A favorite story around my house is “The Lord of the Rings,” by J.R.R. Tolkien. Throughout the book the main characters are regularly faced with a choice between two paths. Inevitably, though both are difficult, one path is more obviously dangerous, and the second path seems easier and more inviting in the short term. Often the choice of the seemingly easier path results in the protagonists having to circle around and revisit choices where they end up taking the dangerous path anyway. However, it is on these more dangerous paths where the characters experience the most growth and gain a deeper understanding of their purpose. These dark places prove themselves to be necessary crucibles in the journey to wholeness. Similarly, it is no surprise to me that in Psalm 23, King David writes that he is walking through the Valley of the Shadow of Death. Not skipping around the borders of it. It is in the journey through this valley that he learns he is not alone, that he need not fear, and where he eventually finds rest. This intentional entering into darkness feels counterintuitive to us. Especially when trauma has come upon us, the idea of facing the experiences of fear sounds like heaping salt into a wound, but healing is a journey through, not around.
 
Most spiritual directors are familiar with the experience of meeting with a directee who is in denial or confused about the reality of their relationship with God. These people are often confused about how to connect with the Divine or may unconsciously hold conflicting beliefs that cause anxiety in prayer or daily life (for example: God will punish me if I make a mistake AND God loves me even when I make mistakes). Exploring these paths and walking with people as they work through these challenging conflicts to come to a more coherent and integrated faith is one of the great joys of being a director. However, an issue all directors need to be aware of, especially when working with trauma survivors, is the discerning of whether the directee is working through normal spiritual developmental phases, or is engaging in spiritual bypass.
 
“Spiritual Bypass” is a term coined by psychologist John Welwood in 1984 to describe the use of spirituality (beliefs or practices) as an avoidance tool. Spiritual bypass is when a person of faith uses their spirituality to avoid dealing with painful feelings, developmental tasks, or lingering wounds. Similar to substance abuse or other self-harming behaviors, survivors of trauma may turn to religious practices as a way to numb themselves to the painful realities or questions inherent in their journey. Spiritual bypass goes beyond turning to the Divine, or to tried and true practices, as a place of support and healing and instead creating habits that fill empty, painful spaces with spiritual noise that drowns out the parts of the soul still suffering.
 
This may look like the directee making statements like, “Whenever I feel sad or overwhelmed, I turn to my scriptures and feel better in no time! I’m so thankful for the encouragement from God!” Or perhaps this is the first-time directee who has suddenly decided that spiritual direction is just the thing to help them “get over” what happened. Normally, these statements about seeking and finding are music in a director’s ear, and I am certainly not advocating suspicion of every step forward or every refreshing practice a directee may share with us. Most of these steps are in fact helpful and healing for survivors, but attention must be paid to the whole of someone’s journey toward healing. If significant steps or phases of healing seem to have been skipped (thorough grieving, for example) then it is worth exploring with the directee whether any newfound relief is the deep, long-lasting relief associated with healing, or the temporary relief of avoiding.
 
Discerning whether a directee is being helped or hurt by their practices and beliefs is difficult and a director should tread carefully when challenging and testing areas that are being associated with hope. This is why ongoing training and supervision are so important for each director. This is also why it is helpful for trauma survivors to have a team of helpers surrounding them--psychologists, doctors, coaches, and directors--each of whom can bring their own expertise to bear on the journey of healing.  Directors are of invaluable help to trauma survivors who are people of faith. Directors can create a more holistic healing experience for trauma survivors by serving as a companion, guiding them through difficult experiences and questions of how grief, anger, justice, and faith intertwine.  A safe space to sort through unconscious, and or, unhelpful beliefs allows survivors to walk out into an expansive and freeing connection with God. Like our heroes in “The Lord of the Rings,” going around a problem often means that we end up facing it twice. Directors owe it to themselves and their directees to be educated in the nuances of traumatized spirituality so that they can be adequately prepared to walk with survivors through the valley to help them find comfort and healing.


* Discover more spiritual formation practices and resources on the ICTG Training menu, including the Spiritual Formation Resource Guide and Spiritual Formation Assessment. 

Often when I speak on trauma and spirituality, I discuss the reality that an organization or congregation is greater than the sum of its parts.  Part of keeping our congregations healthy involves caring for the most vulnerable members.  Sometimes these vulnerable people are easy to identify as individuals or groups (such as children, women, or the elderly), but sometimes people who otherwise appear to be at the peak of their strength are those who are experiencing deep, life changing traumas.  They are hidden among us because their pain is private, but no less in need of healing.
 
One such group near and dear to my heart are the parents of babies who are currently, or have spent time in the past, in the NICU (Neonatal Intensive Care Unit).  This month my family will be celebrating my darling niece’s first birthday.  Marking the birth of a human into the world is always worthy of celebration, but a year ago celebration was not the primary feeling surrounding her birth. My niece arrived ten weeks early after a difficult pregnancy and emergency surgery only to be immediately whisked away from her parents.  The next months were filled with learning, healing, devastating setbacks, and fierce victories.  My niece’s growth and development continue to amaze all of us and while we rejoice in her health now, reminiscing over the last year is a mixed experience.
 
The March of Dimes reports that 1 in 10 babies born in this country spend time in the NICU because of prematurity, infections, injuries, or other unexpected events at birth or in their early days.  Despite excellent care and a positive outcome for many of these babies, 60% of parents who have a child who spends any amount of time in the NICU are at risk for PTSD.  One study by the Duke School of Nursing interviewed thirty mothers whose infants had spent time in the NICU and every single one of them had at least one symptom of PTSD as much as six months later.  I have talked to parents who are still brought to tears decades later as they remember those early days.
 
The care needs of a child in the hospital may be more apparent and they are in the hands of professionals.  So how do we care for the rest of the family?  Those members of the family who are breathing on their own and able to digest food who are sitting next to us as we worship?  The new parents of a NICU baby may look as if they are doing “better” than the new parents rocking their infant in the back because they aren’t covered in spit-up and appear to have gotten more than 45 consecutive minutes of sleep the night before.  But make no mistake, these families have experienced the painful loss of a dream, and many are haunted by the possibility of death for weeks or months on end with no relief.  No matter the reason for, or length of stay in the NICU, a parent’s reaction can range from mild to severe.  Many experience grief, numbness, anger, guilt, shame, disbelief, and intense sadness.
 
These families need a support system that will continue to show up, day after day, for the indefinite future.  They need people around them to be flexible as each day brings with it new information and experiences that may be vastly disparate.  They need the setbacks and disappointments honored and grieved as much as they need the steps forward and milestones celebrated.  These families often suffer in silence because we have few to no social protocols to tell us how to help people in limbo, they need space to give voice to their experience.  Like any trauma, they must be allowed to ask their questions of, and make their petitions to, God without judgment from those around them.
 
NICU families are just one example of the many who may be suffering silently around us.  Others may include those with chronic or terminal illness, substance abuse, those who have experienced severe car accidents, or who are the primary caretakers for anyone with the aforementioned conditions.  As valued members of our communities, these hidden, silent sufferers and survivors need compassion and care for their, and our, well-being to flourish.  May we all have eyes to see and ears to hear.

• Who may be, or is, suffering silently in your congregation or community?
• How can you bridge the awkward social gap and engage in their experience?
• Is their someone in your ministry who can check in six months from now to see to their mental and spiritual health?  A year from now?
• What are the milestones and anniversaries to be honored by community members dealing with experiences like the NICU that are unique to them?  How can the community facilitate and participate in those memorials?

* Would you like more resources on how to assess impacts of stress and trauma and to practice effective care? You can find them at the ICTG online training menu. 

Life is full of joy and meaning.  We are surrounded by beauty, love, and laughter.  I personally have enjoyed living in just enough of a mountain town in Southern California this fall to be surrounded by striking colors in the trees as we mark the seasons.  Of course, California is also experiencing its worst drought in decades.  So between the tall trees boldly wearing their scarlets, rusts, and golds are dead lawns, empty fields, and dirt lots where even the weeds have given up trying to grow.  It feels as if the desert is trying to reclaim us and we’re not sure yet which way the tide will go.
 
There are many times where all of the moments and little glimpses that make life so meaningful are more notable by their absence than anything else.  Days that feel like drudgery.  Like we will count ourselves lucky if we just manage to put one foot in front of the other enough times to make it through the day.  Anxiety, tension, and responsibility creep in and disturb our days and our nights.  We are waiting.  Which way will we discover?  Oasis or parched land?
 
These days are thirsty.  Our souls are thirsty.
 
This sense of scarcity, the fear of lack, seems poignant as we enter this season of celebrating miracles. Mawlid, Chanukah, and Advent all remember waiting in near darkness.  Mawlid celebrates revelation.  Chanukah, provision.  Advent, holding out for the hope of Light to come.  I am struck every year by the words of the first stanza of the Christmas carol, “O Holy Night.”  The author says:
 
Long lay the world
 in sin and error pining…
 
Pining.  Not languishing.  Not living it up.  Pining.  Thirsty and parched, but not despairing.  Pining implies missing something that is known and deeply loved, and longing for its return.   Over the last few months ICTG has been called on again and again by people who’s stories tenderly wrench our hearts.  Suicide, sudden deaths, shootings, fires, broken trust, and grief are just some of the burdens being carried through our doors.  People with thirsty souls searching for the oasis. People who are pining.
 
And then at the end of December the Christians celebrate the birth of Jesus Christ with Christmas.  They call him Immanuel. God with us.
 
…Til God appeared
And the soul felt its worth
A thrill of hope the weary world rejoices
For yonder breaks a new a glorious morn…
 
God with us.
 
How do we make sense of these vastly disparate experiences?  The oasis and the desert?  Darkness and Light?  Joy and grief?  Trauma’s affect on our spirituality has a distinct aspect of pining to it.  There is significant grief associated with unalterable changes in perspective.  The sin and error that is sometimes foisted on us leaves us weary and unsure of our worth.
 
Immanuel, God with us.
 
God being with us is so touching because it is an unbounded experience.  We can find and experience God as much as we are able.  God is with us in the breath-taking awe of turning a corner and being surrounded by trees dressed in fiery colors.  God is with us in the scratching and scraping of the dead grass and dusty ground.  God is with us in the joy of the new and the grief of the loss of the familiar.  With us in the darkness and the light and all the spaces in between.  God is in our waiting.
 

• What parts of you feel parched this season?
  
• What are you thirsty for?
  
• What hope thrills your soul in this season?
  
• What glorious morning are you waiting for?

* Discover more spiritual formation practices and resources on the ICTG Training page, including the 2016 Spiritual Formation Resource Guide and Spiritual Formation Assessment. 

To say that our country is facing a difficult season, would be putting it lightly.  In just the last few months, we have seen devastating fires, floods, and tornadoes.  People have died, needlessly, and many communities are outraged and seeking justice and peace in the midst of their grief.  And all of the live video, along with minute-by-minute reactions, are available and swamping our newsfeeds constantly.  Regardless of where we live, we have access to the pain and devastation of neighbors we have never met.  It is making us all weary and hungry for relief.
 
What is a spiritual director to do in days like these?
 
A wise friend once told me that training gives us knowledge about, and language to describe, what is happening to us.  It does not somehow free, excuse, or save us from experiencing what is happening to us.  This is why, more than ever, it is important for spiritual directors to know who their neighbors are in the village of helpers who provide care after a trauma.  Knowing who else is equipped to provide care of various kinds helps us take care of our directees, and ourselves.  For example, we need the help of doctors, educators, therapists, yoga instructors, and others to help care holistically for those we companion, because we are not those things.  I am not a general practitioner in the medical community.  I am not a therapist.  I incorporate yoga into my self-care, but I am not a yogini.  I am a mandated reporter, but I am not a social worker or lawyer or police officer.  We directors, do not (necessarily) have those trainings—this is good.  This is an opportunity for community within the village of care.
 
Knowing and owning our own limitations professionally helps us to maintain healthy internal boundaries, to not be tempted to be all things to all people, or to give in to savior complexes when we encounter hurt in people’s souls.  It is good for us to have developed an awareness of who other trustworthy caregivers are so that we can reliably refer people to the help they need.  Feeling good about the fact that I cannot always help everyone provides me with a layer of protection from experiencing vicarious trauma.
 
Knowing our own limitations also allows us to create meaningful space for self-care in overwhelming times.  Even when my community and/or clients are suffering, I still need to take care of my family and myself.  This means that sometimes I will say no to taking on a new directee or speaking engagement even though I may feel drawn to them.  Sometimes I say no to scheduling or rescheduling with someone because I need to have time to meet with my own director, therapist, or doctor—or just have tea with a friend.  Knowing that I have colleagues and connections I trust to care for others and me lightens the burden and gives me hope that there is ongoing good in the world.
 
The time it takes to build these relationships is best used when there is no present crisis.  Find out the names and practices of people you may need to rely on, determine your own needs and processes for refreshment, make a plan for how and when to refer.  And above all, pray.  For wisdom, discernment, help, healing, and hope even in the darkest of days.

* Learn more about spiritual formation practices and trauma-preparedness on the ICTG Training page. On the training page, you will find dozens of resources, including the 2016 Spiritual Formation Resource Guide and Spiritual Formation Assessment. 

Taking advantage of times and seasons of peace in life prepares our souls to not only survive, but thrive, when trauma strikes.
 
Have you ever noticed how often you use the word, or reference the concept of, “time” during the day, even if just to yourself?  “What time is it?”  “What time do we have to be there?”  “How long will it take?”  “I need to carve out some time.”  Generally speaking, Americans tend to be very time-centric. We are more concerned that a meeting begin and end when scheduled than we are that it actually accomplishes its goals.
 
We also live in a culture that values “being prepared.”  We purchase insurance policies, we post emergency exit maps and signs in buildings, we write wills and establish trusts.  We have entire (multiple) television series devoted to people being surprised by different things because seeing someone not be prepared for something (positive or negative) is sensational.
 
Our spiritual lives often become relegated to these same cultural tendencies toward an emphasis on time and planning.  We have a specific time of day, or the week, where we often go to a specific place, and follow a specific routine for the maintenance of our spiritual lives.  Occasionally we may change things up by going on a retreat, or to a new spiritual director, but in general we are creatures of habit. We like our predictable times, spaces, and routines.
 
And this is not, necessarily, a bad thing.
 
Continuing with a theme of spirituality in time and space, most people experience seasons where the Presence of God is more or less easily engaged.  We go through periods of time where every blade of grass or whisper of wind causes us to feel loved.  Worship is deeply moving and disciplines are meaningful.  At other times, the Presence of God seems to bring with it agitation, or perhaps there is a question of whether we have been abandoned.  Doubts rush in, the spiritual joy of others feels like nails on a chalkboard, and we wonder if perhaps we are lost after all.
 
This is not, necessarily, a bad thing.
 
Seasons in the life of faith are completely normal.  The Christian mystics have long referred to the changing seasons of the felt presence of God as “consolation” and “desolation.”  In desolation, God feels far off or absent.  Many refer to this as a season of “dryness,” “loneliness,” or “confusion.”  Consolation, however, is comfort food and good wine.  It is energizing, encouraging, and abundant Presence.
 
When we consider how much we enjoy having a predictable routine, it becomes easy to see how trauma can feel disruptive in every aspect of our lives.  Being “prepared for trauma” is a relative and degreed state.  When life becomes chaotic, we tend to respond instinctively. 

• What instincts are you spending time developing?
• What habits are you cultivating that will help sustain life and health when other routines or structures are stripped away?

 
The truth is that when our spirituality is completely dependent on time and space, it will be easily lost in chaos and confusion of trauma.  Suddenly our time is required elsewhere. Space is suddenly missing and routine is irreversibly altered.  This is why the best times to prepare our souls to weather the storms of trauma are peace times.
 
During peace times, we can relax with intention.  Being mindful of what is helping us to feel calm and at rest helps us cultivate that feeling and find God within.  Seasons of consolation are particularly valuable as times to develop new disciplines.  This is when we are motivated to engage in new habits or move to new spiritual depths.  These spiritual springtimes can help grow the deep roots of experience and rhythm that sustain the soul when winter returns.
 
Most people can recall a time when they were: “The most stressed I’ve ever been.”  Or perhaps most afraid, sick, or lonely they have ever been.  It sometimes takes more thought to identify the times that have been the most peaceful, brave, or loved.  When we begin to explore those experiences of peace, bravery, and love we may discover common threads that are not dependent upon a particular time or place.  It may be a posture of our heart, or the warmth of a friend, or the comfort of good food that whispers so deeply in our hearts: “You are not alone, you are loved.”  Tapping into those experiences, developing habits of the heart and mind that are enhanced by time and space rather than dependent upon them, will help sustain us.
 
So in times of peace, when your body and mind are at rest, consider and engage with:

• What helps you be present to the Divine? 
• How do you pray when you have no words?
• Do your chosen spiritual practices bring calm and promote community?
• To what degree is your spirituality dependent upon predictable time and space?
• To what degree is your spirituality enhanced by being present in time and space?
• If you are leading a ministry, are you encouraging those you lead to find their own answers to these questions?
  

Learn more about spiritual formation practices and trauma-preparedness by becoming an ICTG Affiliate. ICTG Affiliates have access to dozens of resources, including the 2016 Spiritual Formation Resource Guide and assessments.