Rising To The Surface

I'm looking at a reflection of myself in the change room mirror when I hear the click of a change room door across the way.

"Mom, how do I lock the door?"

Her mom tells her and then the little girl wonders aloud how to open the door when she's done. After being reassured that she'll be able to unlock the door the little girl gets on with the business of trying on clothes.

I twirl a bit in the royal blue dress I've tried on as I'm transported back to being six years old. A nurse ushers me into a change room to get into a gown before they take x rays of my broken arm. It's  broken high up on my arm and I'm still in pain from having to change into an appropriate going-to-the-hospital shirt before getting into the car to make the journey. A red shirt. I still remember the pain and confusion as to how I was going to change without help and without it hurting even more. I wanted an adult to help me but no one offered and I was scared to ask.

The nurse tells me to come out when I'm ready except that I can't figure out how to get out of the cubicle. It takes little for me to think I've done something wrong, am in trouble for not finding my way. When the nurse eventually comes back to check on me, she opens the door and laughs at the fear etched in my face.  The x ray table is cold and shiny. Soon my arm is wrapped in a sling, broken too high up for a cast.

Put me in a hospital change room today and a little of that fear rises to the surface even though there are no doors, just curtains, now.

All this goes through my mind as I listen to the mom and daughter talk about separating out the armful of  hopeful clothes into piles of yes, no and maybe. They chit chat back and forth as I change back into my clothes.

I gather all my tried on clothes into a no pile and open the door to my change room. I come face to face with the little girl's mom. I want to thank her for being such a safe mom that her daughter can ask such an innocent question without fear. How overhearing their conversation reminds me that my story is not everyone's story. I know there would be no quick way to explain my comment so instead we smile at each other and go our separate ways.

Ready To Give

"Be prepared at all times for the gifts of God and be ready always for new ones. For God is a thousand times more ready to give than we are to receive."
~ Meister Eckhart

I read the above quote just before heading out to work at Cathechism classes at church today. After only a few hours sleep last night I was not at all enthused about going. My bed felt far too comfortable and my body weary. But I read this and prayed to be open.

We are a very small parish. There are only 3 children who attend Mass with any regularity. So it was wonderful to hear the sounds of over 20 children fill the sanctuary this morning and even greater to see them enthused throughout the day. Many of these children's grandparents or great grandparents were once regular attendees in our parish. Through quarrels and misunderstandings quite a few of their descendants stopped coming and those hard feelings are still festering. Insensitive priests, misunderstandings between parishioners, and who knows what all, lies between the faith of the generations. Only yesterday I heard the story of one family who left the church because of a mean spirited comment made by the priest in the midst of the Mass. A comment he stopped the Mass to make. I don't blame them for walking out 30 years ago and I believe that there comes a day when one has to take responsibility for nursing a grudge for so long.

One of the activities the children did today was to go outside and pick a rock to symbolize how hardened we can let our hearts get. Then they used play dough to make a shape that symbolized a softer heart. During the course of the day I over heard one little girl look resentfully at a group of boys, who were doing their best to make her miserable, and say, "They make my heart so hard." I hear you, sister.

I have my own issues with hardening my heart. Every day is an opportunity to release a bit of that hardness. Today was no exception. After classes were over and I was on to other things, someone commented on one of my glaring character defects while I was in the midst of repeating it for the umpteenth time. I found myself shutting down emotionally lickety split. It wasn't too long before I was sitting in silence and brooding. I thought to myself, "I'm nursing a grudge." My next thought was about how I really had no desire to let go of it....nursing it felt rather good. Then I thought about where nursing a grudge would lead me and I prayed for the courage to let it go.

One of the best pieces of advice I heard in these Joe and Charlie Big Book Study talks was about resentments (step 4). There they say that the original hurt at the hands of someone else - the first time, they did it - no problem - it's only natural and human to feel the hurt. But the second time I replay the situation in my mind, to feel the pain again - I'm doing it to myself now. And every time I replay it I make what they did a little bit worse and what I did a little bit better. This is the way an alcoholic mind works, anyway. The way my mind works.

So I'm in the process of letting go of today's hurt.
Before I shut my eyes tonight I will have worked it through and let it go.
I'm not always so willing to do the next right thing.
But hanging onto my hurt will only harm my recovery.
And I can be stubborn in the weirdest of ways.
Remaining pissed off at someone, while knowing full well that the consequences will do more damage to me than them, is enough motivation today to make the smart choice.
I'm grateful to know that choice exists.
I often don't want to follow through on it.
But I'm still grateful to know it's possible.
Sounds like a gift to me.

Ripped Open

It's the middle of the night and here I am on the page about 6 hours too early. That's going to mess with my day tomorrow. C'est la vie. My compounded tiredness of the week caught up to me and I chose to nap in the early evening. At this moment I'm fully experiencing the relationship between cause and effect.

Yesterday I went to church an hour early and enjoyed sitting in the sanctuary alone. I set up the altar for Mass and then sat in my pew with the lights off. Daylight streamed through the old fashioned single pane windows, keeping me company. It was a very peaceful place to spend time in contemplative prayer. A real stillness settled within me. For once the stillness was bearable and even soothing.

Eventually people started to come in for the Mass. First the priest and then little by little, we gathered. I can always tell when the priest comes in because the first thing he does is turn on the lights. Sometimes I wonder what big city people would think of our relaxed ways out here in the boondocks. The Mass starts when we figure all the regular attenders who are going to show up, do. If that means it starts 5 minutes late then, oh well. If that means there's only three of us, oh well. Today we had 15 or so gathered around the altar for the Eucharist.

One thing I especially appreciate about this priest is his emphasis on a heart relationship with Christ. He often talks about the emptiness of praying, attending Mass, receiving the Sacraments without those things coming out of a heart relationship.

Today, as he was emphasizing that point, I gazed at a statue of the Sacred Heart Of Jesus. Often when I look on it I remember a day when I felt like Jesus told me he wanted my heart open, exposed and touching his. It wasn't a pleasant image - more like my chest had been ripped open and Jesus then grabbed me by the front of my shirt and pulled me close so his exposed heart could mingle with mine. I don't exactly know how the cause and effect of that translates into daily life, but I continue to find that image a comfort, a challenge and something to ponder every time I gaze upon His face.

Of Snotty Watershed Moments

Blessed relief came last night
in a most unexpected way.
Yesterday I'd told my hairdresser I just needed a good cry.
You know the kind that's full of snot and gulps and
so many, many tears.
Except those kind take something to set them off.
I can't just will them to happen.
They bring a relief which
tears welling up and spilling over just can't match.

In my email last night was a long letter from a dear reader.
I've often struggled to write something here
that isn't so inward looking.

Yet there was her letter, telling me how my navel gazing
has affected her journey.
Profoundly.
I leaned my head against the wall, looked out the window
and sobbed my heart out as I read her words.

Snot, gulps and many tissues later
I felt more whole, less hurting.
My own hope restored by her
gift of words.
What earlier had seemed so difficult
was once again manageable.

Today was my turn to chair my home group 12 step meeting.
I went feeling tender,
tears being my barely-under-the-surface side kick.
We started with a few members and within
half an hour the number around the table had doubled.
I had prayed earlier to simply get out of God's way
in the meeting. To open myself to breathe space
in between what was being shared.
To hold each person up to the light.

I spent time before the meeting
litsening to a young man
a stranger to our town
share his story with me.
Blessed before the meeting even started.

During the meeting I was able to share
that my feelings were not a permanent sentence
yet it was a necessary place
for me to be today.
I told them of our mutual friend
who is in palliative care.
Last night he was rushed to the hospital by ambulance.
His days numbering less than a handful.
Some there know him as well.

After the meeting ended
there were many hugs
offers of coffee or lunch.
They sensed I needed companionship
in order to gain strength to go to the hospital.

10 minutes later we were breaking bread together
and a while after that one of them came with me
to the hospital to visit our friend.

He was barely coherent
not recognizing all who know him.
I sat for a while just watching him breathe
I went to his bedside and spoke to him
his eyes fluttering open
unable to form words with his mouth
though he tried.
I told him of the medallion
yet sensed he had not the strength to hold it.

I met his wife
on the elevator
and pressed his 30 year medallion
into her palm.
She said it had come just in time
as she closed her fingers over it.
She said his 25 year medallion was always in his pocket
and he'd hoped years ago, when he first fell ill with
another serious illness, to make it that far.
Now here was 30.

As I left the hospital and walked to my van
I suddenly realized
what a privilege it was
just to be able to walk.
Despite my weariness I had a flutter of
wanting to jump up and down a bit
because I can move my legs at will.
Just a few days ago my friend still had that ability.
Last night that ability ended for him.
He is bed bound now until his angels carry him home.

Some days all I need is perspective.
Let me rephrase that.
Every day all I need is perspective.
It doesn't make life's problems any less painful
they still need to be addressed
and embraced
but it reminds me that whatever
is happening
it's temporary.
Temporary can feel permanent
especially in the moment
but it isn't.
It just is what it is.
Today I can accept that
with a little more hope
than I had yesterday.

Awareness

A new week.
A new day.
A new beginning.

Over the weekend I realized I was trying to hold in my grasp the feeling that life is more than good. As if clutching it tight was the same as the power to make it last forever. As I became aware of what I was trying to do I knew it's more important to accept reality, whatever it is, for this day only. My worth is not dependent on my state of mind. My attitude however, is fully mine to choose. My humanity a reality that's better to accept than deny.

In 10 days, God help me, I'll be celebrating one year of abstinence from sexual addiction. Sometimes I get upset that recovery can only ever be a one day at a time reality. A year ago I didn't decide I'd be abstinent forever but I hoped this time I would be. It wasn't long before I ran smack dab into a for this day only reality check. I find myself cussing a bit about that from time to time. Usually when I am in the midst of struggling and resisting the urge to chuck all recovery out the window. This 24 hours is all I have to deal with. Wrapped in God's grace it's possible to live in this day only.

Living in recovery is akin to living in awareness. I still have these ideas of good and bad feelings and find myself repressing the ones I deem bad. On the weekend I found myself telling dearest one and youngest son I wasn't mad about a situation that involved me setting boundaries that affected them. I must have said it three or four times in a 5 minute conversation. Methinks thou does protest too much surfaced in my mind like a drowning man coming up for air. Ya think? The more I protested I wasn't mad the more I realized oh yes I was. Why was that so difficult to admit? Because I still see being mad as being less than perfect and a bad thing. Oh, this is a journey Hope, stop getting your knickers in a knot about the destination. I need those reminders. They help me relax, take a deep breath and accept reality. Reality often means accepting my humanity instead of trying to outrun it.

Enjoy your journey today.