn of networks like Facebook and Twitter, immersed in a society that is increasingly me-centered, where is the line between being oneself and self-promotion?  How does one walk the road of portraying an identity versus relating out of an identity already established?

According to Facebook I have 1,053 friends. That means if I meet with two friends a week it would take over ten years to see a friend twice. I would be forty years old before I saw some of you, fifty if we were to meet again.  Frankly, I’m not okay with this.

What is it, then, that has kept my face, your face, our faces on Facebook? I’m sure many of us would rather not own the fullness of that answer.  True, it is a convenient way to stay in touch with those we know who are spread across the country, even around the world, and it’s a quick way to keep others posted (literally!) on our own life.

I propose, however, the existence of a darker side to our relationship with Facebook.  Admit it, there are times when we derive some kind of increased value or importance simply based on the number of friends we have displayed on our profile. There are certain photographs immediately un-tagged for fear of being seen in an unwanted light. Even deeper, though, is the reality that I, you, we are afraid of being alone – and even more afraid of becoming known only to be dismissed.

This is not to say social media, in and of itself, is evil, because it isn’t. No doubt people make healthy use of it. I don’t think I’m one of them. When I’m on Facebook I’m liked and noticed, connected and “with” so many people…or am I?

In the midst of the appearance of flourishing relationships, there is a virtual emptiness fostered within the world of social media.  It is not accomplishing what we’ve told ourselves it will accomplish.  Rather than providing a means of knowing and being known or a true sense of connection, for many of us the “me” we are on Facebook portrays much more than she/he relates.

Are we embracing the mess of authentic relating? Or simply perfecting the art of mask-making?

So, what now? First off, conduct a gut-check. Ask yourself the not-so-comfortable questions like, “Am I relating out of a solidly formed identity? Or am I seeking to form or portray an identity that really isn’t me?”, “What emotional needs do I have? Am I attempting to fulfill these needs in a virtual world…or the real world?”, “What is it I most want in life?”, and “What is it I most fear?”.  Be honest with yourself; look at the entire spectrum of your intentions with social media and its ensuing relationships – the good, the bad & the ugly.  Where you go from there is for you to decide.

One thing is sure – you do have a true face, a uniquely fabulous face, divinely designed. Get to know that face. And while you’re at it, begin to seek courage to show glimpses of your face to others; let them cherish the true you.

By Kjersten Halvorsen, MA | 719.232.4132
Return to: http://KjerstenHalvorsen.com

To love & be loved.

…

Recently,  I spent the evening in  Boulder with indie artist Ingrid Michaelson [that is to say I was at her concert].  She has become a recent favorite, her lyrics poetically expressing the longings, desires, tensions, hopes, and fears we know all too well:

And we are so fragile,
And our cracking bones make noise,
And we are just,
Breakable, breakable, breakable girls and boys

 

Open me up and you will see
I’m a gallery of broken hearts
I’m beyond repair, let me be
And give me back my broken parts

Happy is the heart that still feels pain
Darkness drains and light will come again
Swing open your chest and let it in
Just let the love, love, love begin

Everybody, everybody wants to love
Everybody, everybody wants to be loved

It’s where we land. It’s where we live.

So simple.

Incredibly profound.

And it’s all in shambles.

If we are one ounce of honest we know we are all incredibly skilled at messing up love.  We’re bent (that’s how Dan Allender puts it).  The very thing we long for, we thwart and block and hide from. We love and long for love out of the wounds and lies we’ve incurred along life’s winding path. We’ve never known love in its pure form.  We’ve never known Love himself.

And so, He allures us.

Therefore I am now going to allure her; I will lead her into the desert and speak tenderly to her. [hosea2]

Such beauty. Such strength & tenderness. It’s His brutal kindness, really, that Love would allure and lead us to a desert place to speak tenderly to our hearts.

May you know what it is to be allured.

To be led to a desert place.

And spoken to tenderly.

May you know what it is to be loved by Love himself.

By Kjersten Halvorsen, MA | 719.232.4132
Return to: http://KjerstenHalvorsen.com

What if art became a friend rather than foe? What if it were not about the product but the process? What if we were to let go of performance and truly honor what shows up on the page? What if we stopped forcing and began to simply release what is bubbling up inside?

Therapeutic Art is simply that. It is letting creative expression become a friend. It values the process of the expression. There are no expectations, no grade. In Therapeutic Art we honor what shows up on the page. We don’t force, but rather allow ourselves to release what has for so long been inside.

In certain seasons, it can be difficult to find words to express a certain pain, experience, or relationship. It is in these moments that we let color, shape, and metaphor speak for us. For, when that which has been trapped inside comes into the light, it is then that healing can begin to take place.

___

By Kjersten Halvorsen, MA | 719.232.4132
Return to: http://KjerstenHalvorsen.com