Journal of Sacred Work

   I heard Garrison Keillor say on the radio that "Love is never wasted when it’s given to a
child." Of course, love is never wasted when it’s given to anyone. But children, especially very young children, seem so vulnerable, trusting, in need of all our love.
   The reality of sacred work strikes hard in a caregiver’s encounter with the pain of others. Across America, a quiet group of charities (including Nashville’s Our Kids) deal with children who have been abused. It’s hard for the rest of us to see the dragon that always lives with one whose trust has been betrayed in the midst of childhood. Based on visits to therapists, though, we can say that plenty of us who had "normal" childhoods share a common affliction. We’ve all been struck with the weight of adulthood.
   Flying from Boston to Nashville over the holidays, I scratched out some thoughts I hope will resonate with you as you encounter not only the needs of patients, but your own memories – and the courage each of us needs to come to terms with our dragons…

Dragons

I knew more at four
than I know now. Back then,
God held me soft in Pacific waves
beyond my father’s grasp.

Days were uncalendered, hours unclocked, the moon & 
I were friends. When I was four, I knew the first kiss
of a new apricot, how my arms wrapped my mother’s 
legs, gripped my father’s neck, my big sister’s hand.

Goats, elephants, & bamboo giraffed my bedroom
each night. Dragons crouched behind doors. At four,
they lacked the power to kill me. Instead, I laughed
when they tickled my back.

Age’s angles have tipped me from childhood. The
moon is another of sun’s hand mirrors. Elephants
left my room long ago. Dragons turned out to be
real.

At five, I found a photograph of a slain Union soldier
meadowed in black & white, his belly bloated against
his black belt & a metal sky, he & a nearby
rock discarded by retreating glaciers.

That night, he rose, broke into my room, never left.

-Erie Chapman

*The painting of the dragons is by British artist Jackie Morris