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Back to the Beginning: Come. Sit. Listen.

A dear young friend (or at least she’s young to me!) who works in the medical profession asked that I keep on writing a bit, as it made her feel less alone, more connected, during these days of pandemic as she faces the scene every day in a metropolitan hospital.  A small thing compared to what she must face . . . Since my prayer always is to be able to give back, here goes, for what it’s worth . . .

It’s December 28th and I’m still under the Christmas tree in the pre-dawn hours with the cats and coffee.  I started writing this blog just around this time of year three years ago, and as I read back over my reflections over the years, I had lotsa mixed thoughts, a primary one being how little I know and the hubris of putting any words at all out there into the world for others to read . . .  So with that big ole caveat, I’m gonna copy here the initial blog with which I started this “rest beside the weary road” business.  This is for those of you who may not have read these pages from the beginning, and a reminder if there are those still with me from the start . . .

From December, 2017:

Most people don’t know that there are angels whose only job is to make sure you don’t fall asleep and miss your life.  (-B. Andreas-)

The song It Came Upon a Midnight Clear was written by Edmond Hamilton Sears, a Unitarian minister in Wayland, Massachusetts, in 1844.  Although down through the years it has become a beloved Christmas carol, it is not so much a song about the birth of Christ as it is a song calling our attention to the ministry of angels.  1849 was a troubled time.  The United States still reeled from the aftermath of the Mexican War.  Tension over slavery would soon plunge the nation into another terrible war.  The gold rush and the beginnings of the Industrial Revolution were major shapers and disruptors in people’s lives.  Poverty and suffering were rampant.  Sears himself wrote this hymn while recovering from a devastating illness and a period of profound despair.

Several years ago on a dark, icy Christmas Eve, I sat huddled in the back pew of a small, darkened, candlelit chapel, and listened to voices raised in the words of this old carol.  I was in despair.  It was the only time in my life that I can remember having truly given up.  As I listened, these two simple lines — O rest beside the weary road, And hear the angels sing — lifted me up, and were a call that kept me going.  That much I could do in that moment of darkness:  I could rest beside the weary road and just listen.  And it was enough to keep my feet on the path I was given to walk.

There are many kinds of life journeys, and each of us is traveling a unique path; often the way may be obscured from view.  Come. Sit. Listen.

Angels, in both Greek and Hebrew, mean “messengers,” messengers of God, messengers who can advise, warn, support, encourage, comfort, come to our aid, perhaps from time to time, intervene in our lives by shaking things up.  We in our contemporary world need these reminders of a spiritual resource upon which we can call no less than those in centuries past.  The words of this beautiful old hymn call us to listen:  O rest beside the weary road, And hear the angels sing.

The words that I offer to you on the following pages were born in that spirit.  Perhaps a few of them may speak to you, may offer you comfort, support, encouragement, courage to keep on keeping on.  It is my hope that perhaps you will even feel less alone, knowing that someone else has also walked this way before.

I am a retired psychotherapist and professor, and after over forty years in the field, I guess I wondered when I retired a few years ago if I had anything left to say.  But a dear friend on an adjoining mountain encouraged me to do this writing, and so I agreed.

Many times over the last four decades as I have sat with a client in deep pain, I have felt inadequate and helpless.  But what I learned is that the most profound moments of healing take place, not in a recalled past or imagined future, but in the present moment of an authentic encounter between you and someone else.  There’s a wonderful old saying:  A friend knows the song in my heart and sings it to me when my memory fails.  Maybe together, we can sit and listen to the angels and occasionally “sing” to one another.

Thank you for stopping here for a few minutes to read this!  My hope is that it may be a blessing to you.

Helen    

Come. Sit. Listen.

A year ago today, I posted my first blog on this site, and for those of you who may be late arrivers to restbesidethewearyroad.com, I am copying it below and reposting it, so you might know what it and I are all about.  Thanks for reading it!

Most people don’t know that there are angels whose only job is to make sure you don’t fall asleep and miss your life.  (-B. Andreas-)

The song It Came Upon a Midnight Clear was written by Edmond Hamilton Sears, a Unitarian minister in Wayland, Massachusetts, in 1844.  Although down through the years it has become a beloved Christmas carol, it is not so much a song about the birth of Christ as it is a song calling our attention to the ministry of angels.  1849 was a troubled time.  The United States still reeled from the aftermath of the Mexican War.  Tension over slavery would soon plunge the nation into another terrible war.  The gold rush and the beginnings of the Industrial Revolution were major shapers and disruptors in people’s lives.  Poverty and suffering were rampant.  Sears himself wrote this hymn while recovering from a devastating illness and a period of profound despair.

Several years ago on a dark, icy Christmas Eve, I sat huddled in the back pew of a small, darkened, candlelit chapel, and listened to voices raised in the words of this old carol.  I was in despair.  It was the only time in my life that I can remember having truly given up.  As I listened, these two simple lines — O rest beside the weary road, And hear the angels sing — lifted me up, and were a call that kept me going.  That much I could do in that moment of darkness:  I could rest beside the weary road and just listen.  And it was enough to keep my feet on the path I was given to walk.

There are many kinds of life journeys, and each of us is traveling a unique path; often the way may be obscured from view.  Come. Sit. Listen.

Angels, in both Greek and Hebrew, mean “messengers,” messengers of God, messengers who can advise, warn, support, encourage, comfort, come to our aid, perhaps from time to time, intervene in our lives by shaking things up.  We in our contemporary world need these reminders of a spiritual resource upon which we can call no less than those in centuries past.  The words of this beautiful old hymn call us to listen:  O rest beside the weary road, And hear the angels sing.

The words that I offer to you on the following pages were born in that spirit.  Perhaps a few of them may speak to you, may offer you comfort, support, encouragement, courage to keep on keeping on.  It is my hope that perhaps you will even feel less alone, knowing that someone else has also walked this way before.

I am a retired psychotherapist and professor, and after over forty years in the field, I guess I wondered when I retired a few years ago if I had anything left to say.  But a dear friend on an adjoining mountain encouraged me to do this writing, and so I agreed.

Many times over the last four decades as I have sat with a client in deep pain, I have felt inadequate and helpless.  But what I learned is that the most profound moments of healing take place, not in a recalled past or imagined future, but in the present moment of an authentic encounter between you and someone else.  There’s a wonderful old saying:  A friend knows the song in my heart and sings it to me when my memory fails.  Maybe together, we can sit and listen to the angels and occasionally “sing” to one another.

Thank you for stopping here for a few minutes to read this!  My hope is that it may be a blessing to you.

Helen    

Come. Sit. Listen.

Most people don’t know that there are angels whose only job is to make sure you don’t fall asleep and miss your life.  (-B. Andreas-)

The song It Came Upon a Midnight Clear was written by Edmond Hamilton Sears, a Unitarian minister in Wayland, Massachusetts, in 1844.  Although down through the years it has become a beloved Christmas carol, it is not so much a song about the birth of Christ as it is a song calling our attention to the ministry of angels.  1849 was a troubled time.  The United States still reeled from the aftermath of the Mexican War.  Tension over slavery would soon plunge the nation into another terrible war.  The gold rush and the beginnings of the Industrial Revolution were major shapers and disruptors in people’s lives.  Poverty and suffering were rampant.  Sears himself wrote this hymn while recovering from a devastating illness and a period of profound despair.

Several years ago on a dark, icy Christmas Eve, I sat huddled in the back pew of a small, darkened, candlelit chapel, and listened to voices raised in the words of this old carol.  I was in despair.  It was the only time in my life that I can remember having truly given up.  As I listened, these two simple lines — O rest beside the weary road, And hear the angels sing — lifted me up, and were a call that kept me going.  That much I could do in that moment of darkness:  I could rest beside the weary road and just listen.  And it was enough to keep my feet on the path I was given to walk.

There are many kinds of life journeys, and each of us is traveling a unique path; often the way may be obscured from view.  Come. Sit. Listen.

Angels, in both Greek and Hebrew, mean “messengers,” messengers of God, messengers who can advise, warn, support, encourage, comfort, come to our aid, perhaps from time to time, intervene in our lives by shaking things up.  We in our contemporary world need these reminders of a spiritual resource upon which we can call no less than those in centuries past.  The words of this beautiful old hymn call us to listen:  O rest beside the weary road, And hear the angels sing.

The words that I offer to you on the following pages were born in that spirit.  Perhaps a few of them may speak to you, may offer you comfort, support, encouragement, courage to keep on keeping on.  It is my hope that perhaps you will even feel less alone, knowing that someone else has also walked this way before.

I am a retired psychotherapist and professor, and after over forty years in the field, I guess I wondered when I retired a few years ago if I had anything left to say.  But a dear friend on an adjoining mountain encouraged me to do this writing, and so I agreed.

Many times over the last four decades as I have sat with a client in deep pain, I have felt inadequate and helpless.  But what I learned is that the most profound moments of healing take place, not in a recalled past or imagined future, but in the present moment of an authentic encounter between you and someone else.  There’s a wonderful old saying:  A friend knows the song in my heart and sings it to me when my memory fails.  Maybe together, we can sit and listen to the angels and occasionally “sing” to one another.

Thank you for stopping here for a few minutes to read this!  My hope is that it may be a blessing to you.

Helen