Periodically, Ninepatch proposes various themes for contributors letters. Here are the letters we received in response to the 'Gifts of Suffering' theme...

Each month I write a letter where I share a story from my on-going personal journey. This one again touches my Ireland Pilgrimage-- but very indirectly.

An afternoon sun peeked through summer's dark leaves creating a sun-spotted pattern where I parked. I picked up my half-full, Friends of the Library bag and strode toward the building.

The automatic door slid back. I took six steps and stopped to feed my volumes into the book drop's open mouth. When I held the last book in my hands, I stopped. I would not have time to finish reading, There Must Be More Than This by Judith Wright. I stood, opened it and again scanned the table of contents. My eye stopped at Chapter 12, "The Four Loving Truths." Still standing by the drop slot, I paged to the beginning of that part and began to skim its paragraphs.

I read more slowly when I came to the subtitle, THE SECOND LOVING TRUTH: LOVE AND PEACE ARE THE LEGACY OF PAIN. Here are a few of those words:

…Riding on the wave of your pain are the gift of peace and the gift of love. As you open up your heart to feel your pain, you open yourself to receive love and peace…

My eyes moved on down the page. The next paragraph began,

We have mistakenly believed that pain is the opposite of love. We haven't realized that pain and other emotions actually lead to love and can be parts of love. In addition, (my underlining) peace is not the absence of pain but the result of the acceptance and expression of pain.

My urge to reopen this book led me to look at my life in terms of our theme, Gifts of Suffering.

Living has taught me pain and suffering are not the same-- suffering rises from pain. I try-always-- but I cannot avoid pain or suffering. However, as the quotes above suggest, pain's outcome is best when somehow I move with it, not medicating or avoiding pain, but riding its current requires suffering. Unlike those who use a whip or scourge to self- inflict pain for a religious purpose, I never choose pain. No I don't. Instead, Life puts me in a position where I must.

For example, Life gave me a healthy, but different child. During his first two years I turned unsmiling concerned eyes on his developmental differences: lack of sleeping, over-activity and patchy learning. Accumulating pain in my gut -said something was seriously wrong. Yet, no one saw or felt what I did. Before he was three, I got only shrugs from family women and no support from "professionals."

Mothers and children smiled from station wagons I passed as I drove my child to doctors and specialists. Neighbor children shouted and laughed in adjoining yards. My son sat in a dim-lit room, lost in his neon Light Brite peg patterns or spun, dazed on his Sit - and - Spin.

I read books and interviewed everyone I thought might know something-anything-- to help me guide my child. My gut clenched and my breath caught each time I felt women in public watch us. They'd catch my eye, glance toward my son's odd behavior then look back at me, their eyes questioning or brows drawn in a frown.

I breathed a long sigh of relief when my son's age three test results identified him as "Physically and Otherwise Health Impaired." This Special Education category offered help and special schooling. More than that, test results proved what I'd known in my gut.

But my special journey was still just beginning. I was increasingly absorbed with teachers, programs, doctors and other specialists. Meanwhile, my older son was also growing up. I did not want his childhood to be limited by his brother. My husband attended that child's social activities without us since whole family outings were impossible. My little boy could not "behave," and needed constant supervision.

Separated from normal and unable to change any part of it, suffering thawed some protective wall inside me. Its melting carried me into the sea of humanity. I joined those who suffer - whatever the reason.

Now I see my experience was a gift. Until then, I was a know-it-all. I judged others who floundered with life's problems. Lazy, I thought, Not smart enough. I believed there was nothing hard work and doing the right thing would not fix.

Thanks be to Life-to suffering -- and to God who knows what I need better than I do.

I am blessed.
Frances Fritzie

Frances Fritzie, Editor adds," During the years I watched over my precious child, an unusually strong relationship between us. This alone is a rare gift…"

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**MIRACLE IN SUFFERING

I awoke from a nap in my room in a Bahamian hotel with an overwhelming heaviness about me. I began to greet my friend, but the words wouldn't come out and my chin started to quiver. Dejectedly, I started down the dusty road to the beach alone, my shoulders slumped, my feet dragging. Something wretched and overpowering was growing inside me and sapping every bit of my strength.

At the beach, I felt barely aware of my surroundings. I curled into a ball, hugging my knees with all of my strength, trying to keep whatever was inside from completely overcoming me. All at once, an irresistible force, it breached my inner defenses, and spewed out in a wave of wretchedness-- in cries and sobs, gasps and tears. Finally there was nothing there but emptiness and silence.

Then I remembered what I had been hiding in my deepest heart, afraid to reveal and to release. It was remnants of the pain of losing my two children. Better to hold the grief, it had seemed, than to lose them altogether. The sorrow had fed upon itself and grown like a poisonous living thing. It grew out of me and dispersed when I could no longer contain it.

Turning my attention inward, I discovered that I wasn't completely empty, as had seemed at first. I felt a tiny seed of love, that, given space, expanded and filled me with peace, and warmth that I now realized I had allowed to be smothered. As I filled with new energy, I began to feel buoyant and alive. I stood, aware for the first time of the beauty around me, the green water, shushing waves, whispering breeze, and gull cries. I was one with them and they with me, with my lost sons, all souls everywhere, and also with the two baby manta rays that glided to the shore at my feet, lingered, then wandered away .

I returned to that beach daily for a while, to find that beautiful, still center again and again. I knew God was in me. One day I remembered that God was inside me, no matter where I might be, and that I could take that feeling with me. And I did.

Sometimes, especially when I most need it, I forget this beautiful healing place and my pain and discord drives me there. Other times I remember that it is inside me, always available. Then I pause-- no matter where I may be, or whatever good or ill may be visible and apparent -- and still my mind. I wait in silent expectation, knowing the inner doorway will open.

Looking back, it seems a miracle that we humans have the capacity to transcend the visible and apparent, and find an inner place where we feel whole, part of all, and with our God, and that is as real as anything else in our awareness. The truth is this ability is an inherent part of us, one I can access at any time. The real "miracle": is that suffering can be the paradoxical catalyst that takes us there.

Joan H. is unmarried. She is mother of two sons, both deceased and one granddaughter, a college student. Joan enjoys reading, a spiritual- growth group, and doing on-site research on ancient mysteries. She loves "spontaneous" travel and exploration, and wants to develop her writing skills.

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**Hello Good Buddy!

Whew! I finally had my doctor's appointment! I've been in so much pain I thought it would never get here. He gave me a shot in each foot where it hurt the most. He also gave me a prescription pill sample to try.

The results are still out. I am able to walk much easier without the horrendous pain. However, my feet were on fire all night long. (I couldn't even rest them on my legs they were that hot.) So, 3:00 a.m. and I are becoming friends. Problem is, so is 7:30 a.m. I remind myself: It came to pass...not stay. and This, too shall pass.

Besides praying and meditating, since I still can't do much yet, I'm reading. My book is called, Stick a Geranium in Your Hat and Be Happy by Barbara Johnson. I keep chuckling as I read it. She calls bumper stickers, bumper snickers. I think that's really cute, because that's exactly what they are!

The author started the SPATULA group for parents just discovering their children are gay and helping them to adjust. They called it SPATULA because the parents first have to be gently scraped off the walls and ceiling before they can get started.

Her life has not been easy. She has lost two sons, one in Viet Nam and one to a drunk driver. Her husband was in an accident and was not expected to ever think, walk or talk again but came through it all successfully. About that time one of the two remaining sons announced he was gay. Yet her attitude is one of joy and celebration.

She speaks all over the country. I'd love to hear her some time. I'm also going to look up her other two books, Where Does a Mother Go to Resign? and Fresh Elastic for Stretched Out Moms.

All through the Geranium book I'm reading, are little inspirational poems, sayings and humorous comments. For ex-ample, she calls the grieving process: Churning, Burning, Yearning, Learning and Turning. It is really cool.

I hope and pray you continue to have fun and make the most out of life. Take care and keep in touch.

Love,
Pam

Pam (Sept.'03) adds, "The medication is working! I have energy to do things I'd forgotten I wanted to do! I have energy just to walk into another room! If I need to go to the store, I can! I don't feel like crying because I have to go to the store. I forgot how much quality pain sucks from one's life. I also had no idea how small my world had become, based on how far I could walk. I have had two full nights of sleep and I feel like Superwoman! However, as much as I would like to go dancing, I think I'll stick to occasional little 'jigs' throughout my home! God is SO good."

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