Saran Wrapped

If a person could caress a house that is what I would do. Wrap my arms wide around the whole house and caress it. Thank it for being such a healing haven. Thank it for the journey.

I just came back from saying a final goodbye to the house we lived in for the past 5 years. Tomorrow is the possession date for the new owners and I wanted one last chance to go and say goodbye. I feel a profound sadness. I am having a hard time wrapping myself around the reality that this is home now and that place isn't. I think about my son, when he was three years old, after we had moved 750 miles across the land...he used to sit on the front steps of the new place and tell me it would be okay if only we had brought the old house with us. Sixteen years later I understand that. Finally have allowed my feelings to surface long enough so that I can say, "I feel that way too,son."

I start to tell myself all the 'grateful' things I should be focussing on instead and this time I just can't follow through. I have done that so many times in a row that I've lost count. Shoved all the real feelings down in order to make life more manageable for me and those around me. I won't do it anymore. Not that I will never be grateful for the miracle that this new place is, but I know I need the freedom to feel the pain filled thoughts first. I need to let them be until I can let go of them in due time - instead of prematurely like so many times before. Funny (not really) how the Bible is so full of the whole range of human emotions and somehow I think to be a good example of what it means to follow Christ that I have to distance myself from those feelings I classify as 'bad.'

I've so rarely given myself permission to let my feelings just be. I need to do this before I can think on the gratitude. For the pain is real. It makes me wonder if gratitude - real gratitude -is a much scarcer commodity than people make it out to be. And I COULD write you out a list of things I am grateful for but I haven't learned yet how to feel both the pain and gratitude without feeling like a fraud.

My daughter told me last night that living this journey is really simple and really hard. All she needs to do is be honest and honesty is the hardest thing to do. That the journey isn't about rules and regulations. It isn't about measuring up or looking good. It's about being honest.

I walked around the house and thought about why it is so hard to let go. I thought about people and how no matter how much 'better' the new place might be it's the emotional ties to what was that make a person feel like they have saran wrapped themselves to the very house itself. Trying to unwrap that stuff can look like a real mess.

My daughter is right. It's not easy to be honest. Not about this kind of stuff anyway. I just mistyped the word 'way' as 'wary' and smiled as I realize, "Yes, wary. That is how it feels to be honest sometimes. This time." As I type all I can hear echoing in my brain are platitudes about gratitude. It makes me feel ungrateful because I am being honest.

I can feel those around me tensing up because I am feeling the pain. I realize today that I need to step back and let them own their feelings. How often have I stuffed my pain so that - on the surface - life looks normal. People heave a sigh of relief when I do. I can easily think it is my job to make it so. But it's not. It's my job to be honest.

"And They Gave Me No Comfort At All"

There are days when I say bring back the paper and pens and write the old fashioned way. Ban the keyboard. Kill the idiot whose sole job it is to go around cyberspace and steal the written word. Today is one of those days. Argh. Earlier I had written a post - pushed the button to save it as a draft, so I could mull it over before I posted it, - and *poof* it was gone into cyberspace - it's out there being held hostage.

Then I read in my current book courtesy Ragamuffin Diva :"I died in my opinions. And they gave me no comfort at all." I had to laugh at myself. I DO like my opinions. In the seclusion of my head they oft give me the greatest comfort. Like a horse, despite the bit in its mouth, I try to run away with them. I try not to spout them from my soapbox (what exactly is a blog for then?) but I still have them and caress them and keep them company. I'm not saying having opinions is wrong - it's a real good thing to know what a person thinks and believes. But I do like (need) a reminder every now and again not to take my opinions so seriously. I think I'll hit the "publish post" button now!

Be Mine

I hope I never get over the surprise. I hope I never take it for granted and I hope I never assume that when it happens it somehow means I am 'better than.' I can take just about any gift given by God and preen. I am such a fickle and fallen human being. I can rest in that Truth. It's okay. Every time that I feel God (speaks) to my heart I am surprised. Every single time. Maybe because there is no rhyme or reason to it. No magic formula that makes it happen. It always feels like one of those shocks I used to practice in sixth grade - I would rub my feet really hard over the carpet in the school library and then reach out my finger to touch some unsuspecting soul. A jolt. I am sure there are times I nearly jump in the pew. I struggle with thinking who am I that He would speak to me? Jeepers just about deleted the previous sentence. When I do sense His word spoken into my heart I am most often reduced to tears.

Tonight at Mass I was kneeling and praying and as soon as I told God I was here, speak to me - the words, "Be Mine" came into my head. And with it came the picture of a rocky hillside. I thought to myself that the road ahead is hard and I shrunk a bit inside from it. A tiny footpath wound its way through the white rocks with Jesus ahead of me. When I stumbled and cried out He turned and held out His hand to me. A little while later the words "You are Mine" came into my head and I got the distinct impression that there is a difference between the two phrases. That yes, I am His but 'Being His' is my choice.

A Cheery Perspective

I spent most of my day cleaning at the old place. After I have washed walls and cleared the house of everything it never fails to make me wish that I could just move back in and start new in the old place. Never mind that all my stuff is at the new place - strewn hither and yon. Order will come together there but not yet. As I washed walls today I thanked God for the years of healing that had happened in that house. We moved there five years ago in the midst of my recovery from a nervous breakdown. There is a beautiful view from the livingroom and kitchen - a healing view of a valley and on some sunset evenings, on the distant horizon, I could make out the outline of a mountain. I now live down the hill from that view and look up to small hills covered with trees or tilled fields - a different view but a beautiful one too. Seems like that is what life is like - we all need to take a different view now and then. To see the same scenery from a different perspective. I am coming to appreciate it.

I came home muscle sore and weary to walk in the garden. Several hundred, if not five hundred(I kid you not) violets with their cheery faces greeted me like long lost friends. Just before this move fell into place I bought myself a tea set that had violets on it. The violets in the garden always have their faces towards the south. I stand there and just grin back at their cheery faces. Some days I stand behind them and see what they see. Differing perspectives are healing too.

Yesterday I spent most of the day pulling weeds in the flower garden. Ten wheelbarrow loads later it looked much better.(The boys hauled the weeds away - no way I could pull weeds AND push wheelbarrows!) The soil was so damp from an inch of rain earlier in the week that the grass and dandelions pulled up with little effort. I sat on a stool in the garden knowing I would pay big time physically for working so hard but at the same time I was doing something I love in a healing surrounding. Later it took pain killers to move me from supper table to couch but it was so worth it. Flowers have always been a healing thing for me. Nourishing to my soul. My grandparents had flowers galore and their home was a haven for me as a child. A safe place in my otherwise unstable life. Tea at 10 and 3 - flowers and birds and tidbits of their day often the topic of conversation. My grandma had evening scented stocks in her flower garden one year and every year for more than I can remember I have planted a package of these flowers in memory of her.

These past two years I haven't been able to do much with flowers. I told my husband earlier this spring that if all I could manage this summer was to putter in my flowers - if it took up all my spoons every day - that it would be worth it because I need to be doing something that nourishes my soul.

The summer I had my nervous breakdown I let every last one of my flowers die. I have come to know since then that when I let the plants die around me that something is dying inside me too. After my breakdown one of my close friends told me she knew something was seriously wrong when I let my flowers die. Despite my physical limitations I am thrilled this year the urge to putter in my flowers is so strong. It is a good, good thing.

Moving Day

My thoughts these days are on moving and how hard it is to relocate even if it is only 2 miles down the road. I told my daughter today that I felt like a visitor in someone else's home except all my stuff was there. LOL Aren't I glad I don't get visitors like that! I wonder if moving is harder the older one gets. Makes me think of people who move from home to a nursing home or places like that. Especially if they have lived somewhere their whole life. It must be doubly hard.

We won't have phone or internet at the new place until the 20th so my posts will be few. My thoughts, however, never shut off. Not sure if that is a good thing or not!

Wading Through The Waters

I am still wading through the waters of learning to think for myself. Some days it feels like I am wearing hip waders full of water while I slog through a waist high stream. But I am learning to delve deep and find out how I feel about things. Even when it might make me look stupid and ill informed. For so many years (well nearly all 42 of them so far)I took the temperature of the crowd around me and tried to figure out what the right thing to think and feel was and followed suit. Well, okay, I could only do that so long before I didn't fit the crowd anymore and I went looking for a new crowd to fit into. Maybe not physically but mentally at least. I was always looking for the winning team. It seemed much easier than stopping long enough to think for myself.

The desire to own my beliefs has been strong for several years now. How DO I see things? I find myself with the freedom to change my mind these days. Instead of having answers that are wrought in steel I have questions that are written on the wind. I'd like to say I am always comfortable with the status quo but that would be lying. That much I know about how I feel and what I think. It's awful darn tempting to go back to the old way of living life. Except it wasn't much living.

That reminds me of a friend whose mom once said to her grandchildren while they were playing dolls on her livingroom floor: "Girls, this is a livingroom. You can't play here. This is a LIVINGroom." I remember sitting in her prissy perfect livingroom and wondering just what kind of living was going on there if children weren't even allowed to play.

Somehow I think that paints a picture of my journey. So scared of what it might mean to really live that I squelch anything that resembles life. So scared of not having the right answer when it comes to things controverial. So scared of not being right. About it all.

For example, for years I equated the word feminism with being bad or wrong. I heard that word and I immediately put up my walls and shut out the person brandishing the feminism sign. Never engaged my brain in the equation. Just blocked out the whole thing. For fear of being wrong or looking stupid. Or being attacked verbally for not supporting the party line. In my head there was this picture of tough broads who didn't need a man in their life. Who didn't want to appear to be feminine in any way. Who would fight for their rights even if it meant stomping on the dignity of men. Then I figured out that feminism, in its original form, was the freedom to be what you were created to be. Instead of having a certain answer about the way it should be, it was more answering the call of YOUR life. Including the call to motherhood and domesticity. Understanding that feminism meant to honour each other in our calling made me much less afraid of the word. I hate how we continue to make enemies of those who could be our pals simply because we are threatened by their playground.

And now I find that creeping into my thinking about just about anything Christian. It tempts me to tiptoe on the outside of the crowd to take the temperature again and skip the thinking for myself and take someone else's word for it. I don't want to be an outsider and yet I struggle so mightily with being inclusive myself. I get jittery when a new kind of 'right thinking' gets touted as the best thing going at the expense of how others might see it differently. I have played leap frog, jumping from one "right thinking" bandwagon to the next throughout my journey.

What I really mean is that I get uncomfortable these days when anyone in any setting has to be right at the expense of the dignity of others seen or unseen. I get most uncomfortable when I am the guilty party. A warning bell goes off in my head as a reminder that being right can never be THE answer to everything. I keep getting this picture in my head of Jesus asking "Do you love?" For so long I thought He was demanding that I have it all figured out. Be ready to have an answer to everything. Ya right.

It makes me want to put down my weapons and learn what it really means to live and love. I don't want to be keeper of right answers anymore. Don't get me wrong it doesn't mean I don't think there are any right answers. Just the older I get the list gets shorter and shorter. I keep dropping long held, fiercely fought answers like ticker tape out the window.

Mercy

I have always hated Mother's Day. Every year it's been a reminder of what I didn't have in a mother and also what I haven't been as a mother. As I type this I realize I don't dread tomorrow. I didn't know that until just right now. Wow - that is a first. A good thing. Healing sneaks in sometimes unawares. I can face tomorrow and be okay with where I am as a mother. I can be okay with my own mother. Wow and double wow.

Motherhood has so often felt like such an icky thing. There's just no perfection to it. I read a statement this past week that just delights me though. It said: "You don't have to be perfect to be wonderful." It still makes me grin to read that statement. I think I am beginning to believe that truth for my very own self. I hope one day I can look at own mother and believe it for her too.

I grew up with an abusive mother. For so many reasons she was what she was. Raised by a mother who wasn't nurtured - who then found it easier to nurture animals than children. Married so young and a mother so soon. Breast cancer with 5 children at home, the youngest only three. Disillusionment. Babies close together. Babies dying. Babies born too soon. She wanted to be a perfect mother. She wanted to be wonderful. I know that. She gave me the impression that she was perfect. How confusing as an abused child to be given the message that your own mother thinks she is mothering so well. She was doing it better than her own mother. She wasn't perfect. She wasn't wonderful either though. Darn, I want to write that she was wonderful, but in crucial ways that I needed her to be wonderful she wasn't.

Every year picking out a card for her on this day is really hard. I read all the sappy cards and wonder if there is a mother alive who lives up to the drivel. Does every mother read their cards and want to put up their hand and say, "yes, but..."? Or is it only me? I grew up wondering if my mom loved me. Stood outside her bedroom door too scared to knock and ask her if she loved me cause I couldn't take the chance that her answer would be 'no'. She betrayed me. She was the queen of double bind statements. I know she is harder on herself than I could ever be about her mistakes.

And I wonder if I am growing more merciful towards her because my own day of reckoning as a mother is coming. That sounds so shallow and self serving. As if I must hurry up and forgive her and say all is well quick before my own kids hold my mistakes against me. As if working through it all and arriving at 'perfection' will be any kind of insurance. I did, after all, follow in her footsteps. I was an alcoholic and abusive mother too. Part of me wants to protest and say that at least I got help. Sobered up. Changed. Did the hard work of healing. But the reality is that I inflicted wounds. Deep ones. In my own mothering and the mothering I received as a child I hold up to the Light that God is bigger than it all.

There is no easy way to tie up this post. And maybe that is simply the tension that mothering brings. It is so normal to want it all wrapped up in a pretty package. I want the pretty package. I want it all held up to the Light and dealt with. But I don't necessarily want the purifying process that goes along with it. To live with the tension between intention and reality is hard. But it must be. Lord have mercy.

Different Paths

Sometimes on this journey I feel like I am slow to 'get it'. It's probably no different than any other stage of the journey, it's just I've never been 'here' before. Knowing others have been sometimes has me wanting to know it all before going through it. I'm working on how unrealistic that is.

Today I was helping my daughter get her belongings from her dorm room to the van. She was right behind me when we took two separate paths across the lawn to the van. Into my head popped this sentence, "We are on two different paths." That thought stopped me in my tracks for a bit. It was about so much more than belongings getting from one place to another.

Tagged

Ok, so daisymarie tagged me in a blog game. Here's the deal: I have to pick 5 or more of the following occupations and post my answers here. Then, I tag 3 other people to post their answers on their blog. Got it? Sounds like fun, huh?

Here goes....The "questions":If I could be a scientist...If I could be a farmer...If I could be a musician...If I could be a doctor...If I could be a painter...If I could be a gardener...If I could be a missionary...If I could be a chef...If I could be an architect...If I could be a linguist...If I could be a psychologist...If I could be a librarian...If I could be an athlete...If I could be a lawyer...If I could be an inn-keeper...If I could be a professor...If I could be a writer...If I could be a llama-rider...If I could be a bonnie pirate...If I could be an astronaut...If I could be a world famous blogger...If I could be a justice on any one court in the world...If I could be married to any current famous political figure...

1. If I could be a librarian I would pay special attention to the children who loved to live in the library. I would take an interest in their lives and what books they liked to read. I would try to be someone who made a difference in their life. Libraries were safe and special places for me when I was a kid. I managed to read almost every book in the youth section of the library when I was a teen.

2. If I could be a professor I would encourage my students to think outside the box. To look at life through a different lense. To not be afraid of a differing point of view. I'd want to be a professor of a subject I had a passion for. I'd want to communicate that passion effectively enough that it was caught by my students.

3. If I could be a doctor I would listen to my patients. I wouldn't pretend I knew it all. I'd teach my patients to listen and trust what their body was telling them. I would know that healing comes in many forms, not all of them medical.

4. If I could be a musician I would play the piano. I would feel the music so deeply that it resonated in my very being. It would come across as if my soul was playing the music not just my fingers. Playing the piano would be an expression of worship.

5. If I could be a missionary I would honour the culture of the people I was working with. I would not expect them to become some north american version of a Christian.

Here are three people I would like to tag in blogland.....Michael and Ginger and Matt.

Transitions

Moving day is coming soon. There's a lot of stuff to get rid of before that happens. A garage sale is on the agenda for the weekend. I'm not sure, with day time high temperatures forecast at just above the freezing mark, that the turnout will be any good but I am willing to gamble on it. It helps that my neighbour just down the road is having a farm auction the same day.

The home we are moving into is about a third smaller than our current one. It's forcing me to sort and toss. I look at my possessions and ask myself if I can live without this or that item. I am finding more things I can let go than I ever thought possible. I am just as sure there would be some head scratching as to the 'whys' of this choice over that one. I feel a bit like the Irishman in Braveheart who said, "It's my island!" It's my stuff.

If I find one more container full of papers to shred though I may be tempted to make a nest in the shreds and hibernate for a bit. The weather seems to indicate that would be a good choice.

As I sort and pack I think about the elderly who are often forced to make the transition from having a lifetime of stuff whittled down to keeping just the most precious of them. Letting go must be hard. I wonder why we wait until then to keep only those things we can't or don't want to let go of. I think then of the final letting go of all earthly possessions. I find myself getting a tad cynical and wanting to chuck it all right now.

But I know the attachment is really in my mind....that there is nothing wrong with having stuff and nothing wrong with being attached to it. I do wonder when does it become too much stuff. Too much attached. Maybe there is no such thing as too much of either.

I think of my in- laws who watched passively as some of their most precious possessions were thrown away as 'junk' by some of their children. What did it feel like to have a lifetime of hard work dismissed as a truck load of garbage dump material? What IS the point of accumulating just to let go of it all in the end?

I used to attach a spiritual signifigance to material possessions. The less you had the more spiritual you were. I took pride in having nothing. I was so far from spiritual. I was 35 before I admitted how much I liked pretty things. Admitted it was okay to not only like them but have them too. Admitted how much being surrounded by pretty things nourished my soul. I'm not willing to live a spartan life anymore. Or at least not willing to attach a spiritual price tag to it.

I will continue to sort and pack and toss away. I imagine it's the journey we are all on. In all areas of life. Sort, pack and toss away. Around and around the cycle goes until the final transition.

Spoonless in Canada

I'm just too weary to blog. Never ending days of packing for a move and not enough spoons to go around. I'm not taking the time to sit and reflect. It seems one thing follows another and the day is done and yet so little seems done. This too shall pass. We have gone from getting an eviction notice to signing preliminary papers on our own little farm in just over 3 weeks. 10 days ago it looked like we may have to change communities entirely plus move from country to town. God did a miracle and we are only moving 2 miles down the road. And for the first time in my life I am beginning to wrap my head around the thought that things happen and I am no longer going - "if I do this.." then "God will(must) do that". Grace is such a hard thing to grasp. It is much easier to think that God does certain things in our lives because of our actions. Phooey. I don't know about you but if it really worked that way I'd be in big trouble.

Vulnerability

Falconbrother is one of my favourite people who post at the Brennan Manning Message Board. He always gives me food for thought. I love how he says it straight. Here is one of his most recent posts on the board about vulnerability. Enjoy!

"It seems to me that Christ calls us to be weak (vulnerable) so that He will shine through.

It’s in the honesty of vulnerability that people see the love that was proclaimed. It is in that brokenness that lives are healed. The thing is, it’s like others have already said here, it’s trusting enough to disconnect from the outcomes.

Vulnerability is a testimony. Don’t you think? It’s saying “this is what’s happening in my life. Do what you will with it.” Then, it allows the other person to be gracious or an #######. In graciousness they learn to become more gracious and steeped in joy. In assholeness their inner struggle is exposed to the light of day (it’s the “you don’t have to tell a fat man he’s fat” theory). Either way, if done in the spirit, it is a gift.

It’s like a law or something. When we give we receive. To bless another with our honesty often reaps blessings far beyond what we gave.

There’s this lady in our church, she died yesterday. But, on Sunday she stood up and talked about her fears and she cried and just got honest before the whole congregation. We all cried with her and that moment became infected with the Holy Spirit. We didn’t know she would die so soon. Neither did she. However, in her vulnerability seeds have been planted. Some will grow and be harvested.

The beauty of a person is, in my opinion, is found in their tender use of honest expression of community and tenderness. As long as we defend our mask and neurotic need for ego control issue crap we work counter to the efforts of the ministry of the Holy Spirit."

The Wind Blows

Such weird thoughts come into my head at Mass. Sometimes I wonder if God wants me there just because I seem to get quiet enough to listen. And some days I wonder if I just truly make it all up and have this split personality where one of them is a pseudo God who whispers weird thoughts in my head.

Yesterday at Mass I was kneeling after communion and as I felt the breeze others made on my face as they went past me back to their pews this thought came into my head, "The wind blows where it will Cheryl. Even in ********." Which was the name of the church where my husband and boys go. I immediately thought of the Holy Spirit and how it is described in the Bible as wind. Point taken, whoever You are.

The Spirit of It All

I remember how shocked I felt several years ago when a friend of mine talked about the spirit of a passage in the Bible as opposed to only the words. Could a person actually do that? Wasn't that dangerous? Wouldn't it lead into error? It was a totally new concept to me. Imagine sifting the Word for the Spirit of it all. Scary (and scarry) stuff. You have to read great chunks of it to get a glimpse of the Spirit of it all. A snippet here and there just won't do it.

I was reminded of all this as I was reading the recent posts and comments at both the Boar's Head Tavern and the Internet Monk. Knee jerk reactions to only the words and no room for the spirit in it all is what I see happening. Snippets read here and there will not do it here either. And how we all long to have people get to know us well enough so that they can read between the lines of what we say and see our spirits.

I've read these two sites for several years now. It may be an illusion but after a while a person thinks they might know the posters just a bit. Be able to predict the kinds of posts and comments they will make. What impresses me is the spirit in which it is all done. Controversies abound. Differences of opinions. It doesn't detract from the unity of spirit. Yes, there's occasional slap up the side of the head. Some days I imagine I hear "what a jerk" whispered under someone's breath but done only by people who know they also look in the mirror and say the same thing. Some days in my imagination I see a dimly lit pub with the clinking of glasses and an occasional "here, here" being proclaimed. I watch as one of them leaves the pub. The rest may talk yet they truly wish each other well. More than the need to prove a point is the desire to get the point of it all.

Who would have thought you could find the church in a pub? Not in my reality. But to see it you have to be willing to discern the Spirit in it all.

Can It Be Mine?

Last night in the candle lit darkness I was listening to
this CD by Andrew Peterson and wondering what it looks like to have joy in every circumstance. What does it look like? Is it possible? Is it desirable? Can it be mine? There are so many times that by the light of candles I can be full of what feels like total peace. Turn on the lights and the reality of life hits and *poof* the peace disappears like a genie down a lamp. I want the peace in the dark to match the light of day. I used to have a little saying in my purse that said something like this: "Everyone is agreeable if nothing happens to be annoying him at the moment." Oh, for those moments!

What does it look like to be content when life's circumstances aren't what you wish they were? How does one juggle being real and truthful with contentment? I think of those smiling faces of little ones in third world countries, ones who have nothing but the joy in their hearts. How does one get that? What does it look like to truly "Let Go and Let God"?

I have the feeling that there has been more times than I care to admit where I stuffed my reality down inside so that I could appear agreeable to life's cirucmstances. I want the joy to be the real thing.

All these thoughts are going through my mind lately because we are at the edge of a major life change and I don't want to go through it. But because I have to anyway, I want to go through it well. I want to make the best of what looks like a bad situation but I don't want to be pollyanna-ish about it without it being the real thing. I think of the saints of the spiritual life that I admire and I know that their contentment and peace did not hinge on circumstances being what they wanted them to be but in spite of them. Last night I told God, "Ok, I want to be like that."

The Sweeping Arms of Grace

Do you ever wonder what grace looks like? I think in my mind it is like a huge weeping willow tree - arms of grace sweeping the earth, sheltering us all. Today I wanted to kick someone out of its arms until they could smarten up and be what I wanted them to be. I long to be a gracious person. Someone who is so secure in whose she is that she has no problem extending that grace to all, especially those who she doesn't want to be gracious to. I so ain't there yet.

Today was too hard to be Catholic in a sea of Protestants. That is too general of a statement. Not totally fair. Maybe I just make too big of a deal of it all. See in my mind I feel like I should be able to extend grace when I am getting spiritually puked on. Or hand out baby wipes at least. I would tell you all the details of a private conversation I had today but I know my motive would just be soliciting sympathy for my point of view. There is just so much misunderstanding amongst believers and it is unnecessary. We don't need to focus on it yet I find myself doing it too. I want to demand grace for myself yet not give it. Ugh.

Pieces of hope for this Hope gal

It is such a joy to read posts from other bloggers that give me hope. I tend to see the dark side of everything first and have to really stretch to see the light. Here are a few of my favourite recent posts from other bloggers that give me hope. Enjoy.

Amy over at amy loves books has a beautiful post about hope on March 31st that brought tears to my eyes. Her students are richly blessed to have her in their corner. Teachers like Amy are the kind that got me through high school and some pretty rough times.

Crystal from digital paper writes the most beautiful, heartfelt poetry.

Beth from file this ... has two recent posts here and here. I love an honest girlfriend even when I don't.(You know what I mean)

These are just a few of the recent gems I have come across in the past few days. The blogs listed on the side of my blog are just a few of the blogs I read daily. Some are common listings on several blogs and some are unique. I glean something from them all.

Jockeying For Position

I don't know if this ever happens to you but it happens to me. Something tells me I should rejoice but to cringe and slink down in my seat is my first reaction. Truth shall make me free but first it shall fill me with dread.

A few Sundays ago I was sitting in church - the one we have gone to for many years. I've explained before that I am a recent convert to Catholicism but still go to this Protestant church with my husband and boys. Some Sundays I just wish the Protestant pastor could hear the homily at the Catholic church so he could hear how clearly the gospel is being preached. Some Sundays I hear very similar sermons between the two churches. Some Sundays they are miles apart in spirit and truth. Anyway this is getting off topic.

So, a few Sundays ago I was in church and all of a sudden this clear vision comes creeping over my shoulder and plants itself in my head. You know those times when you feel like Truth has snuck up on you but it is too late to block it? There is no delete button. And as often as I would like to think of Truth as spam well, some could argue that is the problem today - people think Truth is spam and delete it before they consider it for what it is. I can welcome Truth much more readily in my life when it appears to be about someone else and about just about anything else but myself.

I was sitting there when Truth showed me that I have spent my whole life, spiritually and otherwise, jockeying for position. I am rarely content to be, as I am, right now. Like being in a jostling crowd, I am constantly trying to jockey for position. Ugh.

I don't know what kind of vision you have of yourself as an old person. I know I want to be warm hearted and wise. I want the kind of countenance that shows I have learned to love well and freely. A countenance that draws people in and points them to Him. I want to become all that I was created to be.

Truth is jockeying for position in my life so that I can become all I was created to be.

Out of Spoons

I have posted about the Spoon Theory before and I am not trying to sound like a stuck record but this is the second day in a row where I have woken up with maybe 2 spoons for the day. The day after tomorrow the boys and I leave for an 8 hour trip south for more medical appointments. Thank goodness the boys can both drive. Whatever is going on with me these past few days it is involving my lungs which are compromised already.

On a cheerier note we have two new lambs in the barn today. I used up a spoon going out to check on the labouring mammas. It was worth it.

Self Absorption

If I sound self absorbed lately, I am. If I don't sound self absorbed,
I sure feel like I am. And for once I don't think it is necessarily a
bad thing. Well, maybe for the people right close to me but you out
there can just click onto another page while I stay here in my self
absorbed circle. Actually for the people closest to me it isn't
necessarily a bad thing either. This time it is going to lead somewhere better. Wow. There have been times when I have felt self absorbed and being like that eventually feels icky. Like I want to distance myself from myself and be someone else or at least visit a different part of me for a while. Let me explain.

Yesterday we went shopping. I listened to my self talk and was a bit surprised at how much I put myself at the bottom of the list. Somewhere along the path of life I learned that to have no needs was safest. How much energy I have spent spewing the anger outwards at others for rejecting myself. Looking for a target. Yesterday showed me that either I take responsibility for putting myself at the bottom of the list or else live with an angry spirit forever. It's my choice.

I think there are patterns in our lives that keep getting repeated
until we get a clearer image of the pattern and how uncomfortable a fit it is. Like repeated episodes bring the pattern into clearer focus and eventually we can see the picture as it really is. The once comfortable pattern becomes visible for the imposter it is.

I see the pattern clearly now and I don't like it. I don't want to try and fit into it anymore. And I am the only one who can do anything about it. I see that the more I refuse to acknowledge my needs the more self absorbed I get. There are times when I feel like a toddler who is just learning the word "mine".

For a while now I have been tellling my husband that I just need enough
money every month to get a haircut, buy some clothes and have a little
spending money. He is not a hard man to get along with. He has
always been generous. But when payday comes and I see myself refusing to admit my needs it tells me something is out of whack. With me. And lately I have found myself making snide comments to him when he has come home with some agreed upon purchase that is for him. The anger I feel that he is free to have needs and fulfill them and I am not brings out the worst in me. I can't make too many of those snide comments though before I start hearing my mother's voice coming out of my mouth and it forces me to examine just what is sticking in my craw. I could see yesterday that I have a pattern of wanting to be a martyr and when given the chance to be free of it I hang onto it instead.

Yesterday I listened to my inner dialogue as I crossed stuff off my to-buy list.
The stuff that was important to me and only me. And how much time
I waste waiting for someone else to notice I have crossed this stuff
off my list - even when the list is only in my head.

I no longer want to be the martyr of the month every month. Or any month for that matter. And I do plan on doing something about it. At long last.