Saturday, July 30, 2005

An Ordinary Life

I wonder why people who have the gift of prophecy never tell anyone, "You are going to live an ordinary life. If you have a handful of friends that stick by you through the muck, you will be better off than most people. God has a plan for your life - it will be an ordinary life. That isn't a bad thing. It doesn't make you less than. It makes you human."

It Is Finished

Three hours sleep in the past 24. My friend passed away this morning. I don't know what to say. I sat with her through the night. To be witness to the suffering - for what purpose? I don't know. A line from some movie keeps going through my head, "Death comes to us all." I thought I knew what suffering was. Nada. Nope. Haven't experienced it. Thought I knew what it looked like to embrace it. Nope. At this point I would rather be run over by a truck than go through the fires of purification by suffering. At one point last night I had to leave the room cause I couldn't bear to witness the I was leaving the verses about Jesus in the garden and his friends not being able to stay awake came to me. Bearing witness to the journey is damn hard work.

Friday, July 29, 2005

Go in Peace

Thanks for the prayers. We were called in last night about 10:30 - spent the night taking turns sitting with my friend. At one point it seemed as if she was talking to someone else.....her eyes focusing elsewhere even though she is blind. I came home to sleep for a few hours this afternoon and to shower before heading back for another night of sitting vigil. Last night as we were driving to the hospital the song whose chorus goes, "Go in peace child of God..." kept going through my head.

Wednesday, July 27, 2005

Prayers From The Heart

It's almost midnight. What a long, long day. I am hoping the phone will not ring before morning. My friend is definitely in the last stages of life here on earth. Her responses to us were limited to one question from us - one word reply from her and then nothing for a long time. She breathes for 40 seconds and then breathes nothing for up to 35 seconds. Just one thing stayed the same....

We prayed the rosary tonight and when we started the Lord's prayer my friend said the whole prayer outloud with us. And then she said nearly the whole 5 decades of the rosary too. The tears just flowed down my face as I heard her pray, "Pray for us sinners now, and at the hour of our death. Amen" She had been trying to raise her rosary to her lips and then when we made the sign of the cross she tried to raise her arm and we realized she had been trying to make the sign of the cross all day too.

It was just the most bizarre and holy time - to see someone who had no breath and hardly any speech today - literally come to life when we started to pray. I don't think I will ever forget that sight.

Tuesday, July 26, 2005

Holding Hands

I spent the day holding my elderly friend's hand. She is now on hourly morphine shots and oxygen around the clock. Not sure how long her heart can handle racing at 170 bpm. There were some moments today when she stopped breathing for up to 30 seconds at a time. But no matter how low she seemed physically, no matter how unresponsive she was, every time I had to remove my hand from hers to do something her hand moved ever so slowly across the blankets searching for mine.

Monday, July 25, 2005

Continuing the Journey

It's been a long day. I've had a headache ever since I whacked my head as I went to get into my daughter's car today. It really has been too long of a day. Sleep will be sweet tonight I hope.

My elderly friend has taken a turn for the worse. They have her on morphine and oxygen. I am expecting a call before morning to come to the hospital. If not, then I will be there all day tomorrow. Her 80 year old sister flew to the closest big city this afternoon and her daughter will drive her the rest of the way tomorrow morning. As far as I can tell her son must know by now but he hasn't been in contact. Family dynamics can be just plain strange.

Thank you for the encouraging comments. We all need affirmation that we don't journey alone.

Sunday, July 24, 2005

Validating Her Journey

The reason I was in the grocery store today was to pick up something for supper because I spent the day at the hospital.

For many years I have been responsible for the needs of an elderly woman. In this time she has gone from living independently and using a cane to being bedridden and in a wheelchair. We have had lots of intimate times through the years as I tried to maintain her dignity while helping her in the most undignified of circumstances. We've cracked jokes while trying to fit her, me and a walker in a cubicle space smaller than a broom closet. So often she would say to me, "If anyone would've told me I'd end up like this, I never would've believed them."

She is 85 now and today she took a turn for the worse. When the nurse phoned to let me know, I scrapped my plans for the day and went to sit with her. By supper time she had stabilized although I let my request to the priest for the annointing of the Sacrament of the Sick stand. She has a grown son who I can't seem to locate. I'm really too tired to write about it. No one should go through this without someone to sit and be witness to the journey. To validate it. To validate them. I tried to do that today. We'll see what tomorrow brings.

The Express Lane Gospel Auctioneer

I'm in the grocery store checkout line today repeating the mantra to myself, "The man means well, he really means well." The man is someone I've known in a superficial way for the past 23 years. I used to shop in his clothing store when I was a newlywed. Sometime between then and now we both became believers. Some days we are both the kind you want to avoid in the grocery store. Of course I think if you had to pick one of us to avoid it should be him otherwise I wouldn't be writing this post. When I used to work in the grocery store he tried to encourage me when he came through my till. We could never talk about the weather, it had to be some little tid bit of Christianese that made me want to gag. It sounded fake and was smiley, phony, mask like talk that leaves no room for humanity. I hate it though I know it well. I think I have a degree in it. Ugh.

Today he casually asked where we fellowshipped. I should've just lied. Honestly. Caught in the express lane I got the gospel thrown in with my groceries for free. Isn't there a sign in the window that says "no soliciting allowed"?

When I mentioned the Catholic church he became an instant auctioneer of the Good News. Leaving no room for me to get a word in edgewise, he started rattling off scripture verses at me like bullets firing from a gun. Take that and that and that was his method of getting his point across. That's how it felt. The whole nine yards when it comes to the need to be born again, how baptism accomplishes nothing and how he'd give someone 300 bucks if they could show him in the new testament where it was and if he proved them wrong they'd have to give him 100 bucks. How going to church didn't save anyone. How one had to live their faith not just go to church. How putting a car in a garage didn't turn it into a Cadillac. And on and on and on. The sad thing is that we have never moved past the preliminaries in our relationship. He has no idea where I stand on anything. No idea as to my relationship with Jesus. But that darn "C" word was like waving a red flag in front of a bull.

I feel like I fail miserably at these kind of encounters. It's like I've eaten ice cream too fast and it causes a spiritual brain freeze. There are no witty replies, no intelligent debate. And sadly, no love.

When he eventually stopped to catch his breath I told him I agreed that one needed to be born again but that salvation was all about grace. That grace word put an end to the conversation. How weird is that? Especially since I can talk about it so much easier than actually extend it.

I wanted to tell him I am working out my salvation in fear and trembling but when the day is done if grace won't get me through I am sunk. I am clothed in humanity. There ain't no getting away from it.

Eventually my groceries were rung through and I headed to the car. I thought on the way, "Lord, this man is my brother. I am supposed to love him. What does that look like?" They say that Christians are the only ones who shoot their wounded. I certainly felt shot at today. But somehow I think the gunman was wounded too.

Saturday, July 23, 2005

A - Mused Hostage

Not really sure what to write but I am showing up and waiting for that thing called my muse to poke her head out of nowhere and encourage me. Well, I've clicked on this page so many times and since she is a no show I think I'll post a little essay I wrote about her a few years ago. Enjoy!

I do my best writing while sitting on the toilet.

My muse holds me hostage there regularly. Her eyes sparkle at the phrase 'night time incontinence' because my aging bladder gives her a great opportunity to dominate the conversation.

She thinks bouncing ideas off my bladder is fun. It's her version of an alarm clock, trampoline style. Once I am awake, she scoots her luminescent being out from under the sheets and flits, fairy style, between my feet as she accompanies me to the bathroom. Up on the vanity she springs and then dances over to the edge to wait. After I sit down, she starts whispering in my ear. Knowing I gave up doing Kegel exercises years ago, she has no fear that I will abandon her midstream.

"Oh it's you again," I say groggily. At the sound of my voice she happily goes into overdrive; her words flowing like verbal diarrhea. At least we're in the right room.

I haven't always been this civil to her. I used to snarl, "What the hell do you want?" or "Don't you know what time it is?" The force of my words would blow her over backwards before she disappeared like a genie down the drain. I got tired of tripping over my pyjama bottoms as I raced after her, pleading with her to come back. Once, after I had mistaken her for a burglar I muttered lamely, "Here, take my purse and have a nice vacation." She was gone for a long, long time.

After having several nightmares in which my muse took up residence with a famous author I decided being held captive wasn't so bad after all. I just couldn't shake feeling like she was peering around the corner of the latest best sellers' list taunting me with "This could've been you."

This doesn't mean I am always willing to be woken up at all hours of the night. Sometimes after I've snuggled back down in bed she taps me on the shoulder and lets me know there's more. "Wait until morning," I tell her, pulling the covers over my head and going back to sleep. After several daytime appointments when she was a no show, I figured I would either have to accept her company when offered or suffer the consequences.

There are nights though when she has my full atttention by the time I am ready to leave the bathroom. It doesn't matter what time it is or how tired I am, I want to know the rest of the story. When this happnes my pen feels like a moving piece of an Ouija board with the words flowing one letter at a time. Those nights are magical. They make my wish for my muse to come down with laryngitis or the need to take sleeping pills vanish and I thank my aging bladder and laugh.

Wednesday, July 20, 2005

Give Me The Goods....

There's a tiny publishing house in a city several hours away from me that is looking for stories from homeschoolers about their journey. The editor responded to my email today and said he'd welcome my submission(s). The whole topic has brought out the resident cynic in me front and center. It's tempting to type a one line submission that says: RUN THE OTHER WAY FAST.

I've home schooled for the past 14 years. Oh, right I told myself I couldn't write anything today because it's the day before my period and my perspective on life tends to get warped on this day. There are times however when I wonder if what happens on this day is that I get to see life very clearly and the rest of the month it's through blurry eyes only. Anyway, that was probably too much info.

So, I sat and scribbled notes today about homeschooling. About the journey. Should I write about the angst of teaching my kids to read (one at age 5, one at age 9 and one at age 12) or do I tell of the many days I told my husband within 3 seconds of his arriving home that the school bus was coming in the morning unless he could straighten these kids out. Or better yet, the days when I phoned him before he got home and told him that. Ever try to parent over a cell phone?

Do I tell about the challenges of homeschooling in the wake of a nervous breakdown (after all those years of smugly telling people that homeschooling hadn't driven me crazy yet) or about going to a home school conference this year and just feeling sad for all those women who were looking for the magic wand/curriculum/speaker that would make their families match those perfect family photos on the glossy cover of a popular homeschooling mag? How I couldn't offer one single word of encouragement to the newbie homeschoolers I shared a table with at meal time.. That when I was introduced to a new homeschooler as a veteran and was almost done that I looked at her and said, "Thank God." Not exactly the reply she was anticipating hearing.

What about writing about meeting a homeschooling mom of 10 in the grocery store a few months ago and being thrilled when I asked her how she was that she told me she tried not to think about it.(Don't you just love that answer?) It thrilled me because I had been so intimidated by her and her perfect looking family for years and years. We now could have an honest conversation about the realities we had both tried to hide from each other.

Or how about admitting to the prolonged time when I thought - and was supported to think this way in the homeschooling community - that if I controlled who they spent time with and got them to memorize 50 Bible verses and only read 'Christian' books that I could be guaranteed a certain outcome in their behaviour. Oh, it was some outcome I tell you. I was aiming for perfection and they didn't deliver. I can still remember the look on my daughter's face when I told her I would - not - have - a rebellious daughter and she calmly replied, "You already do."

What about the time I wrote an essay for our local homeschool publication detailing a typical school day in our family only to phone my closest home schooling friend and hear her say, "Oh I read it but thought to myself, I know what a day is really like in your house."

Do I write about how I evolved from believing that committed parents homeschooled and judged the rest of Christiandom for sidestepping their responsibility to being in a place today where I just want people to support each other in the grueling marathon called parenthood and stop being threatened by the differences in the choices we make.

It's not that it's all bad but it's all hard. And who wants to hear that?

I'm tempted to wrap this up by listing all the positive aspects of our homeschooling journey but I bet you already have heard them. It is just so rare to find homeschoolers who will be gut honest about the day to day reality. I have had whispered conversations in Walmart about it. But so rarely a conversation in any arena where I could get attacked for admitting to the very real struggles of it.

Tuesday, July 19, 2005

More Than A Full Plate

A dear friend of mine lost her mom this morning to lung cancer. Not much older than my 21 year old daughter, this friend has had way more than seems possible to fit on her plate this year. She is still a relative newlywed with her husband on his first navy deployment, she became a new mom in March. Here is her blogNew Way To Be Human where she has chronicled her journey with her mom. Please lift her and her family up in prayer. Thank you.

Sunday, July 17, 2005

Sweet, Sweet Days of Summer

Do you ever have those days where you know the disharmony in your home is wafting through the air like perfume? The kind of perfume you wouldn't give your worst enemy? And you'd like to be able to wave a wand and make it go away but some days all that will do it is time? And you have company coming and you really want the smell to be gone by then but it is totally out of your control? It's that kind of morning here. Oh, sweet Sunday, Sunday.

I had company over yesterday who I want to blame for the disharmony. I don't want to take any of the blame myself (as per normal). I don't know about this being honest with my feelings thing I have started. It often ends up so ugly in the end. It doesn't make me feel any better. And it definitely doesn't make anyone else around here feel better either. It was much easier when I stuffed it and waited for it to come out in the run-off-at-the-mouth-screeching-nastiness spiels that I can do. The kind of sharing my feelings where I am honest and quiet about how something has affected me and calmly stating, 'Ouch, that hurt" without attacking anyone is much harder work.

Oh God, this is going to turn into one of those whiny posts about my humanity where I alternate between telling myself to get over myself while my finger hovers over the delete key and telling myself that it's okay, other people get whiny too. What's that saying? Oh, yes - misery loves company. You still with me?

Tomorrow I am having company of a different sort. The kind of company that if the smell of disharmony has not vanished it will be okay. I will be okay. She will remind me I am okay. I met this woman, my company for tomorrow, on one of those "sweet Sunday, Sundays" about 14 years ago. Three years into my sobriety, I had just returned home from a visit with my parents. Back then the fallout from those visits brought out every screeching-nastiness within me. This Sunday that screeching happened all the way to church. Ugly, pain filled stuff. The kind where I made the kids' oh-so-human behaviour all about being a (nasty)reflection of me. Where all 5 of you are in a packed Datsun car and you are flailing around trying to smack someone else so that you don't hurt so bad yourself. That kind of nasty.

We made it to church in one piece and most likely pasted on one of those frozen-caught-in-the-headlights-kind-of-smiles of "I'm fine" that we Christians do so well when we are scared that our humanity makes us less worthy than the next human being. But during the time in the service, where one can stand up and ask for prayer, I stood up with tears just a streaming down my face and said, "If not for God I would be dead drunk right now instead of standing here in church." My self loathing was off the scale at that moment. The pain was all the way through my gut. A beer would have been so much easier to down than admitting that the pain was bubbling up and over.

People didn't quite know what to do with that kind of honesty. My sobriety hinges on my honesty so I gotta do it, especially when it ain't pretty. So often during prayer times we ask prayer for someone else. Someone who needs prayer so bad. Someone other than ourself. Have you ever unburdened yourself like that and then had the feeling that people are squirming in their seats because of the tension within them to stand up and with relief shout, "That's me too!" and the urge to get away from you lest their facade breaks and their humanity is revealed? It was one of those kind of mornings.

But this woman (a stranger to me from far away) stood up to talk right after the prayers that day. She works with homeless people in a city across the country, and related the pain I was in to the pain these people are in. It was such a blessed relief to have someone acknowledge that the pain was understandable. And not only understandable, but acceptable. That morning she talked about how some people are at a -6 when they come to Christ and others are at +4 (through no virtue/fault of their own) and yet we especially judge those who we think are still on the negative side of the line instead of rejoicing at the progress. We hold it against each other that we are where we are. We hold it against ourselves too.

After her appearance at church I started writing to this woman several times a year. I would pour out my heart to her. Most times I would be embarrassed that my humanity was spilled across the pages. I often wished I could just bring my scrubbed up image onto the paper and leave it at that. Instead, I felt like my words were those of someone with spiritual whiplash. She witnessed me going off on one tangent after another. It seeemed like my life was just one big crisis. She never held it against me. She just continued to encourage me to grow, to be okay with where I was at. To not beat myself up for where I was on the number line but rejoice that I was progressing. She applauded my honesty. She held up my pain to the Light, trusting the One who could heal it to do so. She believed in me.

And so tomorrow she will come to my little haven in this world and see the real me again. And maybe the perfume of disharmony will still be in the air. I don't know. I do know though, either way, it will be a truly sweet Monday, Monday.

Saturday, July 16, 2005

Rearranging The Furniture...

That's what redoing the blog felt like. Thanks to my oldest son's skill I have a new look. At one point this morning I said, "Oh no, what if I end up liking it better the way it was?" He never even groaned. How's that for being long suffering?

The flowers in the photo up there come from my very own flower garden. Orange flowers are my favourite.

Now, rearranging the soul.....maybe that's what blogging is all about. For me anyway. The good news is that rearranging is always a necessity and always a happening thing. In soul and livingroom and sometimes even in blogland.

Friday, July 15, 2005

Bags of Perspective

There is a gentle mist of much needed rain falling outside. It's one of those days that makes me feel all cuddly like a cat. Content and purring. It means I can rejoice, as the ground rejoices, for the rejuvenation of all creation (you and me included). It's one of those summer days that speaks of pjs and hot chocolate and rest. A day to give myself freedom to simply be.

Living in a house trailer that faces south has made me appreciate the reality of weather. When we lived in a house that was rarely affected by the sun or rain, I could sit on the couch and whine about the clouds and grey sky and feel justified in my dark mood. Today the grey of the sky seems like one big silver lining. Funny what a bit of perspective can do for a person. Doesn't it just make you long for more of that? Bags full of perspective to be given away? Some days I would reach for them and some days I would beat them to a pulp. Argh. Such is my humanity.

But this morning I was reminded of my recent conclusion to give myself a year without expectation (I know a lifetime would be the ideal but I'm not there yet). What would it look like to stop beating myself up for being who I am on the journey and cut myself some slack for where I am on the journey and simply let me be. Then I thought about extending that slack to others. Funny how my body itself almost clenched right up in panic mode and I thought how out of control that would make me feel. Delusions, dear girl, delusions. I am only in control of myself. Thank God, thank God, thank God.

Blogging Tears and Laughter

This post had me in those big gulping tears. Please go read it slowly and take in the truth that it speaks.

This post had me in tears as well.

This post gives life a bit of perspective and maybe a much needed laugh by now.

I love good writing.

Tuesday, July 12, 2005

Bigger or smaller?

Do you ever wonder if blogging(and the internet in general) has made your world bigger or smaller? Seriously. Some days I think about all the people I now feel like I know in cyberspace and yet I look around me and realize the life where I had a girlfriend I phoned daily is gone. Maybe that was only to get through the times of raising little kids and homeschooling and keeping my sanity intact. I don't know. I do shudder to think what it would have been like to have this cyber community around when the kids were little. I think I would have been hunkered down in front of this monitor in an addictive/hang onto my sanity not good kind of way. Because we didn't have a computer back then I was forced to reach out to the community around me for support. Perhaps this is one of those neither/nor issues but where each can broaden the other?

And then I think about how the written word can convey such deep thoughts that are harder to express in person. Is that why we feel like we know one another here in cyberspace? Is it that we skip the pleasantries and get to the guts of the matter sooner, much sooner, than we would if we met in person?

Friday, July 08, 2005

Stages of Letting Go

Oh, I suck at letting go. Only with God's help will I be able to. There sure are times when I want to ditch my 'journey' thinking and am hell bent on 'arriving' on this spiritual plane. And not only that, I want a seat sale for that ticket to arrival gate #7 that says I am a completed work. Finito. Done with learning. Sick of looking within and dealing with what is. I know, I know, not in my lifetime. My kids whisper, "Thank you God."

Tears today. My youngest son went to talk to a trusted family counsellor about how hard it was to juggle his girlfriend and mother at the same time. I trust this woman with my kids. She loved me long and hard until I learned to love myself too. She said the hard things in love over and over until I could hear them. She spoke her words in due season. I know she will tell my kids the truth about me and about them and about the situation. I am grateful for that. When I went to pick up my son I had a few minutes alone with her. She encouraged me to let go. I told her that this girlfriend of his was a mirror of myself at that age. I didn't mean that in any good way. She looked at me lovingly and said,"Maybe she will begin the healing much earlier than you did and you will have a part in that." Instant tears flowed down my face. Snotty faced tears from hearing hard things, said in love. I had wanted to hear that yes, this girl was bad news for my son and he should flee from her. I wanted my way. My will be done. But the tears flowed because I know in my heart that what she said has a ring of truth to it. I wasn't a finished work at 14 and neither is this girl. I am not God. I do not know the whole story. I don't see the whole picture. I muster the courage through my tears to whisper, "Thank you God."

When my son started dating this girl the words of my mother came back to me from the late 1970's. Words I had not thought of for almost 30 years. My older brother phoned home to tell my folks that he was getting married. My mom's reaction when she got off the phone? "He could've done so much better for himself." Ouch, how ugly. It was her own mother-in-law's reaction to my mom and dad's engagement years ago and now history was repeating itself. I was aghast when those kind of thoughts went through my own head and this is with a girlfriend, never mind a wife-to-be. I need to bring these thoughts into the light before a wedding is ever on the horizon. I step over the shame of my thoughts before I can whisper, "Thank you God."

I realized today that once again I am at a stage in parenting that feels like the cut off point is instantaneous. One day they need diapers and bottles and one day they don't. I just never knew that this kind of starting and stopping was one long continuum. And now I am at the stage where one day I was the most important woman in my son's life and "poof", that stage is gone. No warning. And there is a part of me that says I should be whispering "Thank you God" but I'm just not there yet.


My current read by Joan Chittister had this to say last night:
"If simplicity doesn't have more to do with living well than with the number of things we own, it is a virtue only for those who have things to forgo."

That's the thought floating around in my head for the day.

True Here Too

Taken from Michael at Blogin Idiot :
If, as you live your life, you find yourself mentally composing blog entries about it, post this exact same sentence in your weblog.

Monday, July 04, 2005

Head Noise

I am sitting here in quiet. I love the quiet. It helps me process the noise in my head. My head has been so noisy lately.

I find it hard to work through the noise when I have to carry on and do all the things that running a home requires. If I am honest I have been running the household out of a sense of duty, not love, for a long, long time. At least it seems that way to me. I think what it probably means is that I am not feeling appreciated. (Grumble, gripe, bitch and moan.)

The noise in my head lately is mostly personal growth issues for me. If only those growth issues remained in a person's own space and didn't spill over to affect the rest of the world. I think sometimes my family would like that. I know I would. I would save face. I wouldn't have to confront my humanity. How many dozens of times in my lifetime have I wished I could hole up somewhere and get my shit together - or at least get it separated into different piles - and then resume normal living?

I have written before about learning to recognize how I feel. I mean, really feel....not what I think I should feel. Learning to recognize my feelings and express them. Learning to stop rescuing people from reality by stuffing my feelings for the sake of their peace. I wonder when that started for me. I keep dreaming lately of a little girl crying somewhere in the house and eventually the continual crying makes me leave the house. I know that when the time comes that I go find that little girl and embrace her that the crying will stop. All in good time.

This past weekend there was major fallout when my husband came to see what he was going to from reap what he had sowed in an area he has struggled with for most of our marriage. He has come so far in not listening to the lies that he believed about himself since childhood. The lies that helped promote this behaviour. The lies that have lead him to sabotage himself over and over again.

We went through some very hard times together these past two years. Years in which we learned how to drop our defenses and work together as a team. I kept believing in him and he began to believe in himself. I stopped attacking him when he screwed up. We learned to be merciful to one another. We have come so far. One of the benefits of my chronic illness is that I don't have the energy to spend getting pissed off at the world about darn near everything anymore. One of the down sides is that this has made it easy for me to stuff my feelings because I really don't want to have a heart attack from blowing my stack.

My lid blew this weekend. It was not pretty. Man, I can be mean. It used to be such a regular occurence to spew my angry feelings out over my family. It's a rare thing now. I do need to learn how to voice my feelings without all the emotion. I mean, I don't want to be a screaming ninny forever. I am trusting that God will help me learn how to be a grown up when it comes to voicing how I feel.

He came to me this weekend in true humility and owned up to his actions. This man of mine was sorrowful for his actions and how they will affect all of us. In his head his remorse meant it negated any feelings I had about his actions. I have swallowed this reasoning for years. The man is sorry, who am I to tell him how I feel and heap guilt etc. on his frail shoulders and have him back in the pit of self loathing? Especially when voicing my feelings involves screaming and swearing?

I ain't buying it anymore. I told him that just because he was sorry did not mean I couldn't voice my feelings. It came out so bitchy. I wish I was this woman who stated her thoughts coherently and sweetly. Ok, the sweetly part may never happen, but I do have hope that one day I will be able to be calm and honest. So far I'm not. I remind myself that I am on a journey. There will be a day when I can do that. I have hope.

At the end of it all we both sat there and looked at each in a state of shock. He couldn't believe he had fallen back into old habits and I couldn't believe I still had it in me to scream and swear and verbally attack him so viciously.

Last night we sat around the campfire and talked about it. Had he been full of excuses and denying the reality of his actions it would be a different story. But he is facing himself head on. Outloud. Considering my talent and swiftness for verbal demolition of his worth, it took courage. I told him that I still believe in him. I haven't given up on him. I told him that to give up on him would mean giving up on me too. We both have our frailties when it comes to being human. After 23 years together we are very aware of the frailties of the other. And I know that working through them, facing them head on, and believing we are journeying towards becoming fully ourselves means we both have our shit together in a way that no pretty story could ever have.

Friday, July 01, 2005

Trusting The Process

Ever have those thoughts that make you feel like you've been smacked up the side of the head?

I have been doing some reading lately that is answering one of my heart's cries while shaking me to the core.

I've written before about realizing that I have lived my life in my head - detached from my body. I didn't even know that was possible, did you? It's too early to have processed what is happening inside me but I will leave you with this thought that came to me unbidden:

I would rather make a rule that I can break than trust a process.

I am being called to trust the process. At long last I am answering the call.