Letters to a Young Healer

by David Shuch

Overview

After apprenticing at the feet of a saintly old man who carved charms that helped with the healing of souls, young Madeline had more questions than answers. She reached out to her Uncle James, a physician with a rich spiritual life, and in a series of twelve letters he reveals to her the mysteries of healing, consciousness, and spiritual growth. James counsels that a spirit of healing can be brought into every kind of work as long as one brings to it sufficient intent, strength of awareness, and integrity to be in accord with the highest kind of love. With guidance on "cleaning house" within one's soul, recognizing false healers, strengthening one's vitality, understanding the mysteries of faith and reason, compassion, sex, imagination, reverence, dying, and more, James points Madeline to live life in a way that will, "dry a tear in the eye of God." Letters to a Young Healer is a beautiful sequel to The Charm Carver.

Product Details

ISBN-13:	9781632991683
Publisher:	River Grove Books
Publication date:	03/19/2018
Pages:	148
Product dimensions:	5.50(w) x 8.50(h) x 0.34(d)

Read an Excerpt

CHAPTER 1

JANUARY On Love

My Dearest Madeline,

Praise be to God! For more years than I can count, I prayed in secret for you — ardently, fervently — that you would blossom despite the strikes against you. But now, know that even from the day you were born, I have felt in my heart a deep love for you. In ways we can never fully grasp, souls are often drawn by a feeling of another. And it was just this kind of unknowable thing that drew my heart to you. How I wished I could have helped you in your formative years, but alas, that was impossible.

Your father and I, though brothers, never did see eye to eye. He always felt at home in our society, while I was at odds with the elders. And so, he pushed me away from any influence I might have had with you or your brother. But in my heart, I have always wished you well, and now you are no longer a child and have, to my delight, taken it upon yourself to write to me for advice! I will help you in any way that I can.

From reading your letter, I sense that your mind is a jumble. It may surprise you, but I could not imagine that it would be otherwise right now. Your apprenticeship with that remarkable fellow taught you much that is at odds with all that you learned in your youth. After all, how could a man carving stones bring people healing? And if this is possible, what does that mean? Perhaps you are even more confused that I would have any sense of what you are going through? I take this as a sign to share a secret that up until now I have never revealed.

Before I became a doctor, I worked in a quarry, mining blocks of stone. I befriended a man nearly twice my age, who was widely regarded as strange, but he seemed to me as a saint disguised. His name was Simon, and I couldn't understand his presence. He was the oldest one there but stronger than three. And quiet ... so very quiet as he worked. I remember his eyes. His gaze was never rushed or flitting; it was patient and deep. I asked him what brought him to this line of work, and he told me that he had always loved stones and wished to learn about them "in their homes." To him, this job was part of his schooling.

We kept in touch after leaving the quarry, and he told me about his trade. When your father died, I asked Simon if he might carve a charm for you. I told him that he could not reveal that he even knew me, as your mother and the elders would send him away. He looked into my eyes for a very long time and finally said, "I will go to her, but don't tell me her name." It seemed a strange request, but I heard he had no trouble finding you.

And so, my dear, now you know. I never got a chance to thank him for all he did, and now he is long gone, except in our recollections and, of course, in his charms. But as with you, much of my understanding comes from my time with him, and if you wish, we may reminisce!

Your loving uncle, James

CHAPTER 2

FEBRUARY On Intentionality

My Dearest Madeline,

I was delighted to hear back from you so soon following my last letter. But oh, you seem so fretful of what you shall do over this decision in front of you! If I may once again offer you some advice, it is this: Don't fret! If you wish to carry a spirit of healing within you, it makes little difference what field you choose, as there is so much healing that needs to be done — in every realm and to every degree! Work does not exist where bringing to it a spirit of healing will not weave your efforts in with the divine. And what is healing but drying a tear in the eye of God?

Among the true healers, I have known not one who would call themselves a healer. They would blush at their work being thought of this way; none see what they do through this lens, and few ever make a study of healing, but healers they are — one and all! But you, with your curious mind, may wish to learn about what healing is and what it can be. Such learning helps anyone be more effective, but it is not at all necessary. Let me tell you about three people I have known who bring a healing spirit into their work, yet none of them have studied healing.

Years ago, I moved to a different country. The change in my surroundings gave me an anxious feeling in the pit of my stomach, and I became more nervous than I had ever been in my life. I could not attribute this nervousness to anything other than my move, and I hoped the feelings would pass as time went on. But instead, they intensified, and I thought that I might have to move to yet a different country.

In my new neighborhood, there was a bakery I went to for bread. I never saw the baker, but he made a simple loaf, and I bought one every day. One day, this bakery happened to be closed, and I walked to the next neighborhood and found a new bakery. Here, I saw the baker working at his dough. He was a quiet man with a warm smile but not given to many words. His loafs were also simple and looked identical to the ones that I had gotten at the other establishment. This loaf, I found out, was made in all of the bakeries in this country, and all were made the same way with the same ingredients. I took one home and had it with my breakfast. Its texture was a bit finer, but otherwise, it tasted the same as the other loaf. Yet a short time later, I noticed that my nervousness was gone, but I didn't attribute this to anything in particular. I first thought nothing of it and went on with my day, figuring that I was finally getting used to my surroundings.

This calmer feeling stayed with me that whole day. The next morning, I rose and went back to my local bakery, which had reopened, and there, I bought bread for breakfast. As soon as I ate it, the nervousness returned! I didn't make a connection until the next day when this bakery was again closed, and I went back to the other one, and after eating that bread, I felt so very good again.

The first bakery never reopened. A notice in the newspaper explained that the baker there, who was known as an angry man, had killed his wife in a fit of rage! Perhaps he was nursing grudges while he was kneading his dough, and something of this got baked into his loaves?

It still did not explain the good feelings I got from eating the other bread. But as I got to know this other baker and got him to open up a bit, he shared with me so that I came to understand. I asked him about his work, and he replied that he gave enormous respect to the dough. "I don't rush it; it is a living thing," he said. "When I knead it, it speaks to me, not in words but in how it responds to my hands. I must be quiet to listen, so I never engage in conversation while I am with the dough. It lets me know how much to knead it, how to handle it, and when I should stop and let it rest. Then I just bake it, and it becomes bread."

And in some way and without trying, this baker imbued his calm and deliberate spirit into his creations and produced bread that took away nervousness, and not just in me. He always had a line of people stretched down the block of his shop, and as I waited with them and spoke with many, I found that mine was a shared experience.

But he never called himself a healer.

The next person I will tell you about I met while spending a few days with your cousin while she was working at the local animal shelter. Among her assignments was trying to adopt out a young, male cat that had been born with an affliction affecting his balance. Unlike most cats, which possess a sense of grace as they move, this one walked and moved awkwardly. And though this fellow lacked other problems, he had been returned three times by different families for reasons ascribed to allergies.

The cat, lacking the cuteness of a kitten and having the baggage of three failed adoptions and his awkward gait, was considered difficult to place. Over many months, no one expressed interest in adopting him, and I was told several had snickered at his gait.

Then one day, a woman arrived looking for a cat. She was curious about this one with its odd manner of getting around. She did not fawn over him or take pity on him. It seemed as if she felt pity to be beneath him. He sat on her lap, purring, while a kind of communion seemed to pass between them.

After a time, the woman got up and left the adoption floor. As your cousin was walking her out, the woman told her that she would return in seven days to adopt this cat and to please be sure that no one else adopted him first. Your cousin was surprised by the request, as no one had given this cat a second look, but the woman had been adamant. So paperwork was put in place. I happened to be visiting her again the following week when this woman returned. Your cousin then told me that six separate individuals over the previous week had wanted to adopt this very cat. The shelter had never had so much interest in an animal designated hard to place before. The only explanation was that the cat knew that he had found his home, and this healed him in a way that made him stand out.

Your cousin shared this turn of events with the woman. Then I introduced myself, and I asked if she could shed light on what had happened to this cat. She looked at me for what seemed a long time. Finally, she said, "I'm not surprised by what happened; that's why I insisted that no one be allowed to adopt him until I could return. He knew I loved him and would always love him, and that is all he needed; he's really no different than you and me."

I learned that in the days after the woman first came, the little cat's countenance changed. His eyes, dull before, now held sparks, and his sad state transformed to a bright and sweet disposition. In the shelter, it was said that he began to look like an angel of God.

But this woman would never call herself a healer.

The last person I want to tell you about is a cleaning lady. A good friend of mine is a psychologist who specializes in treating women who have been abused. He works out of two consultation rooms at the end of a hallway: one on the left and one on the right. The rooms are identical — the same furniture, the same lighting — so that a fragile client, struggling with emotional release, would not be thrown off by a different setting, week to week.

But my friend was perplexed. For a reason he could not explain, his clients all wished to be seen only in the room to the right. When he asked them why, many couldn't even answer or simply said, "I feel more comfortable in the room on the right; I don't know why."

Knowing of my interest in these kinds of things, he asked me to investigate, and I first went into each room and confirmed that they were indeed neat, clean, and identical. I asked him if he knew of anything that was different between the two rooms. He thought about this for a long time and then said, "Well, they are each cleaned by a different cleaning lady. And each lady always cleans the same room." So I asked if I could meet these two ladies, and it was arranged.

I observed both of them and found a small difference in their approach to their work. The one who cleaned the room on the left listened to music with a rapid beat, and this seemed to make the job more pleasant for her. She worked quickly and in time with her music. The one who cleaned the room to the right did not listen to music and seemed more intent on her cleaning.

Then I asked each lady how they knew that their room was done — how did they each determine that their room was clean? The lady who cleaned the room on the left told me, "This room takes me fifteen minutes to clean. I look at my watch, and I know I'm done when that amount of time has passed." The lady who cleaned the room on the right told me something else. "Oh, when I first go into that room I get a feeling in my chest — like a heavy weight, and I feel very bad — sad and angry; why, I don't know. So, I clean, really, to get rid of this feeling, and when it is gone, I know that the room is clean!"

There was one more curious detail about these two rooms. It may seem like a small thing, but it brings up a big subject that, if you are interested, we can cover at another time. I visited this office on a cold winter evening, and I happened to notice that the picture window in each was covered with frost. I have always been fascinated by patterns made by nature, so it was natural for me to study the crystallizations in the frost. The patterns on the window in the room to the left were sharp and jagged, like the appearance of broken glass. The patterns on the window in the room to the right looked like bunches and bunches of chrysanthemums.

Can you imagine how the work of these cleaning ladies might affect the patterns of frost on the outsides of windows? Soon after my observation of the two women, my psychiatrist friend began to insist that the cleaning service only send him this one lady who had such a beneficial effect on the room to the right.

But she would never call herself a healer.

And so, my dear, ponder in your heart what healing can mean. There are many realms and many degrees of healing, and one day, you will find your way. But don't fret! If you begin to feel that a path before you is too big and too much of a burden, it only means it is worthy. And for that burden, you can do much to prepare.

But how to prepare? That is a big subject, and if you are interested, we can cover it at another time. And we can, if you wish, with that curious mind of yours, dive deeply into the workings of healing itself. I look forward to hearing from you!

Your loving uncle, James

CHAPTER 3

MARCH On Realms of Healing

My Dearest Madeline,

I see that I have piqued your interest in learning more about the realms and degrees of healing, all of which are a comfort to God! The degrees will have to wait, as they are a big subject, but there are only three realms, and when the time comes for you to choose your work, you will find your place among them; everyone with a heart for healing always finds their place.

No one realm is better than another; they are equal in the eyes of God, and work in one does not rule out work in another. Some kinds of work lend themselves to just a single realm, others two realms, and others all three. The realms are like ingredients in a stew! If you pick a carrot out of the pot, will you not also taste a bit of onion? If you find someone professing their own chosen realm to be elevated above the others, he reveals himself as a false healer. Perhaps you would like to learn about them? But that is also a big subject and, for now, will have to wait. Any ordinary occupation can be elevated to include a spirit of healing, but no occupation requires it, though some would seem an empty shell if they did not contain some element of this spirit in them.

But just because a kind of work lends itself to a kind of healing does not obligate a worker to go this extra mile. Indeed, I believe that it is a calling to do this something extra. It has to come from something very deep. Simon called it an inner wish ... maybe he shared this with you?

One realm involves healing through substances, objects, and structures where some thing is conditioned in a particular way and serves as a kind of storage device that holds a spirit of healing in the same way as a bell holds its ring. Here you will find those, like Simon, who work in crafts or art or like the baker who made those loaves of bread that I loved so much. But also those who design, build, and, like the cleaning lady, maintain the spaces that we occupy.

Another realm involves healing without physical contact or intervening objects, and this includes healing through prayer, diplomacy, and relationships and also through words, poetry, and music. For example, throughout my many years of education, I encountered a few teachers who, through example, encouragement, and assignment, helped my young soul to heal in more ways than I can count.

Perhaps you think I am just speaking about those who showed me compassion? Having a heart of compassion is the most important thing, and in truth, few who bring a spirit of healing into their work ever think about it, let alone study it. But for those, like you, born with a compassionate heart and an ache to understand what lies at the heart of healing, there can be no path in life more fulfilling than bringing this spirit into your work. Think of this as tuning your instrument.

The last realm involves healing through some kind of contact with the body — where the healing spirit, itself a kind of love from above, passes through this contact. In truth, there are times when healing in the prior realm, particularly in one-on-one conversations held within a close relationship, can have all the characteristics of this realm; the only difference is that the contact there just involves a meeting of the minds and hearts, whereas here, bodies meet as well.

Today I will tell you about three people who heal in this realm. And while outwardly, their forms of contact are quite common, their results are each unique. And this will get us started on this wider subject that interests you so much — what is healing? Here we have three people who heal by giving a kiss or a hug.

The first person is your own mother. Though my contact with you and your family stopped when you were very young, I was present when you were learning to walk. One day, you fell down and skinned your knee and began to cry. Your mother picked you up and kissed your knee, and instantly, your crying stopped. Your knee still had a bruise, and I'm sure that it still hurt, but your mother's kiss changed your whole experience.

(Continues…)

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Excerpted from "Letters to a Young Healer"
by .
Copyright © 2018 David J. Shuch.
Excerpted by permission of River Grove Books.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

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Table of Contents

JANUARY On Love, 1,
FEBRUARY On Intentionality, 5,
MARCH On Realms of Healing, 15,
APRIL On False Healers, 27,
MAY On Faith & Reason, 41,
JUNE On Souls & Spirits, 51,
JULY On a Compassionate Heart, 63,
AUGUST On Vitality, 81,
SEPTEMBER On Sex, 95,
OCTOBER On Imagination, 109,
NOVEMBER On Reverence, 123,
DECEMBER On Dying & Living, 131,