tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38979422370197786162024-03-12T16:02:14.841-07:00Gifts of GabA place where difficult spiritual questions are asked and explored with humor from a metaphysical perspective.
All Faiths are honored.Rev. Gabrielle Michelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16909244353997578948noreply@blogger.comBlogger22125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3897942237019778616.post-46153112897607224662012-08-21T09:31:00.001-07:002012-08-21T09:34:09.157-07:00We've Moved!Hi Everyone,<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">My blogging about grief has moved! Click on "<a href="http://gracefulgrieving.com/cgi/wp/" target="_blank">Gifts of Gab from Graceful Grieving</a>" </span><br />
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I have posted some new posts and there is now a section for book reviews on the topic of grief in general and books about infant and pregnancy loss. <br />
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Thanks for reading Gifts of Gab. I will continue to post here about matters other than grief.Rev. Gabrielle Michelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16909244353997578948noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3897942237019778616.post-13469515939958948152012-06-05T10:15:00.001-07:002012-06-05T10:15:42.030-07:00Download our App Graceful Grieving built by Appsgeyser.com<a href="http://www.appsgeyser.com/98339#.T84-Sn5GlgE.blogger">Download our App Graceful Grieving built by Appsgeyser.com and you will receive 3 inspiring quotes a month to help you with your grief.</a>Rev. Gabrielle Michelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16909244353997578948noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3897942237019778616.post-69096475606250231372012-01-01T14:44:00.000-08:002012-01-01T14:44:58.938-08:00Graceful Grieving is Growing!!Happy New Year Everyone!<br />
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So much has happened this year I hardly know where to start. The grief work I have been doing is expanding rapidly and through <a href="http://www.facebook.com/gracefulgrieving" target="_blank">Graceful Grieivng's Facebook page</a> we are reaching people all over the world! I also created a YouTube channel for Graceful Grieving and our first in a series of videos, "Crippled Bird" by Dolly Parton has been seen by over 1180 people in 2 weeks.Take a look:<br />
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May you have many blessings in this New Year!Rev. Gabrielle Michelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16909244353997578948noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3897942237019778616.post-74996337348519163812011-03-02T04:27:00.000-08:002011-03-02T04:27:34.441-08:00Our National Guardsmen Are Dying of Unresolved Grief<style>
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<div class="MsoNormal"><span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal">Time Magazine just featured an article called “A Soldier’s Tragedy: He killed his wife, his daughters and himself. What one National Guardsman’s murder-suicide reveals about the plight of weekend warriors.”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Matthew Magdzas joined the Army National Guard in 2005 fresh out of high school and a year later volunteered to go to Iraq. Matthew spent 12 months on the front lines and was described as an “exceptional, safe and responsible” soldier by his commanders. “He was awarded several decorations, including the Combat Action Badge.” Matthew saved the lives of many of his comrades by “neutralizing” the insurgents.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">After a 2-week debriefing, he was sent home to his wife and daughter, with no job and a severe case of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. He did everything he was supposed to do. He sought help from the VA, and received several medications for depression, anxiety and pain. Matthew was placed on suicide watch, but expressed frustration about the care he was getting through the VA. I think it’s important to note that 6,500 veterans kill themselves each year… that’s 18 PER DAY.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">He got no relief from his counseling sessions, and I have to say, I don’t know how ANYONE could find relief or comfort from the sessions Matthew described to a friend. “They pretty much sit me in the room, and they make me rehash only the things that happened in the war. I’m having worse nightmares that don’t go away. They’re not helping me get over it. They just listen to my stories and send me out the door.” He was then ordered to Fort Knox, KY for a mental evaluation. Because the psychologist determined Matthew had chronic PTSD, “it would be in the best interest of this soldier and the Army” for Matthew to be discharged. To a combat soldier, that is like being thrown into the trash.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I have zero experience with the military, and even less experience with war combat, but I have experienced PTSD, and am very familiar with death, unrelenting sorrow and despair. I am sure PTSD plays a huge role in veteran suicides. But I believe the VA and General Peter Chiarelli, the Army’s Vice Chief of Staff and top suicide fighter is missing a critical piece of the treatment puzzle: helping our combat veterans grieve! These men and women are trained to kill and to maintain focus even as their buddies are being killed and maimed right next to them. That is more than any human being should have to bear.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I know I’ve said this before but our culture doesn’t like seeing men grieve. I can only imagine that sentiment being amplified by the macho culture of the military. But if we don’t start teaching these men that it is not only okay, but that it is imperative for their recovery and reentry into civilian life to grieve, we will only continue to see more casualties.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I plan on reaching out to General Chiarelli, and encourage other grief specialists to do the same. We have to help our hurting soldiers and their families.</div>Rev. Gabrielle Michelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16909244353997578948noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3897942237019778616.post-30434006405055095892011-02-08T19:49:00.000-08:002011-02-24T18:40:23.062-08:00Late Night Light Bulbs<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><style>
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</style> </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">It’s midnight and I am on-call tonight. I have been on-call many nights and my pager never goes off in the middle of the night. Last week I was on-call and at 2:00 AM, my pager actually went off! For those of you who don’t know, I work for my local hospital in the Pastoral Care Department. I am called in to support families who have experienced a tragedy that has left their loved ones on life-support with a grave prognosis. The cause can be anything from a drug overdose to a car wreck, from a pedestrian getting hit by a car to a freak accident, and everything in between.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Every shift, I come home with a new set of rules that my child is going to have to abide. In previous posts I have already established the “Helmet Rule.” That is that no one is to do anything, at all, without wearing a helmet. No matter how simple the task. I am wearing my helmet as I type this. Then came the “No Driver’s License Rule,” that pretty much speaks for itself. My son cannot get his driver’s license and will be under 24-hour supervision until he is 35 years old. My son and I were looking at a life without freedom until I came up with this brilliant idea.</span></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">What’s my brilliant idea? Wait for it … Full Body Bubble Wrap! Wait - just hear me out before you make a snap judgment. If I put my son in Full Body Bubble Wrap, every part of his body will be protected. No more helmet! </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcgq0jnxCLrVJk55FHjUr_ZzgmmxA6cNS7suCFnUdCNSNH8OxIeenhcMdK1Jk_XixWA_PI8gwcFF_lwhKUHsvsV-QlcOG1gr2rQmP6lFQorXcOzYDM7uvzhrAwqgoJwbFtyfpn3cuEZiiI/s1600/randy_card-christmas-story.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcgq0jnxCLrVJk55FHjUr_ZzgmmxA6cNS7suCFnUdCNSNH8OxIeenhcMdK1Jk_XixWA_PI8gwcFF_lwhKUHsvsV-QlcOG1gr2rQmP6lFQorXcOzYDM7uvzhrAwqgoJwbFtyfpn3cuEZiiI/s320/randy_card-christmas-story.jpg" width="200" /></a></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">So he’ll look like the bundled-against-the-elements kid from “A Christmas Story,” but if I have my way, it will be law and every boy and girl will look like a sausage. If every kid looks as goofy as the next, we will have eliminated teasing. Drugs will no longer be a threat because these bubble wrap suits don’t have pockets. If my son doesn’t have pockets, he can’t carry money. Even if he did have pockets, he couldn’t bend his arm enough to reach into his pocket to get the money, never mind the fact that the drug dealer couldn’t bend his arm enough to get the money out of his pocket to pay the drug cartels. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Here’s a side affect I am sure you haven’t even considered: with full body, non-transparent bubble wrap ensembles, teen pregnancy rates would surely plummet! Virtually every parental fear eliminated in one felt swoop. The only way our children could fight is by popping each other’s bubbles. Snap! Pop! “Oh no you didn’t!” Snap, snap! </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Here’s to a cushier world where our children can grow up free from danger, early parenthood and expensive, ridiculously trendy fashion choices.</span></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"></div>Rev. Gabrielle Michelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16909244353997578948noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3897942237019778616.post-51754495859748199862011-01-08T10:51:00.000-08:002011-01-08T10:51:34.078-08:00Flight of The Fallen Soldier<style>
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<div class="MsoNormal">On my way to Vermont to pick up my final study, I flew on a plane that was bringing one of our fallen soldiers home to his final resting place. I don’t know a lot about the military, so I was surprised when the flight attendant asked all of the passengers to remain seated so that a fellow passenger and soldier could exit the plane first in order to accompany his fallen comrade. Whether I agree with the war or not, I am comforted by the idea that our soldier isn’t just being shipped home, he or she is being respectfully brought home. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The flight was late and making my connection was going to be really tight, but all of that meant nothing. In fact, I felt honored to be on the flight, like I was part of something very important. What, I wasn’t sure, but it felt big. Regardless of anyone’s faith, politics, nationality and even sexual orientation, for a brief moment, we were all in solidarity, proud, honored and humbled. Then I thought of the family waiting for their child to come home for the last time. My heart broke. I prayed for the family, the fallen soldier and his companion and then I prayed that we all would treat every soldier as if he or she were our own child. If every man and woman (yes, every politician) did that, maybe we’d approach things differently.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I’m not one who thinks I have all the answers. I don’t. I have even been guilty of being a bit too Pollyanna on occasion. But I do believe if we all just stopped for one second, shut our pie holes and saw the beauty in each other’s differences, we’d be in a hell of a lot better shape than we are now. Can we just drop the whole idea of needing to be right?<span> </span>Can we, just for a moment, remember that any person we are against is someone’s child? If we could remember that, there would be no war or dead soldiers who need to be accompanied home. I know it’s idealistic to think a truly peaceful world is possible, but until it is… let’s do our best to take care of each other, love each other, and treat each other with respect.</div>Rev. Gabrielle Michelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16909244353997578948noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3897942237019778616.post-46928757999589635222010-12-29T10:20:00.000-08:002010-12-29T10:20:42.347-08:00To Grieve or Not to Grieve, That is the Question!<h6 class="uiStreamMessage" style="font-weight: normal;"> <style>
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</style> <div class="MsoNormal"> If you were given the choice between diving into the darkest depths of the ocean, fully equipped with all of the gear needed to handle whatever you might encounter, OR being slowly dragged down by an 80-pound anchor while you flailed frantically to keep your head above water, which would you choose?</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Well, when it’s put that way, I’d have to choose diving into the depths. Grief is a lot like plunging into the depths of a dark unknown ocean. When we plunge into grief, we fear we will never resurface. So we choose instead to frantically tread water while lugging an 80-pound anchor that slowly drags us to the very place we were trying to avoid. How ridiculous is that?</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Last year, I had a very important friendship end. I chose to dive right into the darkness of my grief and bawl my eyes out! I was pathetic. I cried in front of everyone I encountered and even cried during a presentation I gave about, of all things, sharing and being open about one’s grief. I was literally a sobbing mess for eight days. As I look back, I realize it took a lot of courage to allow myself to express how I was feeling. I was honest and shared my sadness with an open heart. Then a funny thing happened. The crying stopped and I felt light and free. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">If I had chosen to pretend that I was fine or tried to repress my grief, kicking wildly with that anchor chained to my legs in an attempt to keep my head above water, I would have been dragged down into the darkness anyway. My heart and soul would have been battered and exhausted. I am certain that I would still be sad had I tried to fight my grief. But I chose to dive into the depths, trusting that I had the gear I needed to face what had to be faced. Including taking responsibility for my part in creating the circumstances that ended the friendship and understanding that I wasn’t a victim. As a result, I became stronger and light enough to resurface quickly. It was a very empowering experience.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I am using a minor loss in order to give you a simple illustration. I know that major losses are complex and more difficult to face, but the same principle applies. In July of 2004, my brother died, five months later, my infant daughter died as well. It was as if my soul knew that the two losses combined were more than I could handle, so I put fully grieving the loss of my brother on hold. It took a great deal of energy just to get through the day and I felt heavy and tired all the time. The blocked sadness also blocked my ability to experience love and joy to the fullest.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">On the third year anniversary of my brother’s death, it hit me: my brother was gone. That is when I began to really process my grief. I dove in by writing, reading and sharing about my loss. It’s been six years and I have just begun to resurface. I am sure people thought, “Honestly, it’s been years, shouldn’t she be over it by now?” I can’t help but wonder if I hadn’t put my sadness about my brother on hold and given myself the time to grieve, would I have been able to resurface sooner? My guess is yes. My energy started returning just this week! I am starting to feel more love and joy in my everyday life more than ever before. Having processed my grief doesn’t mean I won’t continue to miss my brother, my baby and even my friend, but as long as I allow myself to feel my sadness and let it come up and out, I will continue to be empowered.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Do not be afraid to dive into your grief. Get the tools and support you need to work through your sadness and you will avoid a lifetime spent in darkness fighting to get to the light. If you need support or would like to learn more about the tools needed to effectively process your grief, please contact me by email or phone. I would be honored to be your spiritual grief companion. You, too, deserve to live a life filled with energy, love and joy.<span style="font-size: 10pt;"></span></div></h6>Rev. Gabrielle Michelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16909244353997578948noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3897942237019778616.post-23030320234856865642010-10-03T17:02:00.000-07:002010-10-03T17:02:24.969-07:00Enough is Enough<style>
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<div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Helvetica;">“Mourners at Rutgers University honored the memory of Tyler Clementi, whose death last week was the fifth suicide by a gay teenager in the last three weeks.</span><span style="font-family: Helvetica;"> Seth Walsh, a 13-year-old in Tehachapi, Calif., hanged himself from a tree in his backyard last month and died after more than a week on life support.” ~ New York Times</span><span style="font-family: Helvetica;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Helvetica;">I try not to get angry on a blog that is supposed to be spiritual in nature, but I am beside myself. What is it going to take for people to STOP teaching hate? How many children and teens have to die before we wake up? </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Helvetica;">Religious leaders, politicians and parents who know, love or support gays and lesbians, to you I say, “thank you and God bless you.” You have no idea how important your role is in today’s society. You might think to yourself, “I am just one person, how can I have that much of an effect on other people?” </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Helvetica;">It only took one or two people hating, teasing and bullying to drive five gay youths to take their own lives in the last three weeks alone. One or two people’s teasing, bullying and harassment created such a hostile environment that these children saw no other way out of the torture than to kill themselves. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Helvetica;">If you are a religious leader, politician, or parent supporting anti-gay policies like “Proposition 8,” “Defense of Marriage Act” and “Don’t Ask Don’t Tell,” don’t fool yourself into thinking that these laws, beliefs or policies are simply defending marriage or protecting our servicemen. <span> </span>On the contrary, these laws give people the impression that gays and lesbians have less value and don’t deserve the same rights or respect as every other human being, therefore, bullying, degradation and harassment are tolerated. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Helvetica;">If five children of any particular race or religion had committed suicide because of bullying or harassment in just three weeks time, people would be outraged. It’s time to be outraged! I believe in free speech, absolutely, 100%. But you are absolutely, 100% responsible for the good and the harm caused by exercising your right to speak your mind. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Helvetica;">So please, I am begging you to set aside your “beliefs” and use your words responsibly. Use your words to spread love, compassion and empathy and just for a moment, imagine if it was your child that had been driven to suicide by hateful words. Regardless of your beliefs, choose to speak out against hate.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div>Rev. Gabrielle Michelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16909244353997578948noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3897942237019778616.post-52791919298062036792010-09-13T19:25:00.000-07:002010-09-13T19:25:19.481-07:00I See Dead People<style>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">So I got a new job since my last post and I had an unbelievable first night of training. I am working at Mission Hospital in Asheville, North Carolina as a Family Support Liaison in the Pastoral Care Department. Part of my training involved “shadowing” the hospital chaplain but I’ll get to that in a moment.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Much of my life’s work has been about death and this job isn’t any different. Essentially, my job is to support family members of patients who are potential organ donors. What that means is that the patient is either brain dead or has such severe brain damage the heart won’t work on its own. It’s pretty heavy stuff but it’s well suited for me as a spiritual grief counselor. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">About my training. There were three deaths during my first five-hour shift and two deaths during my next five-hour shift. If I am at the hospital, you can pretty much count on the fact that there will be at least two deaths per shift. I was beginning to feel a bit like the Grim Reaper himself. Oddly enough, none of the other trainees had experienced the kinds of emergencies and deaths that I had during their training. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">That first night, there was a tragic accident that took the life of a young girl. When the chaplain told the family the devastating news, the father exploded in violence and started punching the wall about five inches from my head resulting in a very large hole in the wall and a very shaky me. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">I experienced first-hand the harm our culture has done to bereaved men. Men aren't supposed to cry and as a result the first emotion a man expresses is anger. I am teaching my son that it is safe and acceptable to express all emotions, including empathy and sadness. I’ve learned another very valuable lesson and that is that having a sense of humor is critical in doing this kind of work and is very healing.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">To be honest, while I am maintaining a sense of humor, I am not sure how long I will be able to do this job. I have witnessed so much sorrow and so many freakish accidents leading to death. When I take my son miniature golfing at Tropical Gardens, the rocks and bricks that make up the beautiful landscape represent head injuries to me now. I am constantly saying, “Careful, punkin’!” Would it be wrong to have him sleep with a helmet on even though his bed is only five inches off the ground?</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">I am reminded daily how valuable life is and how important it is to tell people what they mean to me. If you are reading this, I want you to know, from the bottom of my heart, I am grateful for your existence. Whether I have known you, or we’ve never met, you are extremely valuable and my prayer for you is that you live every moment choosing love, humor, empathy and forgiveness. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">My prayer for all of us is that we strive to live to our highest potential, giving God and each other the very best that we have to offer. And please don’t forget to wear your helmet, even if you are just checking your email.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><br />
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</div>Rev. Gabrielle Michelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16909244353997578948noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3897942237019778616.post-48388103214561110262010-07-15T18:00:00.000-07:002010-07-15T18:00:50.382-07:00“The Elephant also shall dwell with the Donkey… And a little child shall lead them.” – Isaiah 11:6 (New Gabrielle Michel Version)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg73yij_bObpcZMQLLMK3l50yIoJMzeBVFbqtW_wYLBdDQneAsS546uwcim1QIvlKrgIS9BwJaWgf9en9NvYm_mGP-MkdvaMEE01bh7u2MW5OtNf4BUkvfeakWyueuVHj4yooNgkdoqfQWa/s1600/party_republican.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg73yij_bObpcZMQLLMK3l50yIoJMzeBVFbqtW_wYLBdDQneAsS546uwcim1QIvlKrgIS9BwJaWgf9en9NvYm_mGP-MkdvaMEE01bh7u2MW5OtNf4BUkvfeakWyueuVHj4yooNgkdoqfQWa/s320/party_republican.jpg" /></a></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4pCU2Nswy27BJZy4r1Of4tkj6BBu5yOuyqY7nXn7ASpMNT9QHkU3kyj5Y7Fb-n69XaMUkeZZNyM59jN9MJ1OWxOBChez6QaoWrXgjhQYMgNNT7hQEk5sQqG0WPRrECDQkRQJsgAIjYgat/s1600/party_democrat.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4pCU2Nswy27BJZy4r1Of4tkj6BBu5yOuyqY7nXn7ASpMNT9QHkU3kyj5Y7Fb-n69XaMUkeZZNyM59jN9MJ1OWxOBChez6QaoWrXgjhQYMgNNT7hQEk5sQqG0WPRrECDQkRQJsgAIjYgat/s320/party_democrat.jpg" /></a><br />
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Last week I attended The Compassionate Friends National Conference and presented a workshop called “How to Survive the Loss of an Infant.” The workshop was a huge success but that is not the point of this post.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">The Compassionate Friends is a bereavement and support group for parents who have lost a child of any age. Grandparents and siblings are becoming a large part of this group and are given support as well. I met so many different and wonderful people, with virtually nothing else in common. We were all brought together because we shared the experience of losing of a child, sibling and/or grandchild. </div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">On the eve of my last night at the conference, I went to the candle lighting ceremony and banquet. We were all assigned tables in advance, and since I knew I hadn’t been seated with any of my new friends, I was a bit apprehensive. </div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">The woman to my left and I struck up a conversation. In such a short period of time, I felt a deep connection with her and asked her about her loss. She told me that one of her sons had been murdered, and another son, devastated by this loss, took his own life. We exchanged condolences after I told her about Cindy’s and my miscarriage, and the deaths of my brother and Cindy’s and my daughter. </div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">If you think that conversation could bring a room down, just wait! The conversation turned to the economy and “Duhn, duhn, DUHN!”(musical effect before a horror is about to be revealed)… Obama’s stimulus package. To say that we are on complete opposite ends of the political spectrum would be a total understatement. </div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">I had a very clear choice to argue, OR to just ask questions and listen. Being pro-choice and all, I chose to ask questions and listen. I asked her what she thought about everything from the BP oil spill to health care reform. At first glance, I knew we were diametrically (I almost typed “diabolically,” Freud would have a field day) opposed on virtually every issue, but I decided to go deeper. </div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">As I listened, I began to understand where she was coming from, and surprisingly, as I spoke, I felt heard. At one point, I think I said, “So would you consider yourself conservative?” To which she replied “VERY! I love Glenn Beck.” If I weren’t a minister, I might say I hate Glenn Beck. Aw heck, who am I fooling? I hate Glenn Beck! Under “normal” circumstances, I would have judged her, instead I loved this very conservative, Glenn Beck-loving woman. </div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">“Well, I am a bleeding-heart liberal,” I gleefully said, “and I am thoroughly enjoying getting to know you.” Then I took a big risk. I asked her what her thoughts were on gay and lesbian rights. Here’s where it gets interesting, folks. She said, in an adamant tone, “I think they should have the same rights as a heterosexual couple. My youngest son is gay and should have the same rights I have.” </div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">I began to understand why God sat me next to this wonderful mother. You see, underneath all of our so-called politics, we are all human beings. We were two mothers bonded by the loss of our children, and our grief broke down the walls that politics and religion tend to build. I challenge all of us to break down these divisive walls and come together as human beings. If we just take a moment to get to know each other, listen to each other, we might find a deeper level on which to connect.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">I will no longer judge an elephant by its thick skin. After all, I don’t want to make a complete donkey of myself!</div>Rev. Gabrielle Michelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16909244353997578948noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3897942237019778616.post-40465304373989282162010-03-26T14:02:00.000-07:002010-03-26T14:02:59.757-07:00What do a hysterectomy, losing one of your best friends to a ridiculously stupid misunderstanding and walking on fire have in common?<meta content="" name="Title"></meta> <meta content="" name="Keywords"></meta> <meta content="text/html; charset=utf-8" http-equiv="Content-Type"></meta> <meta content="Word.Document" name="ProgId"></meta> <meta content="Microsoft Word 2008" name="Generator"></meta> <meta content="Microsoft Word 2008" name="Originator"></meta> <link href="file://localhost/Users/gabriellemichel/Library/Caches/TemporaryItems/msoclip/0/clip_filelist.xml" rel="File-List"></link> <style>
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<div class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p>The first answer is that they all happened to me in the last 3 months. Another answer is that they all have the potential to be extremely painful, leaving lasting scars. Finally, the one you’d think would be the most painful was the least painful, and the one that you’d think was the least painful ended up being the most painful. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">My hysterectomy was painful but the constant pain I was in before I had it done was worse. It’s a big relief not to be in constant physical pain anymore… at least in my uterus.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">While recovering from my surgery, during my hormonal insanity phase, one of my dearest friends decided she didn’t want to be my friend anymore. Honestly, I never could have imagined how painful that could be. Way more painful than a hysterectomy, but I could only guess it wouldn’t be as painful as walking on fire. I was wrong!</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I went to a spiritual retreat in an attempt to heal all of me and I walked on fire! That’s right, I walked on 6 feet of 1,200-degree, red-hot, burning coals. We were told NOT to look at the coals while walking across and NOT to look at our feet for 24 hours. We were to keep our eyes on the “catchers,” the people at the end of the coals waiting to catch you and help you step into a bucket of water. It felt like walking on a soft warm cushion of cotton balls, didn’t hurt one bit! My athlete’s foot was completely healed and the experience changed the way I see life. First of all, I will never buy cream for athlete’s foot! Walking on fire is much cheaper and works immediately! *** Disclaimer – I hope I don’t have to actually say “Don’t try this at home!” Fire-walking is NOT approved by the FDA to treat foot fungus! *** </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Seriously though, if I can walk on fire without getting burned, I can do anything I choose! Except bring my uterus back and heal my friendship and that is the part that really hurts. There are things in life over which we have no control. There are lessons we are meant to learn and we each have a destiny. I don’t mean pre-destination, but rather, a purpose. We can choose to follow our purpose joyfully, we can go kicking and screaming, or we can ignore our purpose all together. I am sure there are people that do just that. I have often imagined people, after they have died, standing at the “pearly gates” and when Saint Peter goes over their life, they let out a loud, Homer Simpson-esque “DOH!” </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">As we go through life, and encounter difficulties and initiations, we are forever changed. And change can either wreck us or help us evolve spiritually, emotionally and mentally. When you walk through fire, there is no going back, and there is definitely no stopping in the middle. That is when it’s critical to keep your eyes on God, much like I had to keep my eyes on my “catchers.” </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Let me be clear; keeping my eyes on God isn’t always easy and it takes discipline and practice. But no matter what your spiritual path is, you can use the teachings to help keep you focused. Meditation is very effective, but not just silent meditation, it must be contemplative in nature and bring you closer to your heart. When we come from love in our hearts, we make better choices and feel better about ourselves and our lives.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Try this exercise: Take a deep breath and acknowledge exactly how you feel, then shift your focus to a very strong memory that connects you to love and your heart. Make sure you really feel it in your body. Breathe that love into your heart and out of your solar plexus. That’s right, I said blow it out your solar plexus! Do this for a few minutes, then re-examine how you feel. Coming from your “heart intelligence” will give you an entirely different perspective on any issue you may be dealing with. Try it! I’d love to hear your experiences.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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</div>Rev. Gabrielle Michelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16909244353997578948noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3897942237019778616.post-52722794682711311392009-09-21T17:13:00.000-07:002012-06-05T05:55:06.680-07:00What Has Happened to Empathy and Compassion in our Culture for Grievers?<div style="font-family: georgia; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 100%;">I think I have the answers, so take a seat and </span><span style="font-size: 100%; font-weight: bold;">get ready</span><span style="font-size: 100%;"> for a long VERY controversial post. I have tried for a long time to stay out of the realm of controversy, but I can't do it anymore. Our culture is completely out of balance and needs a good swift kick in the pants to get back on track. So let's start with the imbalance of religion and ritual, shall we?</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 100%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Pro-Life</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: 100%;">Take the sanctity of life for instance. There are religious people who will kill people because they are pro-life. There are "pro-lifers" that are </span><span style="font-size: 100%; font-weight: bold;">for</span><span style="font-size: 100%;"> the death penalty. I have found that some religions lack support for parents grieving the loss of an infant. In some cases ritual and the rigidity around the rules of ritual even cause harm. For example, if a baby is stillborn into a Catholic family, that baby cannot be baptized because baptism is a rite for the living. That baby was living and for a religion that preaches, “Life begins at conception,” you would think they’d baptize any baby. Even if it is totally against their teachings or rules, I believe a priest or member of the clergy should do something, anything, make something up! Adapt the baptism to fit the circumstances, to comfort the parents. Don't you think that's what Jesus would do? He broke the rules of the sabbath after all!</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 100%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Pro-Life</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: 100%;">The flip side of the rigidity coin is a total lack of religion and ritual. That has become more and more the norm in our “fast food,” “drive-thru,” “microwave,” “instant gratification,” “3 days bereavement leave” kind of culture. It seems our culture turns to education, research and psychology as opposed to spirituality and ritualization when dealing with death. The problem is this approach completely removes the heart. I believe a major contributor to the issue is the commercialization of death. It's a business so we use words that desensitize us, like corpses and fetuses so it's easier to "dispose" of them in the same way we dispose of atomic waste and trash.<br /><br />For weeks, I have been asking myself, “What on earth could be causing this calloused, non-empathetic treatment of the dead and of grievers?" I believe a lack of spirituality, life without rites of passage and rituals has created a lack of respect for the value of an individual life and has desensitized us to death. </span><span style="font-size: 100%; font-weight: bold;">Political correctness hasn’t helped much either.</span><span style="font-size: 100%;"><br /><br />Which leads me to a very touchy subject, abortion! The argument of when life actually begins has created a serious quagmire for parents grieving after an early or midterm miscarriage and even for parents who have made the difficult choice to abort. The grieving that occurs for both sets of parents is profound but because of the political stances on both sides of the issue, the grief totally gets missed. Let me explain. The rhetoric used to justify “choice” refers to a baby as tissue or a fetus. If you are pro-choice and you have an abortion, it is not politically correct to grieve the loss or even have regrets because, God forbid, it give the pro-lifers ammunition to take away choice. Likewise, if you and your peers are pro-choice, when a miscarriage happens early, the overall tone, albeit unconscious, is that it was just tissue or a fetus.<br /><br />In <i>Remembering Well</i>, Sarah York, a Universalist Unitarian minister, made a comment in reference to an infant that had died shortly after birth, that absolutely horrified me! She said, “He was not just a handicapped infant who never had a chance…he was a person who had spent some time in this world, and his parents needed to hold a service to remember him well.” The words seem benign but only to those who buy into the philosophy that “JUST a handicapped infant who never had a chance” who is aborted or miscarried, is somehow less valuable than one that lived for a little while. Four pages later she redeems herself by saying, “The physical remains, even of a fetus that has been aborted by choice, deserve a ceremony of committal. This honors…the relationship that existed between parent or parents and fetus.” On this point, I couldn’t agree more. A baby’s life in-utero in our culture, has been given less value, which leaves the parents on both sides of the issue communally unsupported. Remember the priest who preached pro-life but whose rules dictated that the baby hadn’t lived long enough to be baptized?<br /><br />Unless you know me, it may surprise you to know that I am completely pro-choice. However, I believe that regardless of the circumstances, there is a very real relationship between the BABY (I am more and more offended by the term fetus than I ever could have imagined) and his or her parents. This is the entire basis of my work as a spiritual counselor and speaker.</span><br />
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<b>Miscarriage</b></div>
<span style="font-size: 100%;">In February 2004, my partner Cindy miscarried a perfectly healthy girl at 8 weeks. We were devastated. Because of Cindy’s age, there was no time to waste: we had to try again immediately. It’s odd and yet very common in our culture that virtually no one really acknowledged our loss. Don’t get me wrong, people were sad for us but the general feeling I got was, “OK, that was sad</span><span class="msoIns" style="font-size: 100%;"><ins cite="mailto:Gabrielle%20Michel" datetime="2009-08-31T17:11"></ins></span><br />
<span class="msoIns" style="font-size: 100%;">,</span><br />
<span style="font-size: 100%;"> but let’s move on.” I must look deep within myself to fully grasp the effect my pro-choice views may have had on the way I handled the loss of our first daughter. In hindsight, I regret the fact that we didn’t do a ritual after that loss. I regret not naming her. I regret that she was discarded as “bio-hazardous waste.”<br /><br />My next question is, what has caused our culture to reject spirituality, rites of passage and rituals? The answer to this question is highly complex. In my experience, the people that come to my church or to me for spiritual counseling have been deeply wounded by organized religion and have thrown out all that is good (i.e. ritual) because they have been harmed by the leaders of said religion. I call it “throwing the Bible out with the bath water.” Ritual has also been used</span><span class="msoIns" style="font-size: 100%;"><ins cite="mailto:Gabrielle%20Michel" datetime="2009-08-31T17:12"></ins></span><span style="font-size: 100%;"> to abuse people by the religious leaders they grew up trusting. Further, in the age of information, there are no more secrets and the darkness that has been hidden behind church and temple walls is being brought out into the light. It is no surprise that a relatively conscious person would cast a jaundiced eye on everything linked to organized religion.<br /><br />Starhawk said, "Rituals build community, creating a meeting-ground where people can share deep feelings, positive and negative…a place where they can sing or scream, howl ecstatically or furiously, play or keep a solemn silence"<br /><br />What e</span><span class="msoIns" style="font-size: 100%;"><ins cite="mailto:Gabrielle%20Michel" datetime="2009-08-31T17:33"></ins></span><span style="font-size: 100%;">ffect has the rejection of ritual had on our society? I’ll tell you… the loss of ritual in our culture has virtually eliminated a sense of real community, thereby isolating people, leaving them completely alone with their deep feelings. No one escapes loss and generally speaking, there are no safe places (other than privately or with a therapist) where people can release on a profound level, the kind of grief that is released and supported by communal ritual.<br /><br />How on Earth did we get here? How is it that empathy and compassion around death and loss is going the way of the Dodo Bird? The answers to these questions surprised me and I found them in <i>Crossroads: The Quest for Contemporary Rites of Passage</i>, in a piece called “Baskets at the Crossroads</span><span class="msoIns" style="font-size: 100%;"><ins cite="mailto:Gabrielle%20Michel" datetime="2009-08-31T17:15"></ins>,</span><span style="font-size: 100%;">” by Nouk Bassomb. Well, it was like finding the Holy Grail! Bassomb describes the rites of passage through which all thirteen-year-old African Bassa boys must go. He tells it beautifully. I hope that I can give it justice as I try to summarize it.<br /><br />In the African Bassa culture, a grown man is expected to be “a firm, upright support for the entire village.” But that expectation doesn’t come out of nowhere. Boys are initiated and go through a series of rites of passage to become men. The first initiation involved Bassomb leaving his family behind, spending ninety days with twenty-seven other boys his age in a dangerous forest. The group of boys had one elder who was the initiator. The role of the initiator was to teach the boys the kind of reverence for God, culture, tradition and intuition needed to become a man.<br /><br />Right there we can see several stark differences from our culture. First, Americans have very few elders and the elders we do have are not remotely respected. Second, because of the “melting pot” origins of our country, there is no one culture. Consequently most cultures within the United States have become watered down and homogenized. I have heard the phrase “the Americanization of the World</span><span class="msoIns" style="font-size: 100%;"><ins cite="mailto:Gabrielle%20Michel" datetime="2009-08-31T17:17"></ins>,</span>” and believe me,<span class="msoIns" style="font-size: 100%;"><ins cite="mailto:Gabrielle%20Michel" datetime="2009-08-31T17:17"></ins></span><span style="font-size: 100%;"> it is not being used as a compliment. Thirdly, there is very little reverence for God even in the most religious and spiritual communities because we are so busy trying to be right and make others’ beliefs wrong. Which, in principle, is NOT reverence for God, nor is it philosophically American. Last but not least, it is </span><span style="font-size: 100%; font-weight: bold;">criminal</span> that the men in our culture are not taught about the importance of their intuition. Is it any surprise that we are destroying our earth, attacking each other and bereft of values? I digress.<br />
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<span style="font-size: 100%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Rites of Passage</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: 100%;">The African Bassa boys were taught about how to use what they</span> learned <span class="msoIns" style="font-size: 100%;"><ins cite="mailto:Gabrielle%20Michel" datetime="2009-08-31T17:18"></ins></span><span style="font-size: 100%;">to navigate the many “crossroads” they will encounter when put to the test. Bassomb states, “I learned that the crossroads are not only where people coming from south, north, east and west meet, but there also come together the old and new, the traditional and the modern, the archaic and the contemporary, the young and the aged, the visible and the invisible, the world or the living and the world of the dead.”<br /><br />Within a few weeks, Bassomb was called out of his family home and told, “It’s time for you to depart, boy. Go! Now!” </span><span style="font-size: 100%;"> </span><span style="font-size: 100%;">He is forced to leave his family, his home, his village with nothing more than </span><span class="msoIns" style="font-size: 100%;"><ins cite="mailto:Gabrielle%20Michel" datetime="2009-08-31T17:18"></ins></span><span style="font-size: 100%;">a cloth wrap around his waist. The elders tell him that for the “next 18 moons” he cannot return to the village or communicate in any way with anyone in the village. As Bassomb, a thirteen-year-old boy, walked out of the village, he heard his mother shout, “Be humble and compassionate… and praise the Father each and every day. Don’t forget to put your baskets at the crossroads. And check them often.”<br /><br />Which brings me to the most profound lesson we can learn from this beautiful man and his story. Nouk Bassomb wrote, “It is at the crossroads that we learn kindness, love, respect for the elders, protection of children, compassion for the weak and the meek. Being generous, compassionate, humble, hospitable, all help to fill our baskets. 'Check the baskets often,' Mom said. She is the one who taught me to pray, which is to say to put my basket at the crossroads, an empty basket.”<br /><br />The boys of that culture are taught to fill their baskets with “stories and experiences</span>,<span class="msoIns" style="font-size: 100%;"><ins cite="mailto:Gabrielle%20Michel" datetime="2009-08-31T17:19"></ins></span><span style="font-size: 100%;">” not material goods. This rite of passage empowers these boys and not only turns them into men</span>,<span class="msoIns" style="font-size: 100%;"><ins cite="mailto:Gabrielle%20Michel" datetime="2009-08-31T17:19"></ins></span><span style="font-size: 100%;"> but good men. In my youth, it could be argued that my peers and I were taught about the baskets, but we were taught to fill them with recognition, achievement for the sake of self, and money. In our culture, that is what defines success. Experience, wisdom and stories are of no value other than entertainment at a party or a juicy “tell all book.”<br /><br />American teens and children are being robbed of the gift of empowerment. The more they try to fill their baskets with “gold and silver,” the emptier they feel. The emptier they feel, the more our teens turn to drugs, alcohol, violence, sex and video games to numb out to their emotions or present circumstances. Without rites of passage and ritual, we are raising generation after generation of people incapable of being present enough to do their own grieving</span>,<span class="msoIns" style="font-size: 100%;"><ins cite="mailto:Gabrielle%20Michel" datetime="2009-08-31T17:20"></ins></span><span style="font-size: 100%;"> let alone have compassion for someone else who is in grief.<br /><br />Our children and even adults need to be put in situations that give them opportunities to find God (the Divine within), themselves and to stay present, in the moment to survive with no time to numb out. That will create a “village” that comforts the grieving, that walks with them through the process. A village that doesn’t label grief in stages</span>,<span class="msoIns" style="font-size: 100%;"><ins cite="mailto:Gabrielle%20Michel" datetime="2009-08-31T17:21"></ins></span><span style="font-size: 100%;"> or diagnose grief as a neurosis</span>,<span class="msoIns" style="font-size: 100%;"><ins cite="mailto:Gabrielle%20Michel" datetime="2009-08-31T17:21"></ins></span><span style="font-size: 100%;"> and provides a place where an elder’s story of loss can inspire the younger generations.</span></div>
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</div>Rev. Gabrielle Michelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16909244353997578948noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3897942237019778616.post-9567669931420481542009-07-17T13:13:00.000-07:002009-07-18T06:20:44.781-07:00“Are You a Man or a Mouse, I mean a Woman or a Wouse?” (Name that quote)<span style="font-family: georgia;font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;" >I’ve been thinking a lot about fear lately and wondering if it serves a spiritual purpose. In the past, I have mostly experienced fear as a paralyzing force. As a singer, for example, I used to suffer from massive stage fright. I had 15 years of formal classical vocal training with one of the top teachers in the world. My expectation was that I should be perfect. Since no one can be perfect, the fear of making a mistake kept me from singing in front of people for many years. If I sang in front of a friend or family member, I would turn my back to them or make them sit in the other room.<br /><br />It took a huge amount of courage to put together my first one-woman show and perform it in front of 75 of my closest friends and family…in the same room with me facing them. I was terrified! My prayer was “God forbid I make a mistake!” Not only did I make one mistake but, I made tons of mistakes. You see, it turns out I am lyrically challenged. Even if I have been singing a song for 20 years, I am notorious for forgetting the words. So I will always be challenged to face my greatest fear: imperfection. But you know what? I survived!<br /><br />What I learned from doing that show and the shows that followed is this: making mistakes made me real and it made the show very funny because I embraced my humanness. Facing the fear built courage in me. Courage I never would have accessed had I not had the fear to begin with. Now when I feel fear, I draw on my previous experience to conquer it.<br /><br />“A Course in Miracles” says, “The opposite of love is fear,” and only the love is real; therefore fear is not real. I believe it takes real courage to choose to love. We can’t develop courage without the existence of fear. So the road to the land of love goes right through fear city. I now understand that fear DOES serve a purpose and it’s a very noble purpose, to build our courage. Mark Twain said, “Courage is not the absence of fear. It is acting in spite of it.”<br /><br />I recently heard a lecture by Caroline Myss. She said that everyone has a set of archetypes, one of which is “The Victim.” At first glance, victim implies something negative, but it is only through embracing the victim and choosing to face our fears that we become victorious. Overcoming fear requires an action and that action is to face the fear head-on, don’t deny it, accept it as a gift and an opportunity to be victorious and build self esteem.<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: center; font-family: georgia;"></div>Rev. Gabrielle Michelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16909244353997578948noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3897942237019778616.post-15264088252808609792009-07-06T09:13:00.000-07:002009-07-06T18:04:39.483-07:00Do We Really Have a Choice?Sometimes I wonder if our lives are predestined or if we really have choice. Often it seems the universe conspires to lead us in a particular direction, and no matter how hard we fight it, we are going there whether we like it or not. I had a very specific vision of what my life was going to be; let’s just say it doesn’t remotely resemble the life that has unfolded (and continues to unfold) before me.<br /><br /> Never in my wildest dreams could I have imagined that my life’s work would be about grief, death and how death can teach us to live. But as I examine my life, this is where I have been headed from a very young age. When I was six years old, my stepfather died of a massive coronary. From that point forward, death and loss became a major theme, so my mother’s and my unresolved grief became the foundation of my most formative years.<br /><br />Many losses and years later, a newly ordained minister, the very first “official” service I did was a memorial service of a friend who had committed suicide. The first words I spoke were, “I could never have imagined that when I met Robert six years ago, one day I would be a minister, and that <span style="font-weight: bold;">his</span> Memorial Service would be my very first.” Not two years later, I was standing at the same pulpit for my brother’s memorial giving the eulogy; three months after that, I conducted the entire funeral service including singing “The Lord’s Prayer” for my oldest and dearest friend, Doris. Two short months would pass before I was once again at the pulpit after my daughter’s passing. I wasn’t just a mother in front of her family and friends; I was a staff minister in front of her congregants. I felt their eyes watching as they held their breath. I saw the way they looked to me as a leader in their community to see how I would handle the weight of all of these losses.<br /> <br />The weight on my shoulders was great and I chose to be very honest about my descent into doubt and hopelessness. I stopped giving sermons and I stopped seeing my spiritual counseling clients. I could no longer help a desperate person find hope with the same shallow teachings and platitudes that I had been taught because I knew they were false. I had to find deeper meaning.<br /><br />I read books, tried individual psychotherapy, group therapy, mediums, spiritual counseling, and finally The Grief Recovery Institute. I got a lot from each of these approaches for the loss of my brother, but none of them helped me completely with the loss of my infant daughter. I even went to Compassionate Friends, a bereavement group that helps families after losing a child. As I sat in this group and heard story after story of how this baby died and that woman miscarried, and how nobody understood, all I felt was traumatized, not supported. I knew grieving for the loss of an infant was different because of a lack of a perceived relationship between the parents and an unborn child or a baby under the age of one year. Doctors have even been known to say things like, “You can always have another,” or “At least you lost it sooner rather than later.” As if to say there was no connection between the parents and infant. I noticed that people either focused on the death scenario or simply refused to acknowledge it at all.<br /><br /> That was the impetus of a study I have been conducting for the last six months. I had hoped to uncover the missing piece to completing grief after losing an infant. At the beginning of this study, I wasn’t sure what the remedy could be. I thought it might be a simple “Five Easy Steps to…” What I learned was that each case is unique, because grief is not the same for everyone. I discovered that the existing paradigms are helpful but incomplete, that so many of the resources available to grievers are psychologically-based, religiously-based, just one person’s experience or completely “woo-woo” psychic-type stuff. Again, these can be helpful, but I realized that there is a lack of spiritual (NOT religious or “woo-woo”) help for grievers who may have lost their faith. Further, the religious material out there for grievers is filled with judgment and threats. Not good!<br /><br /> The most important gift I received from this study was the understanding that grief recovery must include the story of the relationship. I could walk into any funeral of an adult today and people would be crying and laughing but most importantly, they would be telling stories. Stories about their loved one’s life, not just the circumstances surrounding the loved one’s death. That is what I would call complete grieving.<br /><br /> But what happens, for instance, if you have a baby that is stillborn? If I walked into one of those funerals, I am willing to bet, there wouldn’t be laughter and stories about the baby’s life. And that, my friends, is the most important missing piece to grieving the loss of a baby. I have found in my study and in my own experience that healing occurs more completely when the grieving parent tells the complete story of the relationship they had with their infant, of both life and death.<br /><br /> I had a very real relationship with my daughter while she was inside my partner Cindy’s belly. I read to her, I sang to her, we even bought a Doppler to hear her heart beat every night. Later in the pregnancy when Cindy was on bed rest, we had weekly sonograms in which I got to watch every stage of growth. Later still, we lived in the hospital for the last six weeks of pregnancy where Cindy was hooked up to every monitor you could imagine twenty-four hours a day. During that time, we literally heard every beat of her heart, every movement of her little body; we could tell by the accelerations and decelerations of her heartbeat whether she was hungry, sleeping, uncomfortable or happy. Her kicking told us a lot, too! Mostly she would kick to either applaud my singing or to shut me up… I never quite figured out which kick was a good review and which kick was a bad review. This was a seven and a half month relationship that started the moment we found out Cindy was pregnant. The story of her birth and death only covers nineteen hours of that relationship.<br /><br /> I do believe one needs to acknowledge the crushing blow of an infant’s death; as a result of this study, I have created a workshop for parents who have lost an infant called “Birth Write: The Write Way to Grieve ©” which will help parents document through writing the story of the LIFE they had with their baby. I have also developed another workshop called “Finding Your Way Back to Faith” for grievers who have lost their faith as a result of their loss. I am really grateful for the wisdom I gained from this study. I believe it has brought my life’s purpose into sharper focus and provided me with a very real direction. I am currently writing a book that will include my new grieving method and the material that comes out of the workshops.<br /><br /> And so, this is the life that is unfolding in front of me. During many of my past loss experiences I have felt broken. Shattered. But now that I have made peace with the fact that this is what God or Spirit wants me to do with my life, I actually feel more whole than I have ever felt in my entire life.<br /><br /> If you find yourself in a life that doesn’t look like the life you imagined, like you don’t have a choice…you do. You can choose to stand idly by as your life unfolds before you, or you can take the unique experience and wisdom that only you have, make peace with it, and boldly live your life purpose.Rev. Gabrielle Michelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16909244353997578948noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3897942237019778616.post-70084631002690377732009-05-22T09:25:00.000-07:002009-07-06T09:19:44.380-07:00Driven to Distraction!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoq1S7tvC3LJCtahbGidB-xmj13hO-YUUKBjWKznOfOki112RhkUoKZ19vVXQzSUahvYpC_nB1OcZOrs4Wny-D2GZTJ7zlFD64-tJAAclHkYJD8w02jJHro5ff9jB7RxG9h5sZ8-qIzZLT/s1600-h/IMG_0391.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoq1S7tvC3LJCtahbGidB-xmj13hO-YUUKBjWKznOfOki112RhkUoKZ19vVXQzSUahvYpC_nB1OcZOrs4Wny-D2GZTJ7zlFD64-tJAAclHkYJD8w02jJHro5ff9jB7RxG9h5sZ8-qIzZLT/s200/IMG_0391.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5338687246749548642" border="0" /></a><br />Have you ever been on the verge of success and then totally sabotaged yourself? Some people say it’s a fear of success, others say it’s a fear of failure. I say it’s a fear of living life to the fullest.<br /><br />Over the course of my life, I have had many opportunities to co-create and become God’s greatest expression of myself. As I have stood at the precipice of that greatness, without fail, I allow something, someone or some event to come along and knock me so far back that it seems I am further behind than when I started.<br /><br />As I have stated in other posts, when I was a teen, my ultimate dream was to sing. I had the opportunity to perform in many large venues with my stepfather, Peter Marshall, who, by the way, is a great singer. Anyway, after he and my mom separated, he started dating a gal who was also a singer. There wasn’t room for the both us on stage. Since I was my mother’s daughter, Peter’s new gal didn’t want me around, so I got the axe. That was the first time that I stood at the mountaintop with a clear vision of my future, when a swift kick in the teeth sent me tumbling into that place where dreams don’t come true. I wouldn’t sing again for years.<br /><br />On my way back to the top of the mountain, I found a new way to be God’s greatest expression of my self; to write a book helping skeptics find their way to a spiritual path. My writing partner was the skeptic and I was the spiritual teacher, and things with the book were going great. As I stood at the mountaintop with a clear vision of my future, the relationship with my writing partner shattered into a million pieces, and I found myself once again tumbling into that place where dreams don’t come true. I let go of the book, giving all rights to her.<br /><br />Have you ever felt this way? Like you’re about to achieve your goals, or your dreams are about to come true, and then BAM! You’re back to square one.<br /><br />I have always taken those kinds of experiences and said, “Well, I guess it wasn’t meant to be.” Maybe it wasn’t, but did I learn from those experiences? Yes, I learned never to partner with a crazy skeptic because you can’t trust them. Oh, and I also learned that just because your stepfather’s latest fling replaces you in a duet, that doesn’t mean she’s a better singer and you should stop singing. But if I learned what I was supposed to learn…then why does this kind of thing keep happening to me?<br /><br />It happened again this last week. I stood at the mountaintop with a clear vision of my future, when I was kicked in the teeth by very self-destructive thoughts and behaviors. Except this time I faced them head on and confronted them. And this time I wasn’t knocked backward, I was knocked forward. I finally got it! First and foremost, I am responsible for the circumstances in which I find myself. Second and probably most importantly, all of the sideshows that happen as I am trying to make my dreams come true are simply distractions.<br /><br />[<span style="font-weight: bold;">**Jesus Alert**</span> Do not panic, I am about to reference Jesus. Please note: I believe that the parables, stories and symbols in the Bible hold amazing teachings, and that the Bible is not necessarily meant to be taken literally. So please don’t let the reference turn you off.]<br /><br />Jesus said, “The light of the body is the eye: therefore when thine eye is single [eye on God], thy whole body also is full of light; but when thine eye is evil [meaning ‘the absence of God], thy body also is full of darkness.”<br /><br />What I take from this is simple. If I keep my eye on God (Spirit, Higher Power or whatever you want to call it), I will have all the light I need to find my way through any darkness or distraction. But if I look closely at my distractions, and give them unwarranted attention, I will find myself tumbling down the mountain and will be consumed by the darkness where dreams don’t come true.<br /><br />This time I choose to keep mine eye single. I choose light!<br /><br />If you find yourself distracted and are in a situation where your success is in the balance…keep thine eye single. Choose light and leave the darkness behind.Rev. Gabrielle Michelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16909244353997578948noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3897942237019778616.post-25763505382948099812009-04-23T13:05:00.000-07:002009-07-06T09:21:28.693-07:00My Near Death Experience!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkzcPhk-vXOceaTKnrYNlV6dgHkzEp9p0otdZYdP2MiDKYWcMRhUiDqLY_Fyy9ZKg0eMJ6ZOJz_ZcHdRVHlrHh_g-FsfRKYpTuYI5nBGI7BSuCEqaTbILhiONWAWlaIGooJR1bTqxaUdxN/s1600-h/stairs.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkzcPhk-vXOceaTKnrYNlV6dgHkzEp9p0otdZYdP2MiDKYWcMRhUiDqLY_Fyy9ZKg0eMJ6ZOJz_ZcHdRVHlrHh_g-FsfRKYpTuYI5nBGI7BSuCEqaTbILhiONWAWlaIGooJR1bTqxaUdxN/s200/stairs.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5327983144354676594" border="0" /></a><br />I have been thinking a lot about death lately. I recently completed hospice training and it was an awe-inspiring experience that brought me to the realization that my life’s work is death and helping people understand what death can teach us about living.<br /><br />I had a near death experience a few days ago. I was walking down the stone steps in the picture on the left, I wasn’t in the proper shoes and I slipped. My feet went out from under me so fast. One second I was standing there watching my family by a beautiful river and the next thing I knew, I was eating leaves. In truth, this was but a mere “life’s most embarrassing moment,” not an actual NDE (near death experience), but replace those leaves, that cushioned my head, with rocks and this piece becomes my obituary, not a humorous little spiritual piece on my blog.<br /><br />I was lucky. I walked away with a bruise on my hip, an achy right arm and shoulder and a very bruised ego. Thankfully, my family will always have a ridiculous image of me lying on the steps plucking leaves out of my hair rather than the alternative.<br /><br />So what did I learn from this? First of all, always choose your footwear wisely. Seriously, life can change and even be over in an instant. And do you really want to die in the wrong shoes?<br /><br />Metaphysically speaking, the right side of the body (the side that I injured) represents doing or taking action. My feet (the part of me that faltered) represent my understandings. When I clearly understand what I am supposed to be doing and ignore or choose to take the wrong action, I am sure to lose my footing and get hurt.<br /><br />Life is too short to let fear of falling on my face or fear of getting hurt, stop me from knowing and living my purpose. You may be wondering, “What is my purpose?” It’s really quite simple. We all are given a set of gifts and experiences that we are meant to master. When we learn, understand and combine our gifts with our experiences, we are then able to help others heal and evolve. Knowledge plus experience equals wisdom.<br /><br />I can look at my life and know what Spirit wants me to do by looking at the gifts I have (the gift of gab and a gifted voice), combine them with the knowledge I have gleaned from my life experience (which includes having to repeatedly deal with death, loss and overcoming a fear of singing in public) and voila, there is my purpose. To use my voice in all of its capacity to help people grieve, understand death and as a result, live life to the fullest.<br /><br />What are your gifts? What has your life experience taught you? If you combine your gifts with your life experience, what is your purpose?<br /><br />Don’t wait to get knocked on your ass before you start living the life you were meant to live. The trick is to put one foot in front of the other. Just make sure both feet are in the right shoes and on your path!<br /><br />Tune in next week to learn how to overcome your fears.Rev. Gabrielle Michelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16909244353997578948noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3897942237019778616.post-43222723188579434902009-02-02T09:54:00.000-08:002009-02-02T10:13:29.373-08:00Her Holiness, the Dolly LamaI have often said that before I found God I found Dolly Parton. I’ve mostly said it tongue-in-cheek, but when I examine my teen years, she really saved me. While all my peers and I were in teenage angst, they were doing drugs, doing each other and getting into anything and everything. I, on the other hand, was doing Dolly… wait, that didn’t come out right. I was getting into anything and everything Dolly… oh, I’m not so sure that sounds good, either. <br /><br />Let me start over. I was 13 when I got my first Dolly Parton album titled “Here You Come Again.” That album changed the course of my life. Her music lifted me up, she inspired me and the music gave me a focus. That year I started the first of twenty-five years of vocal training.<br /><br />As most of you know, my stepfather is Peter Marshall, host of the original “Hollywood Squares.” When I was 13 he arranged for me to meet Dolly. I was fortunate enough to develop a fairly good connection with her. My relationship with Dolly gave me the strength to believe in myself. If I could forge a friendship with a person as special, kind and BUSY as Dolly, there was probably nothing I couldn’t do. I learned that if I had a dream, and was willing to take a chance on making that dream come true, it would.<br /><br />When I found God, the course of my life changed again. What I mean by that is, that I found in me, the Divine spark that lives in each of us. After many losses, false starts, and failures, I learned that inspiration has to come from within. The focus for me has to be on Spirit. If I can forge a relationship with Spirit, there is nothing I can’t do. <br /><br />I think that’s what I saw in Dolly. She is so deeply connected to that Divine spark in herself that there is nothing she can’t do. Except maybe wear a size 32 A bra. No amount of inspiration could make that happen. I digress.<br /><br />To this day, the sound of Dolly’s voice, her incredible spirit, just makes me smile from the inside out. I love this song. It says it all.<br /><br /><object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/_gyqjSn-q34&hl=en&fs=1"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/_gyqjSn-q34&hl=en&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object><br /><br /><br />If you have a dream, let yourself be inspired by Spirit. Connect with the Divine in you and be willing to take a chance on making that dream come true, and it will.Rev. Gabrielle Michelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16909244353997578948noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3897942237019778616.post-943603069954104862009-01-08T18:15:00.001-08:002009-01-08T18:35:32.507-08:00Out With the Old…?Nearly ten years ago, I co-created a television show (that got optioned but never sold) about a woman in her forties going back to college. The lead character wanted the full college experience, which included living in the dorms and rushing a sorority. The production company made us change her age because they felt it was too far-fetched for a forty-something woman.<br /><br />As usual, Hollywood was wrong!<br /><br />Next week, I, Gabrielle Michel, a forty-two-year-old woman, am going back to college to get my BA in Religious, Spiritual and Holistic Studies. While most of the program is done online, I will be attending a nine-day residency in Vermont where, yep, you guessed it - I will be staying in the dorms. Not once, but two times per year.<br /><br />I remember a story of someone saying they couldn’t possibly go back to college to fulfill a dream because they would be fifty years old by the time they finished the four-year program and graduate. A wise person said, “You’ll be fifty in four years anyway, you might as well be fifty with a degree.”<br /><br />It’s never too late to follow a dream, to finish a project, to go back to school, to meet someone and fall in love, etc. I can hear the “yeah, buts” already. Yeah, but I’m too old, young, poor, rich, tall, short and so on. Well, you might as well be too old, young, poor, rich, tall, short and happy, right?<br /><br />So my wish for all of you in 2009 is that you not only dream big, but that all of your dreams come true.<br /><br />Happy New Year.Rev. Gabrielle Michelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16909244353997578948noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3897942237019778616.post-47682046478988345152008-11-20T08:51:00.001-08:002008-11-20T09:30:00.754-08:00Where have I been?It seems like I haven’t written in forever. So much has happened in my world and in our world, I hardly know where to begin. So, I’ll start with me, because it is all about me, after all.<br /><br />My favorite grandma, Marcella, made her transition last month (for those of you who don’t speak metaphysics, “made her transition” means “died”). She was ninety-four, it’s not like it wasn’t expected, except it totally caught me by surprise. There is something so final about death that even when you know it’s coming, somehow it still blindsides you.<br /><br />My sorrow temporarily silenced my voice. Not only did my writing stop but, I actually got laryngitis. While my voice heals, I thought I might share some of my grandma’s writing with you. She was a wonderful writer and artist with great sense of humor, and I have found a lot of comfort in her poetry and short stories. The first poem is:<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Distraction</span><br />The antics of a fly<br />On the window pane<br />Made me miss the sunset.<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"> - Marcella Krisel<br /></div><br />I love that! First of all, it’s a true story. She really was watching the sunset when she noticed a fly cleaning itself. She couldn’t take her eyes of this fly flicking its legs and wings, and when it flew away she realized she’d missed the sunset.<br /><br />This funny little poem has such a profound spiritual lesson. Often in life we are so focused on the little annoyances that we miss the bigger more important things. Then we blame those annoyances for “making” us miss out on something wonderful. But it’s our choice. We choose what will get our focus. That is a bit of wisdom for which I can thank my grandmother. I would have said, “That’s a bit of wisdom that I can thank my grandma for,” but Grandma would’ve come back and haunted me with <span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;font-family:webdings;font-size:130%;" >proper grammar</span>. I tried to come up with the scariest font. Can you hear the mad laughter in the background? Mwuuhuhaaa Haaa Haaaaa!<br /><br />Let me leave you with this…<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">I am invited to play<br />With a Ouija Board.<br />My partner and I<br />Place our hands lightly<br />On the little skate<br />And we get it started<br />By gently pushing it<br />In a circular motion.<br />We continue to help it<br />In this manner<br />Until it begins to write<br />By itself, it seems.<br />Suddenly it will take off<br />And spell out a long sentence<br />Very quickly, as if it is afraid<br />That one of us might<br />Try to interfere.<br /><br />When I sit down to write,<br />Something very similar happens.<br />I have a feeling I want to express<br />And I begin cautiously<br />Trying to put into words,<br />When, right in the middle<br />Or perhaps toward the end,<br />The pen takes over<br />And completes the poem<br />In a totally unexpected way,<br />But always in a better one<br />Than I had envisioned.<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"> - Marcella Krisel<br /></div> <br />I love and miss you, Grandma. Let’s stay in touch, okay?Rev. Gabrielle Michelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16909244353997578948noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3897942237019778616.post-25468447192097581122008-09-24T18:47:00.000-07:002008-09-24T18:48:02.728-07:00Why Did the Turtle Cross the Road?Why did the turtle cross the road? Why, two days later, did the turkey eat acorns on the side of the road? And why did the Monarch butterfly circle around my head for more than a few minutes?<br /><br />These questions have haunted me all week long. Why you ask? Because I actually got an answer: to bring me a spiritual message. I know, you’re thinking, “Wow, does Gaby actually think the entire world and the animal kingdom revolve around her?” Why yes, I do. In fact, the American Indian Shamans do, too (see, it’s not just ME). They believe that animals, insects, birds and reptiles are messengers from Spirit. The messages they bring are based on the behaviors, characteristics and habits of the creature that crosses your path.<br /><br />How do I know what I am receiving is a message, and not a matter of a cigar is just a cigar, turtle, turkey and Monarch? I believe there are no accidents. I have lived here over a year and have never seen a turtle cross a street. I have also never seen a turkey wandering around a busy highway next to Target. While I have seen butterflies, I have not seen many Monarchs because they are rare. They don’t usually fly around me, and even my neighbor, who witnessed it, thought it was pretty wild that it kept swooping around my head.<br /><br />So what does all this mean? Let’s just look at the obvious. The turtle was trying to get somewhere slowly, patiently plodding his course. He wasn’t afraid because he has his shell to retreat to. I stopped my car and picked him up and hurried him to the side of the road so he wouldn’t get run over. As I picked him up, he looked at me like “HEY, watta ya doin’?”<br /><br />The message for me is that I need to slow down. I also need to go within to do deeper spiritual work. I need to trust that I will get to my destination and not try to force things.<br /><br />Thank you, turtle!<br /><br />The turkey was a little more complicated, because the obvious was that Spirit was calling me a turkey, and I did not appreciate that. So I dug a little deeper and researched it further. Turkeys eat five pounds of acorns a day. Acorns represent wisdom and turkeys represent the harvest season. What this means to me is that I am gathering wisdom and I am coming into a time of reaping the rewards of what I have been working on. Either that, or someone’s going to stuff and eat me at the end of November.<br /><br />Thank you, turkey!<br /><br />Finally, the Monarch butterfly… which represents metamorphosis. The keys to creating and manifesting are in the stages of metamorphosis. When we are growing and transforming, we are in one of these stages: the idea is born, then we gather what we need to lay a foundation to build upon. Once we have a strong foundation, we go within, and while it may look like nothing is happening, beliefs are reorganizing. When we have transformed enough to make our idea a reality, we bust out and begin to soar.<br /><br />When you feel like nothing is happening in your life, check to see if you are in the reorganizing stage. <br /><br />Maybe lots of things are happening and you just can’t see it. And maybe sometime very soon, you will bust out and begin soar.<br /><br />Thank you, butterfly!<br /><br />So look around you… there may be little messengers trying to bring YOU spiritual messages.Rev. Gabrielle Michelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16909244353997578948noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3897942237019778616.post-73809225789537712962008-09-15T20:51:00.000-07:002008-09-15T20:53:35.185-07:00Conversation With GodI was talking to God the other day about how to succeed, and believe it or not, I got an answer. It wasn’t an external booming voice. There was no lightning or thunder. The words just gently dropped into my meditative open mind. <br /><br />“You must make a sacrifice.” <br /><br />Since I was fresh out of lambs and had recently given up sugar, I asked, “What would you have me give up in order to have more success in my life?” <br /><br />“Television,” God replied. “No TV five days a week.”<br /><br />I panicked! “But it’s football season, and “America’s Got Talent” is down to the final ten, never mind the fall season is starting. Only two days… is that two <span style="font-weight: bold;">full</span> days? Can I Tivo 48 hours of shows and watch them all?!” <br /><br />Then I realized I was trying to negotiate more television time with God! God was essentially telling me I could have guaranteed success - all I had to do was cut down my TV watching to two days a week and use that time to be more creative and productive.<br /><br />In metaphysical teachings, the topic of sacrifice is generally avoided. This “feel good” spirituality, in my ever so humble opinion, is why so many people struggle with success in some aspect of their lives, be it career, relationship, finances, etc. We all have dreams and we all want to be successful, but when it comes down to giving something up in order to make that happen, we usually don’t want to. Behind every successful person is a significant sacrifice.<br /><br />[**Jesus Alert** Don’t panic, I am about to reference Jesus. Please note: I believe that the parables, stories and symbols in the Bible hold amazing teachings, and that the Bible is not necessarily meant to be taken literally. I also believe that you and I can read the same passage and receive two completely different messages, and both interpretations can be correct. So please don’t let the reference turn you off.] <br /><br />I digress.<br /><br />When Jesus was gathering his disciples, he told them to drop everything, leave their old lives behind and follow him. Metaphysically speaking, that means that if we want real fulfillment in our lives, we must be willing to drop our old ways (because clearly they aren’t working) and follow Spirit (whatever form that takes for you).<br /><br />So I am giving up TV five days a week and using my time for spiritual and creative endeavors. I’ll let you know how it goes. So far, I’ve started this blog and am writing an article for a local women’s magazine. <br /><br />In the meantime, ask yourself two questions. What part of your life isn’t what you would call “successful?” And what do you have to sacrifice in order to have success in that part of your life? If you sit with those questions, you will get your answer. It may not be immediate, but you will definitely get an answer. When you do, I hope you realize that you are worth far more than any sacrifice you are asked to make.<br /><br />Godspeed!Rev. Gabrielle Michelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16909244353997578948noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3897942237019778616.post-59405994619894823382008-09-14T17:41:00.000-07:002008-09-14T17:56:30.420-07:00IntroductionLife rarely turns out the way we plan. Yet those unplanned events are often the most defining moments in our lives. I have had many of those defining moments and at first glance, my many career incarnations may appear scattered and unfocused. But when seen through God’s eyes they all become a clear picture of who God intended me to be. <br /><br />When I was 13 years old, I decided I wanted to be a singer. As it turned out, I had a gift that my parents supported and I was given access to the best vocal teachers in the world. I trained for over twenty years and had much success before I was called to the second aspect of who I was to become. Through a series of “coincidences” I found and enrolled in the New Focus Institute of Hypnotherapy. I wanted to help people overcome obstacles that held them back in their lives and so I became a Certified Clinical Hypnotherapist. I kept getting calls from people who were in serious spiritual crisis and while I was able to help them to some degree, I felt called to know more about how our connection to spirit and God affected our lives and how to heal spiritual crisis. That brought me to the Albert Grier Ministerial School where I decided to become a New Thought minister so that I could be a spiritual counselor. But under no circumstances would I be a pulpit minister. I did not want to speak in public. As usual God had other plans. It turned out that I had another gift, the gift of gab, and so I became just that, a pulpit minister. I felt called to share the wisdom God gave me with everyone and so I decided to be a writer as well. Talk about having an identity crisis, what was I, a singer, a hypnotherapist/spiritual counselor, a minister or a writer. After years of ping ponging between all of these careers, thinking I had to focus on one, I had a revelation. The common denominator between all of these careers is my voice. I realize now that God wants me to use every aspect of my voice to help heal the world.<br /><br /><br />I have found that our soul’s journey is deeper and more complicated than we know. We are evolving Souls that have been given many gifts that we are meant to use. My intention for this blog is to help us get out of our own way so that we can use all of our gifts, talents and experiences for one purpose, our soul evolution. <br /><br />I am Rev. Gabrielle Michel, singer, hypnotherapist/spiritual counselor, minister and writer and hope sharing my gifts will inspire you to share yours.Rev. Gabrielle Michelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16909244353997578948noreply@blogger.com5