Places We Didn't Want To Go

"The comedy of grace is that it so often comes to us as loss, sorrow, and foul-smelling waste; if it came as gain, gladness, and sweetly scented flowers, we would not be grateful. We would, as we are wont to do, take personal credit for the unwarranted gifts of God. It is easy to be attracted to the idea of grace - which one dictionary defines as 'divine love and protection bestowed freely on people' - but much harder to recognize this grace when it comes as pain and unwelcome change. In the depths of our confusion and anger, we ask: "How can this be God's love? Where is God in this disaster?" For grace to be grace, it must give us things we didn't know we needed and take us to places where we didn't want to go. As we stumble through the crazily altered landscape of our lives, we find that God is enjoying our attention as never before. And maybe that's the point. It is a divine comedy."
~ Kathleen Norris in Acedia & Me(emphasis added)

I'd written a whole slew of thoughts to accompany this quote. Then I deleted them. Then I hit the pubish post button. Then I came back to write some more.

I find myself in much need of grace today. This afternoon I'll force myself to have a conversation that I feel not one ounce of courage to have. Earlier this week I told Fr. Charlie I'd have that conversation or would stop bitching to him about this person. Then, to lighten the atmosphere, I told him that I had to have the conversation otherwise I was going to end up in Reconciliation confessing that I'd told this person to fuck right off. And that, with my luck and the offending person's lack of comprehension of the English language, they wouldn't even understand what I'd told them and the wrath would be wasted.

And that would never do.

I know the big girl, sober,grown up thing to do is have the conversation. I will feel better and will go from being reactive to proactive. And I'll have avoided being mean and nasty, too.
I will have done my part and then hopefully can let go of it.
Fear has held me back from having the conversation.
I wish I could elaborate on that part of it here, but I can't.
This person's presence in my life is making me come face to face with some deep rooted fears and so, in that way, they are a gift. Hopefully in time, I'll be grateful for that.

Let There Be Light

A new day.
I laid in bed this morning for a while and prayed.
I feel really calm.
And full of hope.
Whatever life throws my way today
I don't have to handle all on my own.
It's good to know that.

I'm headed to town for my AA meeting.
The roads are in decent condition.
I have no inkling to go into the mall.
For some reason all the holiday decorations are driving me batty.
They're disorientating.
Is that even a word?
All the decorations and hype in the stores make me feel dizzy.

I am however, looking forward to the beginning of Advent.
I'm really glad that the first day of Advent is the last day of NaNoWriMo.

A Slow, Demanding Generosity

I'm turning down the corners on favourite pages of the library book I'm currently reading. Wouldn't that get a harsh look from my grade three teacher if she could see me now! The other night as I was reading I realized I should have a stash of sticky notes by my side. My grade three teacher would have loved sticky notes.

Here's a bit that got my attention last night as I read:

"'What God does in us always produces humiliy,' writes the Carmelite Ruth Burrows. "All that comes from self, be it delight or suffering, tends to boost the ego. She regards any authentic religious experience as entailing 'a slow, demanding generosity,' one that does not short-circuit within us but flows outward naturally, until what we believe becomes what we do. The thrust of many self-help authors,however, seems to be to assure people that the ultimate goal of their spiritual practice is to reveal what good and deserving people they are."

As I read this quote I thought of the handful of times when I was greatly humbled by the work of God in my life. Times when I was keenly aware that the change within had nothing whatsoever to do with me but with God. Times when those things that I cannot change on my own strength were somehow different. It always feels like a miracle when God does for me what I cannot do for myself. I often wish that feeling of humility would last forever, it is such a softening and openness, of walls down and brokeness, but soon I am back into my own ego driven life. The above quote does give me great hope, though. I do believe that one day I won't even take so much notice of my life but let it be as it is and trust that as I open myself to God, God continues to work behind the scenes. The outcome in some ways, is none of my concern.

Pages Of Life

"Writing fiction is like being an alcoholic. You create a crisis and immerse yourself in what happens next."

There was collective laughter yesterday when I shared that piece of information before the AA meeting started. My home group is being incredibly supportive as I slog my way through NaNoWriMo. When someone added that fiction couldn't hold a candle to the real life experiences of active alcoholics more laughter followed.

Being able to laugh with others about what fuck ups we've all been is precious to me. We've all been there, same story, different description. You know how uncomfortable it can be when you're in a group of people where someone is not embracing their humanity? (I'm talking about myself here). In recovery the key word is all. Our sanity depends on us not pretending we're unique, not set apart as other than human. What a blessed relief.

Letting go of creating a crisis in real life, not being a drama queen, looking at situations as they really are without minimizing or inflating their impact; that all takes practice and intention in recovery. As my recovery progresses I find it easier to accept the every day, revolving nature of life. It's a sign of health for me to not go looking for the drama, to accept life on life's terms, and to be content with what is. Of course I do all of that imperfectly but as I said later on in the day with my family doctor, there is no going back to that place where denial trumps awareness. Sure, some days I wish it would, and some days it does, but thank God it's only momentarily.

Take yesterday. I'd had my shower, was cleaning out my ears with a Q tip, when instead of seeing the normal wax build up there was dried blood on the end of the cotton swab. I went from oh, that's weird to OMG my ear drum must have burst and I didn't even notice it(as if that is possible) in a nanosecond. Then rational mind kicked in and I realized it really was no big deal, I'd had no ear pain at all, at the worst a tiny bug got squished in my ear, and I went on with my day. When I related the whole thing to my doctor he smiled and humoured me with looking in that ear only to reiterate what I'd come to earlier. It was no big deal. My ear drum was fine.

Writing a book is, in part, about keeping the "what ifs" coming. Today, when I try to add a few thousand more words to my novel, I'll dream up a crisis or two, wonder about the impending what ifs, and write down what happens next. I'm just grateful that it's work to dream it up, that drama is slowly finding its rightful place in my life, between the pages of a book, not the pages of my life.

Prevailing

I have 45 minutes before my doctor's appointment so here I am, typing as fast as I can. It was a shock to the system to have the alarm go at 5 AM so that I could come into town with dearest one. I am not, never will be, a morning person.

Last night I churned out the words and reached the 30,000 word mark in NaNoWriMo. As I wrote only daughter yesterday:

We will prevail, we will prevail, we will prevail.

It's sunny, there's no snow falling and that makes the day wonderful. Time with dearest one on the way to town was great, too.

Have a great day.

PH Awareness Day

I opened my email this morning to find a note telling me today is PH Awareness Blogging Day. You can find a list here of bloggers who are participating. This is something dear to my heart. Please take a look at the links and educate yourself. I'm quite sure there are lots of people out there misdiagnosed with some other lung problem when it's really PH.

In the beginning, when I first got sick, the powers that be thought I might have PH. My friend Karen who passed away in August had PH and it was ultimately what caused her death.

Part of the reason my blog has the word breathing in it is because when I started this blog nearly 4 years ago breathing was something I really didn't take for granted. On the worst days I could talk or breathe but couldn't do both at the same time. (Me? Choosing not to talk? What a concept!) It was a long road to a diagnosis. At one point a specialist stuck me in the hospital for 10 days and ran all kinds of tests. They even flipped me over to repeat one CT scan to double check for abnormalities in the vessels in my lungs. In the end they took the chance and put me through a risky heart catheterization, the gold standard test for PH. A risky test, because of my bleeding issues, which showed I was on the cusp of having PH. Had I been in the United States I would have been diagnosed and put on medication to halt the progression. The specialist told me there was no funding available for medication until my numbers reached a certain point. I looked at him and said, "You mean it's a crap shoot, then. Wait until the numbers rise so the government will pay for medication and hopefully it will halt the progression of the disease." He nodded. I felt very frustrated.

I don't know what happened. God only knows. A few years ago I had some prayer before I gave a talk at a retreat. I remember standing there afterwards and commenting to someone that I was breathing as clearly as I did when I was on oxygen. It felt surreal. A few months later my lung function tests showed an improvement. Eventually the specialist said I didn't need to see him anymore. Then, last year when I went to rehab and started dealing with a bunch of issues, my health improved even more. The days of having to count my spoons became a thing of the past. Our trips to town had previously very planned out, I was always dropped at the door and had to choose which stops were priority. These days I delight in parking as far from the door as I want. Yes, I still sometimes have rough days. Days when lifting my arms to shampoo my hair expends more energy than I can muster. Those days are very discouraging as I have no idea if they are temporary or the start of a downward spiral. Thankfully, they've continued to be temporary glitches.

It could have turned out so much different.
I try not to take my current health status for granted.
My friend Karen wanted nothing more than to live to see her 50th birthday.
For a long time I read the PH Message Boards for support and encouragment, especially when I had to deal with doctors who looked at me like I was just attention seeking. That if only I would lose weight and exercise my breathing problems would go away. They conveniently overlooked the fact that I had been doing just that when my problems surfaced. Please don't look at someone who is obese and on oxygen as if it's their somehow their fault. PH is high blood pressure in the lungs, which has nothing to do with diet, exercise, or weight issues. You can't prevent it. Skinny, fit people get PH, too. And there are others who look perfectly healthy but who struggle mightily to be out and about. So many times people would tell me I looked so good as if looking good nullified how I felt. I never bothered to tell them that on the very worst of days I never went anywhere, so they only saw me on my best days.

Take a deep breath and be glad you have the ability.
Trust me, if you can't breathe, nothing else matters.

Lawn Free

School buses are being cancelled today.
So much ice and snow make for wretched road conditions.
Lovely, lovely weather.
We're supposed to be in the lawyer's office this afternoon
to sign our wills, personal directives and power of attorney stuff.
Fatalistic thinking creeps in and I'm sure we'll be killed on the way to the lawyer's office before we can sign those papers.
That's how my brain wants to work.
But I'm trying to ignore it.
I think because dearest one has seen
so much death in his line of work,
we're a bit hyper aware that lives get cut short
all the time.

Sometimes I find myself wondering about people who die in accidents and how they start their last day on earth as normal as everyone else.
A few years ago I had an accident with the riding lawn mower. As the brakes failed on the lawn mower I was squished between the seat and that little A shaped bit at the end of the swing set. With only 6 inches to spare between the two I'm still a bit dumbfounded as to how I fit. Later I told dearest one how it felt like the seat of the lawn mower had tipped over backwards as I was squeezed between the two. We checked and the seat doesn't bend backwards. My throat was sore from where my neck rubbed against the bar as I squished under it. I must have turned my head at the last minute otherwise my chin would have caught on the bar. Makes me shudder to think of it, still. That incident really shook me up and I was grateful to not have any serious injuries from it. Dearest one was on a tractor in the field and out of cell phone range. I was pretty shook up and thought to myself, that's how quickly death happens to people all the time. My last thought as I went under the bar was that I was going to go under the bar. That was it until I came out the other side. Had it killed me, well, my last thought would have been something mundane. I have a bleeding disorder and internal bleeding would kill me quickly; that's what I was worried about the most when I was finally able to stop the mower. Man, I shook for a long time.

Well, that's kind of morbid to write about first thing in the morning. Didn't see that coming. It's been two years and this past summer I finally could mow the lawn on that side of the yard again although I panic easily if I think I'm in a tight spot. We replaced that lawn mower but I still prefer mowing in a wide open space to between trees and around that swing set.

At least with ice and snow there are no lawns in need of mowing.
Today, I'm grateful to have the gift of life.

Slogging It

There's still 3,000 more words to write tonight.
What, oh what will my main character do next
to warrant such a word count?
God only knows.
Slog, slog, slog.
What a puny problem to have
in the whole scope of life.

Same Old, Same Old, Thank God

Routine pleases me.

I don't know how others start or end their day but sometimes to entertain myself, I picture the people I'm with getting up in the morning and making their coffee, eating breakfast, getting ready for work and then picture a reverse routine in the evening. I find that comforting. We all have little routines that shape our days. Which makes me smile when I hear people bellyache that ritual is meaningless and pointless. Some of those people mean the rituals in church, especially the one I attend, yet I bet they get up and have their little morning routine that comforts them and adds to their day.

Yesterday my routine went out the window. My sinuses are on the warpath and this morning my one eyelid (the side that had the Bell's Palsy) is doing a slow ooze, just hovering on the tips of my eyelashes. Which means something's whipping my immune system good. Anyhow, yesterday was a full blown pajama day and I did nothing except sit on the couch, read and watch TV. Dearest one and I had time to sit and visit which was a bonus. I ate popcorn for supper.

Today the weather is doing its dance between winter and not winter. Freezing rain has been a reality more days than not the past while. Dearest one and youngest son will stay in town tonight, avoiding a 150 km round trip on roads that are less than ideal. The energizer bunny will hound me to take her for a walk. She'll bring me her toys and prance around hoping I'll play. She'll beg to nestle on my lap. Recently dearest one started a new game with her where he throws Cheerios in her direction and she jumps and catches them in her mouth. Right now she's snoring away on her blanket beside me. She knows my routine so well that she makes a detour into the office every time I go down the hallway. She always looks confused if I keep on going.

In the morning I get up and make my breakfast and eat it while I write a post and check my email. At 9:00 AM (which is in one minute) I log off email and go do something else. Hopefully today I'll go for a walk, do some housework, do some writing and enjoy a cup of tea. I'll make myself something tasty for supper and have a quiet evening.

In the midst of the uncertainty of life (which comes with the territory of not being God), I find ritual comforting.

Bit By Bit

It's early.
Too early.
I was so determined to sleep in today.
C'est la vie.
I'm listening to goldie oldies on the radio as I type.
Charley Pride and Merle Haggard's singing is comforting to me.

Yesterday I went to my AA meeting and then to a book launch for an author who passed away before her final novel was published. I sat in a room of 100 people realizing how rarely I put myself into a situation where most of the people are strangers to me. This particular author had been very encouraging to me about my writing over the years. She headed up the local writers group and although I haven't been to a meeting in a very long time she continued to call and remind me of the meeting every month. In fact she called just a few days before her unexpected passing. I'd never been to a book launch before so that was a new experience for me (thought of you BP!). Lord willing, I'll have one of my own one day.

Thank you for all your comments yesterday.
I often feel whiny when I ask anything of you.
Like I should just be able to suck it up and get over it.
But it's good to be vulnerable and human
instead of thinking I can do this all on my own.
I can't.
Pretending I never have needs is a lonely place to live.

Yesterday at my AA meeting I was able to share honestly
about the funk I'm in.
One person told me after the meeting to basically get over it.
I thought to myself, "It's way more important that I am honest about the funk I am in than pretending I'm fine." I've spent far too much time pretending in this life and it's never been worth it. I know the funk won't last forever and I just keep putting one foot in front of the other in the meantime. I look at all I have to be grateful for. I try to keep the bigger picture in focus.

There are people around the table who I want to put on a pedestal. They consistently walk the talk. I learn much from their experience, strength and hope. However, the sharing that touches me the most is when they are human and struggling just like the rest of us. It doesn't take away from their journey. It means I can trust them with my stuff.

The main character in my book is trusting that I will tell her story with integrity.
Last night the NaNoWriMo word count was 25,014. It feels like pulling teeth. Sheer grit and determination is what is getting my butt in the chair lately. I suck at commitments. Always have. I resist showing up for anything on a regular basis. I've been working on that character defect for a while now. Show up Hope. Do what you said you would. Expect more of yourself. And bit by bit what I commit to, I follow through on. I don't think I like it any better but it's one area I can grow up in.

Lately the journey has been a combination of knowing when to be gentle with myself and when to kick my own butt. I'm determined to hit the 50K word limit by the end of the month if for no other reason than to prove to myself I can follow through and finish something I started. This past June I told myself I was going to post something on the blog daily. I had a feeling then that I was following through on that commitment in preparation for something bigger. Now that November is here and the book is taking shape, I realize I was training myself to show up for that. In the whole scope of life it's really a small thing but I can feel a shift happening within as I continue to show up and write. Thanks be to God.

A Temporary Glitch

This is Saturday's post written on Friday night.
I am so, so weary tonight.
No spoons.
Not sure what's going on with my body
but I've been having problems with my heart racing
and lessening spoons for nearly 2 weeks now.
(I'll be seeing my doctor this week.)
Dearest one had to push the grocery cart in the store tonight
and I couldn't carry in any of the shopping bags.
I knew carrying them would make my heart go berserk.
I feel discouraged and weepy.
Long time readers know of the vast improvement to my health
that I've enjoyed since I came home from rehab
a year ago. How I went from having my days dictated by my
spoon supply to not giving them much thought at all.
If I have any say in it I'm not going back to that.
I hope this is a temporary glitch.
Lord have mercy.
Please delurk today, whoever reads this.
I just need to be reminded that I'm not alone on the journey.

Coming Into Focus

Friday.
But then you already knew that.
Appointments in town.
Freezing rain in the forecast again.
It's one way of wishing winter would settle in
once and for all.

I've reached that magical age
where I need glasses to read.
My arms were getting too short
to make the words come into focus.
Today that should be fixed.

Dearest one and I both looked at the clock last night
sure that it was past bedtime
we were both so tired.
It was 7 pm.
We both groaned.
And went to bed shortly after.
We were just about asleep when this loud breathing
jostled us awake.

Dearest one kidded me there was a bear outside the window.
Then we heard it again.
I went to the bedroom door to find
the energizer bunny with her nose under the door
wanting to come in in the worst way.
I should tell her she breathes loud enough
to get mistaken for a bear.

In High Demand

Butt glue was in high demand today as I churned out enough words to hit the 20,000 word mark in NaNoWriMo. Ugh. I sat and wrote out a synopsis on note cards first to see if what I had written so far made any sense. I was pleasantly surprised to find out it did. So then I wrote out some more cards as to stuff that needed filling in and a few more cards so I know where I'm going. Anyway, I am still amazed I am doing this. It is fun and it is so not fun.

Staying Put

It's snowing to beat the band out there and there's a wind warning to boot.
The last time there was a wind warning several huge trees came crashing down outside and one would have hit our bedroom window had it broken off closer to the ground instead of half way up the trunk.

Yesterday it was freezing rain so I cancelled my appointments and stayed home.

Here's a snippet of an email I sent to a friend this morning:

My NaNoWriMo writing feels like total drivel these days but I am continuing to add to it anyway. Anne Lamott calls them shitty first drafts but I'm sure mine must be diarrhea by now. :) And I'm behind on the word count by the thousands, too. Slow diarrhea then.

Those gall bladder attacks are wretched, simply wretched. We lived/worked on a dairy farm when I got mine out and we had access to as much fresh cream as we wanted. Foods high in fat are a no no for gall bladder problems and I made a pie and whipped up some rich cream and well, it was all downhill from there.

I will go light the candle and hold you all in prayer today. Just happened to light the green one the other day for you all -I call it my hope candle. Today I'll light the one I call the Mary candle. For some reason she gives me great comfort, especially for the stuff that worries a mother's heart. Whenever I am really down about parenting stuff and all the mistakes I've made, when I ask her to intercede for me I always end up in tears.

love,

Words of Grace and Hope

Katherine Paterson has written some of my favourite children's books. This week she wrote the letter to encourage writers of NaNoWriMo to keep on writing. This led me to her website and the question and answer below. I love it. Sometimes when people find out I am writing a book (something I've been doing in my head for 20+ years) they ask me if it is a "Christian" book. I am always tempted to reply, "I don't know. Is it saved?" Grates, grates, grates on my nerves that question does.

"In what ways has your religious conviction informed your writing? And would you comment on the presence (or lack ) of religious content, specifically Christian, in recent children's literature (say the last fifteen years or so)?"

Katherine Paterson answers:

"I think it was Lewis who said something like: "The book cannot be what the writer is not." What you are will shape your book whether you want it to or not. I am Christian, so that conviction will pervade the book even when I make no conscious effort to teach or preach. Grace and hope will inform everything I write.

You're asking me to comment on fifteen years of 5000 or so books a year. Whew! We live in a Post-Christian society. Therefore, not many of those writers will be Christians or adherents of any of the traditional faiths. Self-consciously Christian (or Jewish or Muslim) writing will be sectarian and tend to propaganda and therefore have very little to say to persons outside that particular faith community. The challenge for those of us who care about our faith and about a hurting world is to tell stories which will carry the words of grace and hope in their bones and sinews and not wear them like fancy dress."(emphasis mine)

Other questions and answers can be found here.

Enough

This hits me right between the eyes this morning.
Have a great "enough" day.

"Enough You don't have to have everything. Whatever it is, whatever you have within yourself, consider it enough, and that the Spirit behind, above, and below you will do the rest. Your house is enough; it's got plenty of floor space, great windows. The goods stored in your cupboards are all you need. The place you live will give you what's necessary. Notice how different it feels in your body to have enough. Try it. Say to yourself, "It's enough. What I have is what I need."

~Patrice Vecchione in Writing and the Spiritual Life
via

Butt Glue

I wrote just over one thousand words for NaNoWriMo at a hotel on Friday night. I haven't touched it since. That means today is a catch up day and I will be using what author Elizabeth George calls butt glue to get those missing words caught up to date. Wish me luck.

Being Known

Home safe and sound.
The last hour and a bit of driving was in pretty well white out conditions.
Thankfully the snow held off until then.
I can't imagine if we'd driven in 12 hours of it.

I am hoping for a sweet sleep tonight.

Here is a post so rich in experience, strength and hope that I printed it out to reread often. Please go read it.
I think it spoke to me at that gut level because when I came back into AA I remember sitting around the tables one day realizing that, if I didn't get honest, I was going to get drunk.

Also, I had a conversation last week with an old friend
about what is real community.
We were talking about the internet and the relationships found here.
We were also talking about a job opportunity in my home community and when she challenged me on my reasons for not wanting to apply for it, one big one, if I was honest, was because I didn't care to work and be known in my own community. Didn't want to take the chance on people thinking they knew me when they didn't. Didn't want to give them the chance to define me. Much more appealing to go to the city and work "anonymously" there.
That was like a kick in the guts, or rather the ego, when I told her that nugget of truth.
"No, let me just be known online."
Um, yah.

Germinating

When you read this we'll be on the road home.
It's been a good weekend.
Things to process.
Growth to celebrate.
Growth that is obviously
still in the germinating stage.
C'est la vie.

I'm applying for a job this week.
I have mixed feelings about it.
When I thought about the pros and cons
the pros side was full and the only thing
in the cons side was that I feel passionless
about the actual job.
I'm trying to keep an open mind.

70 Years Young

What fun it was to surprise my mom last night.
We went over to my sisters' where the rest of the family (minus one brother)
was hiding in wait.
We have never pulled off a surprise before so this was extra special. My mom was tickled pink. She got some lovely gifts that showed we've all paid attention to what she likes and it was great to be able to shower her with love in that way.
This morning I washed dishes while my younger brother dried them. That was possibly the first time we did them together in 40 years. I distinctly remember the day when the boys in the family were freed from dish duty because we all fought too much in the process.
Tonight dearest one and I will head to the city and spend the night there before heading for home early tomorrow morning. Of course my family would prefer we stayed here one more night but a night in a hotel is a luxury and we rarely get the chance.
Hopefully the weather holds.

Arms Wide Open

Safe and sound at my parents' place.
Other than an hour or so of driving through thick fog, the roads were great.
My mom was totally surprised to see us, which is wonderful. In all her 70 years we have never been able to pull off a surprise so we're gloating for a good while as it may be the first and last time we achieve such a thing. She stood there with her mouth open for a long time and then came the tears. She hugged me once and then talked for a bit and then threw her arms open and hugged me again. If you only knew. We are not a huggy family. My mom is not prone to such outbursts of affection. It is wonderful.

We'll be here all day tomorrow and then drive 600 miles home on Monday.
The road trip has been great so far. Having each other's undivided attention is a good, good thing.

Road Trip

Friday.
We're off to my parents' for the weekend.
Dearest one and I haven't been on
a road trip by ourselves
for a long time.
It's one of our favourite ways
to spend time together.
1200 miles between this afternoon and Monday seems a bit extreme though.
I have a bladder infection trying to come along for the ride.
I've forgotten how those pesky things play a person out.
I only have one kidney so keeping an infection in check is
a necessary thing.
I hope you have a great weekend.
I hope I do, too.

Predictably Soothing

There's frost on the windows this morning. Looks like winter is doing her best to take up residence. C'est la vie. Yesterday morning I tried venturing to town but only drove 2 miles, then turned around and came home. The thought of driving on a snow and ice packed highway for the next hour didn't thrill me so I decided I really didn't need to go to town that bad. When I called to rebook my appointment I found out I had the days mixed up. That made me doubly glad to have turned around and come home. The thought of arriving at my appointment only to be told "I'm sorry your appointment is tomorrow afternoon at 1:30." made me cringe. At which point I would have pulled my hair out and cried. Or not.

So I spent some time yesterday writing some more on my book. Nearly 9,000 words now. I don't want to talk about it much but it's loosely set on an account my great aunt wrote about the family's journey from Norway to Canada. She wrote the account 40 years ago and I have a copy. I pulled it out yesterday for some inspiration. My character is veering off the planned trail quite a bit so I wanted to read and figure out some plot stuff. I have no idea how it works for other people but I write what I see in my head (oh, now that is scary). Main character goes to barn to milk the cow and I picture it in my head and dutifully write it down. Except I didn't plan for her to go around the barn and find a stray dog who was hurt, growling at her. But hey, it's not my story. I am still a little amazed I'm actually doing the writing. I've let youngest son and dearest one read the first 8 pages and last night I was telling youngest son about the what ifs to come and he said I was mean. When he read the first few pages and I asked him what he thought of the Pa in the story, he replied, "He's a dick." I knew I'd conveyed the Pa exactly how I'd envisioned him.

Dearest one brought home nearly 800 envelopes and such to do a mail out yesterday. I took on the responsibility of mailing out these thingamajigs for something I'm involved in, 4 times a year, and this week is the week to do it. 375 envelopes later I went to bed. I sat and put address labels and postage stamps on the envelopes while youngest son stuffed and sealed them. He found it boring although he talked a mile a minute while he sat there and I enjoyed that immensely. I told him I found the repetitive nature of it to be very soothing because it was predictable. I like predictable. And there isn't too much of that in this life, is there? He found it interesting that predictable to him meant boring and to me it meant soothing. Anyway, only 400 or so more envelopes to do today and then it's back to unpredictability.

Playing Hookey

There's a blanket of snow out there this morning.
It makes it feel like I woke up to a whole new world.
A clean slate.

My NaNoWriMo word count is over 7000 words.
As I write I keep Anne Lamott's "shitty first draft" in mind.
It helps me just write and not edit as I go.

Some days blog posting is like that, too.
Hitting the publish post button before I edit,
feels like I'm playing hookey or something.
Methinks I take it all too seriously.
Especially for being a kid.

Personally Crazy

Yesterday I kept doing the next right thing and made it through the day in a much better frame of mind than I've known for a while. Last week I filled out a personal craziness index and came up with a list of 7 things that are warning bells for the slippery slope of relapse. Taking a look at that and taking an inventory every night before I go to bed has helped me expect more of myself. I might sit down to fill it out, look across at the day's dishes sitting on the counter and get up and do them. People, that is not my normal behaviour. It is however, a sign that I'm turning towards recovery instead of away from it. Which gives me great hope.

We're headed to my parent's this coming weekend to celebrate my mom's upcoming 70th birthday (if you read my previous post you can see she just celebrated 52 years of marriage..do the math, wow, eh?) Anyway, paying attention to those 7 warning bells will help me keep my head screwed on straight in an enviroment where a high personal craziness index could be seen as normal and healthy. But then again, my mom was married when she was a teenager. Wait a minute, so was I. I'm stopping before I write myself into a corner again. Have a great hope filled day.

And You?

I really want to sit here and whine this morning but am choosing to stuff a sock in it and write a gratitude list instead. I am grateful to know that I have the power of choice today. I remember sitting outside a DQ restaurant the summer before last, talking with another AA member about how to reply when asked, "How are you?" If I was crabby, well, then I was crabby through and through. She helped me see that I could say, "Well, today I'm feeling a bit crabby but otherwise life is good." It's that kind of thing I need help navigating. Yesterday at church a young mom who I hadn't seen in a while, asked me how I was. When I told her I'd been in a funk for what felt like weeks already, we ended up having a really good chat about how the encroaching darkness outside affects our moods and the ongoing effort it is to put one foot in front of the other day after day. Just before Mass started I said to her, "Anyway, that's the real answer to how I am, I could have just told you I was fine."

Today I'm grateful for

• my sobriety
• a God of my own understanding who loves on me 24/7
• the power of choice
• faithful readers who journey with me
• the lack of snow on the ground!
• the gift of writing - NaNoWriMo word count yesterday was 3500+
• my parents - it's their 52nd wedding anniversary today

Showing Up

Tears are close to the surface tonight.
It's been that kind of day.
Biotchy I think it's called.
Thankfully these days are few and far between.
It used to be that I didn't know any other way to deal with my emotions
or the actions of others.
I'm writing this Saturday night to post Sunday morning.
Maybe in the morning I'll have something else to say.
Or not.

I vented at my AA meeting today. Gained some perspective in the feedback I got from my sharing. I love my homegroup. These people know and love me as I am. They also kick me in the butt when needed. They're about the only people in the world I'll welcome a butt kick from. I can't do this journey alone. Yesterday someone in the fellowship told me I was trying too hard.

Today I was reminded how far being grateful goes when a person feels down. How much thinking of other people helps one quit taking life so seriously. And I got reminded that there are much worse things to have my panties in a knot over than my mountain of a molehill.

It was a day.

I wrote 1738 words when I got home for NaNoWriMo. I'd written about 600 of those a few years ago and had forgotten just how much detail I'd done in outlining about 6 chapters of this book. Who knows if it will make sense at the end of the month but, one day at a time, I will hopefully make the 50,000 word count. I wrote in the space of about an hour today so I can churn the words out if I have to. I'd forgotten I'd learned how to do that eons ago. Dearest one told me I could write all the papers he has due for the rest of his courses if I wanted to. Hah.

The editor in me is chomping at the bit, wanting to go back and edit in between, but that will drive me batty before too long so I'll just keep going. I'd been posting here daily since the beginning of July to simply learn how to show up to the page whether I felt like it or not. That's helped me gain courage to try the NaNoWriMo thingamajig.

Well, I am so tired I am not going to be coherent much longer.
Have yourself a great turning the clock back kind of Sunday.
As my dad says, "Every day above ground is a good day."

Counting The Words

The craziness of NaNoWriMo starts today. Last year I entertained the idea and even signed up, but didn't follow through. This year I'm going to give it a shot. It's time to get the main character, whose been riding around in my head for 25 years, out of my head and onto the page. She deserves a place to call home.

Not sure how I'm going to find the time to write today but I'm doing it anyway. Today I have to go to town and when I come home we're off to a community supper. Tomorrow there's a potluck after church so there's cooking to do for that yet today, too. And then there's the every day stuff. Yet if people who leave their house every day to go to work can write a novel in a month then all my hemming and hawing are just excuses.

Part of the motivation to write the book comes from when I went on holidays last month. I spent some time in the classroom of a friend. His students were reading a book set in my province and had lots of questions for me. My friend had them peer editing each other's work and at the end of the day I told him I was very tempted to get the book written and sent to his class chapter by chapter so they could peer edit it for me. Getting their feedback would be fun.

Anyway, that's what's on my mind for today. We made it through Halloween without a snowflake in sight so that is a bonus. Last year at this time we had snow for good and the long winter trek had begun. Every day without snow feels like a mini miracle. It's enough that my mood takes a yearly dive every October/November and the only thing that's kept me off anti depressants is a healthy dose of vitamin D. Living this far north means the hours of daylight are shrinking fast. Thankfully one's own inner light can still flicker and light up the world.

Give Me The Reins

"Thanks for helping me get my head screwed back on straight."

Sometimes I arrive for my session with Fr. Charlie feeling like a bobble headed woman in need of a neck adjustment. Yesterday was no exception. Spiritual direction should really be renamed Let's-Peel-Another-Layer-Off-The-Onion, shall we? Some days it feels like baby steps towards something healthier, the layers coming off slowly and carefully and then others it feels like someone's taken a knife to the onion and said, let's get to the core right now.

There's a bit in the Big Book of AA that talks about an alcoholic being like a director who, if everyone else who just follow directions, the play (of life) would be grand, except people don't cooperate very well and it all goes to shit when a person is expecting people to hop to it. I try to direct the whole shebang from time to time. The ensuing anxiety isn't worth it.

Yesterday, during the session, a picture popped into my head of holding a pair of reins and then suddenly flinging them in Jesus direction. I felt like my life was like a pair of runaway horses and I wanted to stick my head in the sand until it settled down again. I doubt there's any merit in head in the sand theology. Jesus gave me back one of the reins, put his arm around my shoulder and those darn horses that had been galloping hither and yon, settled right down and the ride became much less bumpy.

I wanted to judge myself for keeping one of the reins. The whole God is my co-pilot bumper sticker came to mind and how many times I've sighed at the sight. Never mind how much time I've simply driven my life as if God were dead. Then it occured to me that there is much about life that is simply about doing the next right thing. We were given a brain and can function in many everyday capacities without it being a big deal. Sticking my head in the sand was a way of copping out - as if God would tell me everything from what colour of shoes to wear to whether or not I needed to wash the dishes before bed. I can only imagine God sighing, "give me a break". No wonder Jesus gave me back one of the reins. However, sticking my head in the sand over stuff that I need divine direction for, is going to make for one bumpy ride.

I doubt if life's circumstances will miraculously be smoothed out overnight. I do know that when I'm not trying to run the whole damn thing the ride will feel much less bumpy. I can hear my bobble headed neck thanking me already.

Each Small Choice

"We become humble with each small choice to accept ourselves as we are. We become whole as we let that choice be enough for today."

That was part of one of my daily readings this morning. One I needed to be reminded of, too. Accepting myself, as is, for today is enough.

Dreamland

I dreamed of my grandad last night. I never saw him cry in real life but in the dream he just sobbed. If someone looks like they are doing just fine on the outside I don't stop to think they might not be so great on the inside. I'd asked him how he was and his face started to contort into crying and he was fighting it and I was praying that Jesus would help him let go and cry. And he did. He was so sad to be alone and without my grandma. It was a scattered, weird dream. Putting up my Christmas tree in mid October and finding out someone was growing pot in my garden.

My dreams have been very disturbing lately, so last night's dream was a relief. Much tamer than normal.
It's always good to wake up, though.
Kind of like life....much better to journey with awareness than stumble around in dreamland. Not that it always feels that way, but today I'm grateful to be awake.

Sanctuary Bound

Yesterday we realized just how much time we spend in our living room after I got ambitious, rented one of those rug cleaners, and shampooed the carpet. That meant shoving everything from the livingroom into the kitchen/diningroom and onto the deck. We can barely squeeze around it all to get to the bathroom. The living room was off limits last night as we waited for the carpet to dry. So dearest one and I went for a walk, I chatted on the phone with only daughter and my sponsor. We went to bed early. Sitting in front of the computer is not my idea of a good time when it's the only available option Youngest son pushed the easy chair into a little entry way that faced the livingroom, and watched TV over a small bookcase. The TV was the only thing I didn't move, so youngest son was glad I thought to bring the remote control out of the livingroom.

My living room is a sanctuary to me. It's where I sit and pray, journal, read, and where dearest one and I visit. We live in a small trailer and the livingroom is at one end of it. I can be in there and be oblivious to the mess that may be scattered in the rest of the house. Hmm. That sounds like having a little bit of denial to keep me company. I'm not the greatest housekeeper but the living room is one room I try to keep tidy. Tomorrow the furniture guys will deliver a new couch and loveseat. We've never had new living room furniture. Our old couch was a 1940's antique whose frame was falling apart. It also looked like someone had taken a razor and shaved parts of it bare. I often wondered about the stories that couch would tell if it could. I have a small easy chair from that era as well, and although its seat has a hole worn through and the armrests are threadbare, it's frame is still solid so I'm not ready to part with it yet. It spent yesterday and last night banished to the deck. I can only imagine the story it's getting ready to tell of being put out to pasture. I wonder if it will breathe a sigh of relief when it gets carried over the threshold this evening? I know I will be glad to nestle in its arms again.

Perspective

Well, I keep clicking around on the net this morning and then coming back here and seeing this blank page. Kind of like opening the fridge all evening and expecting to see something different inside.

I went to bed with a raging headache last night and woke up with it this morning. There are worse ways to start a Monday. In days gone by it could've been a hangover headache and it's not so there you go. Perspective is a beautiful thing. So is headache medicine.

Forming Hope

Dearest one and I wandered together from place to place in town yesterday. At one point we found ourselves in a furniture store visiting with our bishop. Deep in conversation, we were brought back to reality by the salesperson inquiring if she could help us. Oh, right, we're not in a living room in our house, we're in a living room in a store. With that there were hugs all around and the bishop went his way while we continued ours.

We were passing the time in town, waiting to go to a wedding reception for one of our nieces in the evening. Wow. Get several hundred people together sharing food and fellowship and the noise level is overwhelming. In the midst of the cacophony we were able to connect with people we haven't seen for a few years. Sometimes I'm very aware of the twists and turns my spiritual life has taken as I sit among women whose hair is covered and whose dress is modest and feminine. At one point in my journey I sat among them in similar attire. Occasionally one of them asks me if my spiritual journey is the poorer for the lack of it. A wordy explanation is pointless. With my styled hair, dangling ear rings and blue jeans I can only smile and tell them no. I will always, however, have a special spot in my heart for that period of my life. It taught me much about myself and others. It's helped form me to be who I am today. When worn in simplicity and pureness of heart, I continue to see a head covering as beautiful. That period of my life was one of gross manipulation though, so simplicity and purity of heart were not part of my story. I desperately wanted them to be, but intention and reality are two different things.

Eventually dearest one and I made our way through the crowd and back to comfort of our car. As we drove home we talked about the highlight of our day. The best part for me was sitting in the food court with dearest one. He gave me the angel in the photo above, an angel of hope, and a card that brought tears to my eyes. Then he looked at me and said, "You've been doing a lot of hard inner work lately." We reached for each other's hand across the table, our eyes communicating the words that were stuck in our throats.

Dearest one must have run into a dozen people during the course of the day who he knew from somewhere (not counting the gazillion relatives at the wedding reception). In the mall there was the man he drove truck with, at the library -someone he worked with at a hospital. At the restaurant someone else was a patient's wife from long ago. At the reception last night I met a woman who was at oldest son's wedding this past summer. She talked about getting to know oldest son and how her and her elderly husband observed how he treated his love with respect. I imagined them watching out their living room window seeing him open her car door, or just the sensitive way he has of showing he cares. I looked at her and said, "He learned it from his dad." We then talked about our menfolk and how one of the dominant traits in the men of dearest one's family is their tenderheartedness. She nodded in agreement and then told me her husband was like that, too.

As dearest one made his way towards me in the furniture store yesterday one of the sales people turned to me and said, "Your husband is an incredible person." Turns out dearest one had nursed her father as he was dying. There is a sacredness to sharing this part of a family's journey that dearest one holds in his heart. I looked at the grief lingering in her eyes and said gently, "yes, he is."

Remember how cynical I was the other day when I heard this song playing on the radio? Wait a few minutes, hours, days and my attitude might change. After all, there is always hope. As I wrap up this post the song is playing on the radio again. It's been a few days of that kind of tenderness around here and it's a balm to my healing heart. Thanks be to God.

Intact

"I feel like I'm a boiled egg whose shell has been cracked and rolled back and forth across the counter. There's the thinnest of membranes holding the bits together."

That's what I wrote in my journal yesterday morning
and shared with my counselor later in the afternoon.
It's been a while since an image came to me
as a metaphor for where I'm at in the journey.
It gives me hope that the image was one of being crushed, yet intact.

This has been the most draining of weeks.
Emotionally, I'm spent.
The continual clicking of pieces falling into place,
in the puzzle that is my story ,
humbles me and gives me great hope.
There is no way through but through.
Yesterday I was given the grace to
put one foot in front of the other.
I'm trusting the process even though
I cannot see around the corner.

I feel like I'm walking with a new awareness.
Stripped of another layer of denial,
there's no going back.
That is good and scary news.
Surrendering what is and will be.
Held ever so gently,
intact.

Comic Relief

Here's a bit of comic relief for your Saturday morning.
It's been a tad bit too serious around here this week.

The first is thanks to an email from one of my faithful readers, Mich. I found a site online that has it all there so enjoy reading the signs.

The second is from another regular reader. That post has the potential to drive me crazy but I did find some comic relief in it in an otherwise seriously intense day.

Serious posting will now resume.

Attitude Adjustment In Progress

It's bound to be an interesting day when I start it by sternly telling the energizer bunny to get over herself already.

Here's some pug entertainment to brighten your day. Not our pug, but the energizer bunny looks just like her.

The Most Hopeful Layer

"Vulnerability is disarming. It compels one to go to that level, too."

Heart felt words from a close friend last night.
Often I've told dearest one he is the most beautiful
when he is the most vulnerable,
when he let's me in to see who he is.
He can tell me the ugliest thing he sees within himself
and I have yet to be repulsed or disappointed.
It's easier to feel that about things
left unsaid or imagined
than about reality.

We're in a new place relationship wise.
Walking hand in hand to that deep place
where fears and insecurities,
which have been kept under wraps
our whole life long, are being revealed.
We're slowly uncovering who we really are,
like a shy bride on her wedding night.

It's the most hopeful layer of the never ending onion.

Honesty is easier to write about than to live.
To open, what feels like a pandora's box,
and reveal who I am?
That's scary shit.

My recent slip forced me to face some ugly truths.
Well, I guess no one is forced to do anything
they don't want to in recovery.
But if I wanted to move forward, then
facing those truths was my only option.
And, no matter how loudly I may whine about growth,
I will only shrink from it for a limited time.
I'll be damned if I'm going to let fear rule my life forever.
Life is too short to tuck tail and run.
The scary part is that facing those truths
means sharing them with dearest one, too.
My struggle with this addiction in particular,
affects our marriage at a deeper level than either
the alcohol or the eating disorder.

So facing forward means telling the truth
about how it is within me.
Recently, I realized I do most of my processing in my head,
where it stays safe and secure.

My head is the worst safety deposit box there is.

So I'm learning to say outloud thoughts I usually keep to myself.
Learning to share from the vulnerable, troubled spots of my heart.
Sometimes it's benign things like,
"He said this and I felt that."
or
"She shared this and I had instant tears and this is why."

Other times it's something that has the capacity to hurt,
yet it does more damage unspoken, so I take the risk.
Recently that meant telling dearest one that, at times,
I will go to any length to avoid being present.

I told him this in a restaurant where I was
fessing up about my latest slip.
I'd asked for a corner booth because I didn't want an audience
if I ended up in tears when I said this is what I did.

"And behind what I did these are my issues, these are the things that keep me in this loop of slips. This is where I need you help and your patience."

While I felt like I had reached the limit of what was forgiveable, dearest one's steady, loving gaze told me otherwise. He reached across the table, took my hand in his and made me look him in the eye. He wanted me to see that he meant it when he told me he was here for the long haul, no matter what that long haul looks like.

It's a steady, tough climb to a saner, safer, more intimate place.
We continue to be disarmed and compelled by each other's vulnerability.
Thanks be to God.

At Arm's Length

Insomnia was my friend in the middle of the night.
Maybe my body was in shock because I had a clean kitchen.
I sat in candle lit darkness and brought to God
my page 86 answers. It was my first attempt
at writing it all out instead of lying in bed
and trying to mentally review my day
before my eyes slammed shut.
I quite liked it.
In AA they say if you want what we have then
do what we do. And I admire this woman's
sobriety, so answering those questions on paper
is my way, in part, of doing what she does.
I have a sneaking suspicion had I been in the habit
of writing them out I wouldn't have put off
fessing up about my slip.
That was closer to the edge of relapse than
I want to be ever again.

Did I mention I've reached that age
where reading glasses are a must?
Part of me wants to make a joke that
maybe with glasses I could see
pages 86, 87, and 88 in the Big Book better.
But I know it's the following of what those
pages hold that's important.
Of course it does help if one can read it first.
Which I can, without glasses, I just have to hold them at arms length.
Hmmm. I was holding them at arms length mentally as well.
Well, there you go.
I've written myself right into a corner this morning.

I was going to tell you about the hen house times ten
that the eye glass place was last weekend.
They were having their annual sale and I swear
everyone and their dog was crammed into that building.
I tried on a handful of frames, looked at the sales rep
and told her I had no patience for the whole process
when the place sounded like they brought a hen house indoors
and then put it on speaker phone.
So I picked out a pair, any pair,
and left the cacaphony behind.
After all, they're only reading glasses.
I won't have to actually look at anyone when I wear them.
Page 86 won't care what I look like.
It just hopes I heed its message.

A Spoonful of Medicine

So much for having a next right thing kind of day.
I was listening to the radio and heard someone request this song and thought to myself, someone is sucking up big time.
Having that response, instead of thinking about
what a nice song it was, jarred me and helped me
realize that I was having
a rather cynical kind of day.
Not good.
Cynical used to be my modus operandi.
I don't miss it.
Not one bit.
Doing the next right thing
is a good antidote for cynicism.
Hmmm.

I've been avoiding cleaning the kitchen all day
which was the next right thing since I opened my eyes this morning.
Instead I went for a walk.
I read my daily reading books.
I journalled.
I wrote out the questions from page 86 of the Big Book
so I can answer them tonight.
I sat in contemplative prayer for nearly the whole 20 minutes.
I took this test to satisfy only daughter's curiousity.
For the record my main colour is gold.
What's yours?

Now I'm off to wash dishes and clean the kitchen.
The energy I've expended today avoiding doing that makes me think of M. Scott Peck's book The Road Less Traveled. In it he talks about avoiding doing the thing that is taking up the most energy in our head and how if we only did that at the beginning of the day we'd free up energy for other things.
Sometimes I sabotage my very own spoon supply.
Come hell or high water I'm going to have
a clean kitchen before I go to bed tonight.

On The Other Hand

Today is a day of doing the next right thing.
I always feel better when there is a bit of productivity in my day.
Did you catch that?
How the next right thing translates in my head as activity.
I'm quite sure somewhere in every day
the next right thing could be sitting still.
I mean, before my head hits the pillow at night.

Dearest one likes to tease me about what a creature of habit I am.
I eat the same thing for breakfast every morning. I get up, fix my food and come sit at the computer and start writing. On the other hand, being a creature of habit also means I throw my clothes on the floor and squeeze the toothpaste tube from the middle. There you go.

Have yourselves a great "next right thing" kind of day.

Scratching My Head

How ironic is it that I can delete anything in my inbox at the first click of a button but when I want to delete anything from my spam box it asks me to double check and make sure I really want to say goodbye forever. Just had to get that off my chest.

The Last Taboo

It's dark out yet, maybe some time for candle lit prayer before the rush of the day starts. Today I'm going to town to pick up a new-to-me car. For the first time in 30 years of driving I'm going to have my own car. We've tended to drive junkers for as many years as possible. I have a love/hate relationship with vehicles. When they work I love them, when they don't and they cost me money, I tend to hate them. My van is nearly 15 years and 340,000 kms old. If I had my way I'd drive it right into the ground. But it's become unsafe to drive lately. I've used my 24 hour tow service several times in the past month and a half. I'm just writing all that to remind myself that replacing it is not only sane but responsible. It made its last voyage to church and back yesterday.

Dearest one was surprised I actually replaced the van. He knows what a tightwad I can be am. Man, I have issues with money. I laid in bed last night and talked to God about how easy it is for me to mix up money with trust. What else can I do but hold open my hands and ask God to help me with this? I'm not the funnest person to live with when it comes to money. I can be so miserably rigid but unable to do anything different. These days I'm in a slightly healthier place about money but not much. It's hard not to judge myself for it. I'd much rather be one of those people who err on the side of being so generous with money they can't pay their bills. Well, not really, that would make me feel just as tense inside, but I surely would like a healthy relationship with money one day.
Money seems to be the last taboo to talk about on here.
Writing about sexual addiction is easier than about my relationship with money. I doubt I'll do it again.
So for today I'm just going to enjoy my car.

Looking Up

Every time I open one of my daily reflection books I see my bookmark which says, "Look up and live." It's such a good motto for recovery. It's probably not what the power company had in mind for its use when they distributed it but, hey, it works for me.

I've had the worst attitude lately towards someone new in my life.
Came pretty close to flipping them the bird last week I was so, so pissed off.
Without the 12 steps I'd still be making excuses for my reaction.
Fr. Charlie reminded me this week that recovery gives me choices.
Healthy choices.
Like opening my mouth and saying my piece, not depending on
the other person to change in order for me to have some peace.
And while I can bitch and moan with the best of them,
and sometimes even bitch and moan that the 12 steps beckons me
to take the high road,
in the end I'm glad I have choices.
Besides, it kept me from sticking out my foot
and tripping this person as they walked by me.
Damn, that was close.

Peeling Back The Layers

Today was six weeks since I've been to an AA meeting
with my home group.
This past week one of the members called me up
to see how I was doing,
saying he hadn't seen me around for a while.
I explained I'd been away, blah, blah, blah.
I felt my hackles rise and defenses go up.
So much so that I had to journal it all out,
get it out on paper so I could see what my problem was
because it was clear I was the one with a problem.
It took a few pages of writing to see that his question
was one of care and concern and plain old,
"I miss seeing you around the tables."
The only accusatory tone to be found was in my own head.

This was all before I fessed up earlier this week.
His phone call set off warning bells for me that I perhaps
needed to take a closer inner look,
especially if I was going to start feeling
like my fellow AA members were my enemy.

Today, when the member chairing the meeting
mentioned that he and this member who'd phoned me,
had been wondering how I'd been,
I was able to talk honestly about how defensive
I felt during that phone call.
How it was a catalyst for some inner work.
There isn't any other place in my life
where I can tell someone that their phone call
got my hackles up
and that I was able to use that as an opportunity
for some inner work.
It is a gift to feel safe enough
to be so honest and not be judged for it.

Earlier in the meeting I'd read aloud these words from the Daily Reflections: "True humility and an open mind can lead us to faith...". The book was passed to me to read aloud and I hadn't yet read it today. As I looked at the words humility, open mind and faith the tears started to pool. My voice trembled as I read.

There was safety around the table
and I shared how defeated and back to square one
I'd felt this week.
Shared that there must be a fucking infinite amount
of layers to the onion.

I thank God for being loved as the layers get peeled back.
For those who, as I feel raw and wounded and sometimes, beyond hope, only see the beauty of the journey and the potential that is me.
For those who don't take it personally when the peeling back
gets so painful that I lash out.
Who will lovingly tell me that lashing out is not their problem.
Who won't own what is mine to deal with.
Who will see my ragged honesty as a beacon of hope.
Whose own honesty has given me hope in the bleakest of times.
I am blessed.

Sweetness and Pain

"What you see as being back at square one,
I see as another layer in the onion."

Wise and comforting words from my spiritual director yesterday.
Not sure how many layers there are to the onion that is my soul,
most likely they are infinite.
Where I saw defeat and despair,
Fr. Charlie saw hope and healing.
Which is why we shouldn't try to journey alone.
Our perspective is too limited.

I haven't felt this humbled,
or this hopeful
in a very long time.
There is a sweetness and pain embedded in both.

The mulitple conversations this week
where I confessed, sifted through,
became vulnerable,
has left me exhausted this morning.
Tears have filled every crevice
and are waiting to be released.
Healing, healing tears.

Through the sifting yesterday,
one big piece of the puzzle
found its place.
A huge "aha" moment, a gift of the Holy Spirit
through the words of Fr. Charlie.

Guilt dissipated in an instant
with the connecting of dots
between a deep wound and an attitude
thirty years deep.
I felt such relief when I realized I'd had no other
point of reference than the one I've carried for so long.
A twisted, warped attitude that found its ugly point
of reference and now
can be reframed.

I feel like there is the thinnest of gauze
between my naked soul
and what could be.
Beauty bubbling forth from the depths.

All is gift.
All is grace.

Choosing Sanity

Things got a little hairy at AA yesterday.
I was glad I wasn't chairing the meeting.
When things go off the rail anywhere, I instantly tense up
and feel like I'm 9 years old, looking for the nearest exit.
But the moment passed without much broo ha ha and the meeting continued. It didn't even come close to getting physical but I felt all tense as if it could.

It's actually quite a testimony to AA that
people don't come to blows every time a meeting convenes.
I mean, if you asked for a show of hands of how many present
used to try and solve issues by using their fists, I think
the majority might very well raise their hands.
I've thrown a few punches myself.

I'm trying to type this post by looking around the energizer bunny.
She's sitting on my lap trying to lick my face.
She moves within 3 inches of my nose and licks the air as if she were slobbering me with kisses. I swear, sometimes she reminds me of a kid who sees just how close to the line they can get without crossing it.
Hmmmm.

I'm off to see Fr. Charlie today.
Fessing up for lines crossed that I'd convinced myself
were only being skirted around.
It means resetting my abstinence date, too.
Pride says not to go to that extreme.
Rigorous honesty says it's the only sane choice to make.
It's hard not to rationalize, justify and minimize.
And I could continue to if I wanted.
But the consequences just aren't worth it.

When Fr. Charlie kept telling me during our last session
that he was hearing shame and guilt seeping through my words
it startled me.
I sat there and thought about the last time I felt like that.
Where were my actions contributing to those feelings?
I came up with only one answer.

I briefly mentioned a slip.
His eyes registered what I'd said,
but I ignored him, glossed right over it and kept on talking.
He didn't interrupt me.
He didn't confront me.
He left my words hanging for me to hear their echo.

And they echoed as I walked to my van, echoed all the way home.
I sat and remembered going to confession about my sexual addiction a few years ago and having Fr. Charlie ask me how deep the shame and guilt was that I was I covered in. I replied by putting my hand above my head and telling him I was buried in it.

God, that was a such a low, low point.
Within myself I could find no hope.

So I sat the other day knowing the shame and guilt were only puddles on the ground which I was walking in with every other step.
I knew I had a choice to make if I didn't want the puddles to join together to make one giant puddle that I couldn't walk away from. One giant puddle that would eventually creep up my shoes and start to bury me.
I knew I could either continue to minimize, justify and rationalize it all away.
Or speak it out loud, and get honest.
I've since had three conversations
with three different people about it.
Speaking to dearest one was the most difficult.
But, by the grace of God, I did it.
Lord, oh Lord, have mercy.

How Sick Do I Want To Be?

A full day of appointments from late morning until late tonight.
I'm grateful that's even a possibility.
With any luck I'll be able to get
to a noon meeting as well, just be there a little late.
My sponsor said last night that was just fine.

I'm dropping off my resume and cover letter today for a job.
It's been over 5 years since I was last in the workforce.
I like comfortable and predictable.
But I know being uncomfortable and
being in unpredictable circumstances won't kill me.
That will be my mantra if I get the job.

Tomorrow I'm off to see Fr. Charlie.
An appointment between appointments.
That last one brought some stuff to light
that I needed to face.
It took me a while to mull it over
and then some more time to get up the courage
to speak to someone about it.
Actually between picking up the phone and
dialing my friend's number I had an internal conversation
where I convinced myself no fessing up was necessary.
Then I asked myself how sick did I want to be?
So I fessed up.
Humility is good for the soul.
I now need to go back and speak to Fr. Charlie about it.
His radar was spot on last time
and I wasn't ready to admit it.
I am now.

A Gem Of A Screed

It's one of those blank page kind of mornings.
I keep reading other web pages and coming back here as if expecting to see something other than a blank page. I think that fits the definition of insanity - doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different result.

One of the most recent reads from my book pile has been by Heather King called Redeemed. Here is one of my favourite passages, close to the beginning of the book, where King has given a brief summary of why she turned to God for help, especially for help with her addictions:

"But why do you need God for any of that? you might ask. Why not just be better - love your neighbor as yourself - on your own? Because personally I'm too scared, too lazy, too selfish to be better on my own. I want to be better but the fact is I get real bored, real fast, unless I am getting a ton of approval and attention. I like to dress it all up and hedge it all around and try to hide it, but my basic stance toward all human beings is: what can you give me? I have a kind of spiritual advisor who helps me look at my...I'd like to say "issues," but they're really more like massive, glaring defects. If I'm stuck, this woman will often have me write about it as a way to help me see where I might have been wrong, where I haven't let go, where I need to pray. Recently I wrote what I secretly thought was a masterly analysis of the troubling situation at hand. It had pathos and humor, it had corollaries and tributaries, it had a quote from Dostoyevsky. I was halfway through reading this gem of a screed to her over the phone when she interrupted me. "But were you selfish?" she asked. Man, was I pissed. Selfish? She totally did not get it. I should never have tried to explain myself to someone who was not nearly as smart as I. She did not even begin to grasp how complicated the thing was, how multilayered, how deep. It took me two days of inner raving, ranting and seething before I realized: I'd been selfish."

You gotta love a woman who is so honest.