She needn’t give up her life for all mother’s moans.
God’s terms are made clear in the story:
Relationship with the Living God is primary.
When that is the core of one’s identity,
One can break free of domination and fear.
Like David, one needn’t be reactive,
But God-centered, having a plan of one’s own;
One can shrug off others’ manipulations
If one’s self-worth is grounded in God’s love.
God will also take care of her mother;
That should never have been her child’s job.
Mother’s failure to trust God makes her enslave her own daughter,
Whereas freeing us for life is the purpose of God.
So here’s another way that psychotherapy heals:
Divine presence is suddenly made manifest
Through an inner connection that the patient reveals;
We connect then in awe and feel wondrously blessed.
Multiple layers of the human mind and psyche
Become transparent and sparkle with light,
Quiet yet palpitating heart and soul energy
Shift and then mend in flashing sparks of insight.
The journey of this patient and the biblical story
Throw light on each other for sure.
We all battle fear, inner and outer harsh voices.
But it’s by trusting in God’s Life that we’re truly secure.
It’s a long-term, lifetime-long process,
But giant armies of fear can be routed;
As we trust our simple slingshot resources,
God’s life within us will not be defeated.
13. The Patient has given me permission to publish this poem.
14. The Holy Bible (NRSV), 1 Samuel 17.
15. Abbreviation for “psychological operations.”
16. Op.cit., 17:29.
17. Op.cit., 17:32.
18. Op. cit., 17:26.
19. Op. cit., 17:45.
20. Op. cit., 17:47.
Death on the Farm and The Riddle of Samson
I was probably younger than I can even remember
When I first saw death and whatever was left.
Early on was the smell from the Rendering Truck
As it groaned up the hill of the lane past our house.
Pulling into the yard, the driver jumped down
To ask Mom or Dad what he needed to pick up.
The odor was unique, and lingered for hours;
The truck always reeked with its load of dead animals.
It was usually a hog it had come to collect.
We’d bury a dog, because it was a pet.
It was rarely a cow; they’d leave the farm alive.
I’m not sure where they’d go; rarely sick, they didn’t die.
Cows lived quite a while, were valued for their milk.
When their udders went dry, they’d give birth to a calf.
Within hours of birth, the calf was taken from mother,
Put in a pen in the barn and fed milk from a bucket.
Days later it was sold, sucked no milk from its mother.
Cows’ milk was like gold; the calves a cute bother.
One thing we learned early from living on the farm:
Protect yourself hurriedly from emotional harm.
My Dad told the story of when he was a boy,
How he’d had a pet pig whom he really adored.
The pig followed him ‘round wherever he went . . . .
Then the story ran aground, ‘cause we knew how it ended.
Farming is a business, he was implicitly saying;
Getting attached to the pigs will result in much pain.
I didn’t realize till later that death was pervasive;
We raised pigs for slaughter and were afraid of diseases.
The death of one’s livestock, when it’s all about business,
Was the loss of a product, plus work and feed vested.
Pigs easily got sick; I never knew why.
We worked hard to prevent it, but sometimes they’d die.
I remember Dad’s panic: our hogs had caught cholera!
He couldn’t sleep, was frantic; normal talk became hollering.
Next day the Vet came, very early in the morning;
He had the vaccine. We all would be helping.
I remember we were daunted, because the pigs had gotten big!
With pre-exhaustion we were haunted at having to hold up each pig.
We’d stand behind each hog, reach over to grab its front legs,
Lift
