CHAPTER 1

Wisdom of the Trees

"What littleness within you is lovedinto being by God?"

—Julian of Norwich

God has been my friend since I was a young child. I firstcame to know God's energy of unconditional love andcreation through the gift of my grandmother Agatha LegereTetreau and her connection to the beauty of nature. Growing up ina family of seven children, I was graced to live in a neighborhoodthat allowed for fields and wooded areas in the midst of homes andstreets. As children we were able to play freely outside and alwaysfound "something to do" because we knew if we said we were boredthere would be a myriad of chores to fill our time. This providedmany opportunities through nature for my soul to sing with the joyof connection to an energy and power much greater than I.

Because there was a trusting knowledge of our neighbors, therewas a freedom to be able to explore about the neighborhood. Therewas safety and respect in the knowledge of one another and eachperson's property. I remember picking wild strawberries in the fieldbehind our home when I was five, carefree in the joy of the sunon my face and the discovery of deep, red morsels awaiting theopportunity to tantalize my taste buds with their ripe sweetness. Myvoice sang in delight of discovery of these tiny treasures I believedwere placed here just for my enjoyment!

Diagonally across the street from my home was an acre woodedlot we called Mrs. Parent's Woods. To enter into the woods, one hadto go carefully around the large maple tree standing sentry on thecorner, skirted by poison ivy. To the right and left were pathwaysinviting one to enter downward into the rustle of oak leaves andacorns underfoot, the scamper of squirrels above and around. I wouldspend many hours singing and talking to these trees; it did notmatter that I might have difficulty expressing my thoughts. All thatmattered was the strength and protection of the majestic oaks thatafforded me acceptance and joy. Their energy brought forth securityand goodness.

The energy I knew in the trees was also experienced in thestrength and unconditional acceptance of my grandmother. MémèreTetreau, as we called her, lived a block away on Charles Street. Herhome was surrounded by pine trees that blanketed the earth in thefall with a groundcover of fallen needles. These pine needles alsoprovided great mulch which the night crawlers would irrigate, oneof my brother's favorite spots for fishing worms! Elm trees gave uptheir leaves for my princess crowns that Mémère would lovinglyweave and place atop my head. Bridal veil, hostas, marigolds andzinnias embraced the front and sides of her home with Mary's gardento the right of the driveway. These plants and many more were oftenincorporated into my outdoor play. The only plants which were offlimits to pick were the red geraniums which honored the statue ofMary. It was here that I learned how to plant and weed. Today thevery hostas that I helped tend as a child grace Evensong's shadegardens.

Time with Mémère was very special. I remember the old treadlesewing machine in the kitchen. She would let me work the treadlealong with her foot while she mended my grandfather's shirts. Whenwe would catch butterflies she would let them loose in the kitchenso that we could enjoy their beauty as they rested on the curtains.Molasses taffy was one of her favorite treats and there was often apan of it hardening in the coolness of the pantry. Such joy to crackoff a piece of this delectable, sticky sweetness! Time with Mémèrealways brought forth a sense of rightness with my world. Someof our favorite times together included knitting mittens, playingwith blocks, eating popcorn and sharing a Popsicle purchased atthe neighborhood store. Words were not always necessary in ourrelationship. Presence with one another defined what words wereinadequate to share, as the love flowing freely from her heart wasaccepted joyfully into mine.

Being of Franco-American descent, I was baptized into theRoman Catholic religious tradition. Participation in Sunday Masswas a regular family event. My earliest memory was pre-Vatican IIwhen women and girls needed to have a head cover while in church.One Sunday when I was four years old, I continually tried to removemy winter hat throughout the Mass because I was too hot. I couldnot believe that God would want me to be hot even if Rome saidall women must have their heads covered in church. My first gradeteacher at St. Ignatius School, Mother Clement, was an Ursaline nunwho had a deep love for Jesus. In preparing us to receive our FirstCommunion she shared the depth of this love with us. Her sharingwas an invitation into the sacred that a child's heart knows frombefore birth. Jesus was shared as a friend who dearly loves children.Receiving Holy Communion was an opportunity to welcome Himinto my heart. On the day of my First Communion I was given tokneel before the Infant Jesus of Prague statue, believing that he waslooking down on me and smiling. Finally this dear friend was alivein my heart! I would often talk and sing to Him on my way to andfrom school, when I was excited or afraid.

This relationship with God deepened when I was in the sixthgrade. It was often a Catholic tradition during Lent for children togive up candy as a sacrifice. At that time I volunteered at the schoollibrary after school with another classmate. As was custom, thelibrarian would allow each of us to choose a piece of candy beforeleaving with the understanding that we would save it until Easter.After walking part way home with my friend, our paths woulddiverge. This presented me with the opportunity to eat my piece ofcandy! I really did not believe that God cared whether or not I ate apiece of candy during Lent. Where was the relationship with God incandy? The guilt over failing was simply pushed away.

Where I did succeed was going to morning Mass before schoolduring Lent as my mother had when she was a child. I set my father'salarm clock to rise at 5:45 a. m., get myself ready, awaken my fatherat 6:00 a. m. and then walk the half-mile in the dark to church. Godeven provided me with my own escort. Each morning when I cameoff our side street onto the main road, there walked before me a millworker carrying his black metal lunch pail while on his way to thetextile mills located just beyond the church. Although we never spoke,there was a sense of safety in the ability to walk in his footsteps in theearly morning snow. Since Mass was at 6:30 a. m. and school did notbegin until 8:00 a. m. I would go the nearby bakery afterwards andhave a hot chocolate and a chocolate covered donut. If there wereday old donuts available I was able to buy two! After eating I wouldgo back inside the church to wait until classmates arrived for school.There were times when I was very tired so I would lie down on thechurch pew, knowing that God knew how tired I was and would notmind if I took a nap safely within His pew. I always awoke in timefor school, refreshed for the day. These experiences of acceptance,love and security were the seeds of faith planted within my soul andthe ability to rest safely in Gods loving arms.

Friendships were challenging for me as a child. I related well toadults but was challenged with the nuances of peer social dynamicsand sensory input. I was always too late with the witty answer andwould constantly watch others for social cues in order to "fit in."I was able to relate well one on one but large groups were beyondme even though there were only twenty-three students in my class.In the sixth grade I was given the opportunity to work at the lunchcounter along with two other girls. It was my responsibility to putout the milk, chocolate and white, as my schoolmates went throughthe line. Enjoying the responsibility, I felt like I was making a familycontribution by getting a free lunch each day and it solved thedilemma of socializing during playground time after lunch. All waswell throughout the sixth and seventh grades and into the eighth,or so I thought.

The summer between the seventh and eighth grades was filledwith babysitting, sewing new clothes for school, being with mygrandmother, junior lifesaving swimming lessons and bike riding.The day before school was scheduled to begin I received a telephonecall from Shelly, one of my classmates who worked with me on thelunch line. She also happened to be the class bully. Shelly said thatsince they had been hanging around with Theresa instead of methis past summer, they wanted me to give up my job to her. Myrefusal because I was counting on that job was not received well. AsI approached the schoolyard the next day I could hear, "Shhh, she'scoming!" This began a shunning and silencing process that wouldlast into the next month. Each day I would come to school and eachday no one would talk to me, just talk about me and laugh at mein my presence, as if I could not hear. Up until this time I knew Iwas not popular and did not really fit, but there was still a sense ofcoherence within me. Knowing that the ridicule and humiliationwould be worse if I told the teacher or my parents, I kept silence.That first day of eighth grade began the defense mechanism of "Idon't care" and "It doesn't matter" which over the years would betransformed into a thought process of, "I do not matter." A thick veilof protection surrounded my heart, my jaw clenched to hold backthe unspoken pain and the onset of migraines began. I developed aheightened sense of awareness, always on the lookout for what mightcome next and I stopped singing from my heart to my God.

In her book Awakening the Child Heart, Carla Hannaford, Ph.D., describes coherence as "the conscious pleasure state of being inalignment with our purpose, joy, happiness and connection to others."Coherence supports a person in optimal physical, cognitive, emotionaland spiritual development. Hannaford notes that coherence supportsthe amygdala in maintaining a normal heart rate, blood pressure andrelaxed breathing via the parasympathetic nervous system. If the heartrate frequencies are incoherent due to stress, loss, threat of safety,worry or anger, the amygdala senses danger and the sympatheticnervous system and the cortico-releasing factor (CRF) are triggered.(See Chapter 4 for a more detailed discussion of brain chemistryrelated to stress.) Stress hormones of adrenalin and cortisol flood thesystem, causing the person to react in a defensive, protective way tothe situation. The thalamus shuts down to any sensory informationnot directly related to survival, thus decreasing our ability to take inall the rich sensory information of our environment for growth andlearning. Adrenaline and cortisol became my new friends, keepingme on edge and awareness throughout the next fourteen years andpaving the way for my body to experience fibromyalgia.

Eventually the eighth grade came to an end, in the fall I wouldbegin attending the local public high school. During the last week ofschool, our principal called me to her office. Wondering what I haddone wrong, I timidly knocked on her door. Sr. Lucy welcomed mewith a gracious smile and after reassuring me that nothing was wrong,she shared with me that she believed that I had a vocation to religiouslife. Now you must realize that in 1970 in the Roman Catholic Church,a vocation for a woman meant entering the convent to become a nun.The teachings of Vatican II were just beginning to emerge. My onlyexperience of religious life was of silent acceptance. As the years havepassed, my experience of nuns, also known as women religious, haschanged to a deep respect and admiration as they choose to engagethe life questions that beset us all. Their courage to enter into the livesof the poor and marginalized, regardless of faith traditions, bespeaksthe true gospel message. Their recognition of people's suffering at alllevels is an inspiration and challenge to each of us as human beings. Iam in awe of the love, faithfulness and courage of the many womenwho have chosen this vocation. It just was not mine.

My thoughts went wild. How could I ever become a nun? Iwould not last an hour in the convent! They would throw me out!I'm not the type to follow the rules. I'm the one who eats candyduring Lent when no one was looking. Now if I could be a priest, Icould be a good priest. I still had the ceramic altar that my uncle hadgiven to my brother, where I would "say Mass" with Ritz crackerswhen I was in the fifth grade ... but I could never be a nun.

In addition to the challenges at school, my beloved grandmotherneeded to move away to live with my uncle and aunt and then anursing home. The emphysema that she had struggled with formany years was now incapacitating her. I would no longer be ableto help care for her; all I could do now was to plant marigolds andzinnias in my own garden to bring to her on Sunday visits. Littledid I know how much the emotional memory of my thirteenth yearwould impact my future.

Contemplations ...

I invite you to reconnect with the last time that your heart and soul sang withdelight. To facilitate this process, I invite you to find a safe, quiet space whereyou can sit comfortably. Place your hands over your heart and give thanksthat this experience will be remembered through the wisdom and goodnessof your body, mind and soul. If you are trained in the practice of Reiki, putforth the intention of the Reiki energy to flow through your hands in supportof this process.

Throughout the contemplations within this book, we will be connectingwith the chakra energy system. Each chakra spins like a wheel receiving,transforming and distributing energy within the human body. The heartchakra, heart space, is the home of our soul—not within the physical organbut in the energetic space within and throughout this center of our being.

Allow yourself to breathe deeply into your heart space. As you breathe in,allow the goodness of God's Breath to fill your being. As you exhale, say thewords, "thank you." Continue breathing this way for about two minutes or untilyou feel a shift into calmness. At first this experience may feel different or evenuncomfortable. If your mind wanders, simply bring it back to this space and thistime. Stay with the process of breathing; it will guide you to an inner calm.

Once you feel the calmness within, ask your heart to share with youa memory of when it sang with delight. In the beginning you might justexperience silence. Stay with the process. Keep saying the words thank youwith your hands over your heart. Eventually a memory will return of the giftof your song.

Perhaps your song has a musical melody. Perhaps your song has a rhythmof goodness, peace, satisfaction, an experience rather than words. Perhaps therehave been others in your life experience that supported you in giving voice toyour song. Each person's experience of song will be different because each ofus is different, but united in truth and goodness. As the experience returns toyour consciousness, allow yourself to feel the energy of truth within you.

If an experience does not surface, then allow yourself to dream of whatwould make your heart sing, putting forth intention to the future.

I invite you to journal the music of your heart.

CHAPTER 2

A Beauty Within

"Healing may not be so much about getting better,as about letting go of everything that isn'tyou—all of the expectations,all of the beliefs—and becoming who you are."

—Rachel Naomi Remen

When I was 27 years old, my family and I were invitedto a friend's barbeque. What I thought was going tobe a gathering of our two families turned out to be alarge gathering of many people who were connected to our friendsbut whom I did not know. After a few attempts at conversation, Isat back to watch dynamics of people interacting joyfully with oneanother, even people who had not met one another until this day.Rather than connect socially with the adults present, I spent moretime talking with the children. It turned out that we were celebratingthe birthdays of three of the children, and once the cake was servedand eaten, it was time for us to GO! That evening, I sat in the quietwith a cup of tea. I asked God why? Why was it that I was so afraidof meeting new people at the barbeque? The people were friendlyenough, but had felt a sense of apprehension that I would not bewelcomed into their conversation.

As I sipped my tea a memory came forth from the eighth grade.In it I saw myself standing on the outside of the group of girls whowere whispering and laughing at me as if I were not there. At first Iwanted to push these memories away as I had so many times before.They made me feel uncomfortable and fear rose up within me. Ifelt like I wanted to run from them, to block them from my mind.The reality is that I had been blocking these feelings of rejection for14 years and so they had integrated themselves into my being. Forthe past 14 years, I had seen many group social encounters to be athreat. I believed I would be humiliated and ridiculed and so I didmy very best to avoid them. In high school and college I focusedmy energies on studying and overachieving at every opportunitypossible. It became a way of life for me to make the excuse "I had tostudy," rather than to sit around a dorm room talking with a groupof peers. I was hyper vigilant, one eye on the text book but the otheralways on guard for what might unexpectedly come my way. I wassafe in the confines of my room or the library. I thought that I wassafe alone, but I did not want to be alone any longer.