Not a clue what to write but here I am anyway. I start about 85% of my posts with that sentence; I just normally delete it before I hit the publish post button. As I wonder what to write about I'm picking up my current read and putting it back down again. I want some magic quote from it to do my writing for me. It's a book I ordered through the local library based on a recommendation from who-knows-who's blog. Just a few days before it came in I found it in a thrift shop but didn't like the cover. Because of that I didn't take the time to really look at the words inside. I dismissed it as some sappy Christian book full of platitudes and the like. Wow, my bad.
A few days later I started to read my library copy and realized I had just passed on buying a book for a few bucks that I will now have to pay 4 times as much for it if I want my own copy. And I do. I looked it up online and found the new cover a big improvement, too.
Well, I could write about asking myself just how much of my life is like that anyway? - the dismissing things with a passing glance - but that sounds oh-so-trite and if I'm not careful I'm going to sound like one of those weakly(no spelling error there) devotional crapolas that pass for spiritual food.
Oh, man now that sounds cynical and it's been a long while since cynicism was part of my regular thought pattern. I once asked Brennan Manning whether cynicism had any place in the Christian life. He said that a cynic was a disillusioned romantic. Ooh, that pissed me off. I prided myself on being a realist, if anything, and absolutely not a romantic, nor a disillusioned one at that. Hah. But he went on to talk about just what he meant and I remember sitting there and thinking "You can stop talking any minute now." He was wrecking one of those "la,la,la fingers-in-my-ears I can't hear you God" moments I am fond of having.
I prayed about being willing to stop being so proud of my cynicism. I liked making those wry comments that got a laugh and made a point. I liked them a lot. I liked having a silent "Ya, right" punctuating most sentences. But I did pray about it and God did hear me and God did answer. Oh, jeepers now I want to write a sentence that says, "Ya think?" Of course God hears and of course God answers. If I would just get my la-la fingers out of my la-la ears it might not take so long to remember that.
What happened was this. I went to work in a fast food restaurant. The first morning I was nervous. I was much older than those usual teeny boppers who ask you if you'd like fries with that? Heck I was old enough to be their mother. But the first morning I was teamed up with two women close to my age. And one of them had a mouth on her. On one hand I could relate to her hardness, her mouthiness and her sexual innuendo full comments. On the other hand she scared me. I didn't know how to react and it panicked me. We made our way into the back to prep some salads and muffins. I went through the swinging back door reminding myself that if I really found it too hard I could quit. Yay! What a relief. And in that moment this woman turned around and her voice faded out as I saw, I mean really saw, for a split second, her eyes. The thought flew through my mind, "she has kind eyes". And with that thought I was undone. In seeing her as she really was, I could never go back to seeing the world through those cynical eyes of my own.
To this day whenever I find cynicism running full bore through my thoughts and through my words, I stop and take stock of what is happening in my life. It's become a warning bell of sorts. And while I still don't see myself as a romantic (and I mean no disrespect to those of you who are)I'd like to think I'm a little less disillusioned and a little less hearing impaired these days. Ya think?
Monday, January 16, 2006
Wednesday, January 11, 2006
Piercing A Soul
It's a weird but wonderful feeling to be so full of hope in the midst of living such a human life. But I do feel it. I've spent a long time waiting for life to work according to my plan, to be set in such a way that I can put my check mark on it before being happy. It feels good to see the futility of that. Notice I didn't say I've stopped doing it. But I am aware of it. I may be able to quote the Serenity Prayer with lightning quick speed but that doesn't mean I live it quite so fast.
My kids are all adults now and they only wish their mom would get with the program already. Having three kids close together made it so that they all became adults in what seemed to be a blink of the eye.
One of the reasons I am filled with such hope is happenings like the one I experienced yesterday. There is hope for me yet. My youngest son is a young adult with a steady girl. A girl and a relationship I would rather he didn't have. A relationship I can't quite seem to shut my mouth about. I have my reasons and they are pretty sound ones. It doesn't mean that he is obliged to see it my way though I keep trying to make him. What's the definition of insanity? Oh yes, doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results. What an apt description of my behaviour.
I have pretty good intentions about keeping my mouth shut once and for all when I'm here alone, but the minute I see my son, intentions get replaced with actions, and we've all heard how actions speak loudly and good intentions pave the way to hell.
Sunday night my son came home from his girlfriend's house and I just couldn't leave it at "How was your weekend?" No polite, small talk from me, no sirree. Damn. I made my jaded little comment, his eyes registered the hurt and that was the end of our conversation. I could almost see him curl up into himself right before my eyes and close me out. It wouldn't be so bad if it was a one time occurence but it has happened more times than I care to admit. I've asked my son to bear with me as I learn but I seem to be traveling at less than a snail's pace. What I really meant was that he bear with until he could see it my way.
Yesterday I was talking to God about my mouth. About my inability to let go of the things I cannot change. About my relationship with this son. As I prayed the picture of a fencing sword came into my head. As I looked at the sword I knew I was using words to stab my son. I asked myself if I saw him with a sword in his hand stabbing back. A sinking feeling came into my gut when I realized that he held not a sword but a shield. As I carry my sword he walks with a shield ever ready to deflect my blows. The weight of both is getting too heavy to carry on the journey and it is up to me to lay mine down first.
So where is the hope in all this you ask? I never mentioned the picture of the sword and shield to anyone. I simply asked God for the grace to lay down my sword. Last night my husband went for a long walk with our son. In the midst of the conversation our son told him that he felt like I was jabbing at him all the time with words and that he had to constantly defend himself and that it was just easier not to talk to me at all about his girlfriend.
I know better than to think that I will spontaneously lay down my sword once and for all, as nice and spiritual as that sounds. But my grip is looser today than it was yesterday and I know for as many times as I may drop it and pick it up again my grip will become looser and looser until the need to carry the sword is gone. And that is such a good and hope filled picture.
My kids are all adults now and they only wish their mom would get with the program already. Having three kids close together made it so that they all became adults in what seemed to be a blink of the eye.
One of the reasons I am filled with such hope is happenings like the one I experienced yesterday. There is hope for me yet. My youngest son is a young adult with a steady girl. A girl and a relationship I would rather he didn't have. A relationship I can't quite seem to shut my mouth about. I have my reasons and they are pretty sound ones. It doesn't mean that he is obliged to see it my way though I keep trying to make him. What's the definition of insanity? Oh yes, doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results. What an apt description of my behaviour.
I have pretty good intentions about keeping my mouth shut once and for all when I'm here alone, but the minute I see my son, intentions get replaced with actions, and we've all heard how actions speak loudly and good intentions pave the way to hell.
Sunday night my son came home from his girlfriend's house and I just couldn't leave it at "How was your weekend?" No polite, small talk from me, no sirree. Damn. I made my jaded little comment, his eyes registered the hurt and that was the end of our conversation. I could almost see him curl up into himself right before my eyes and close me out. It wouldn't be so bad if it was a one time occurence but it has happened more times than I care to admit. I've asked my son to bear with me as I learn but I seem to be traveling at less than a snail's pace. What I really meant was that he bear with until he could see it my way.
Yesterday I was talking to God about my mouth. About my inability to let go of the things I cannot change. About my relationship with this son. As I prayed the picture of a fencing sword came into my head. As I looked at the sword I knew I was using words to stab my son. I asked myself if I saw him with a sword in his hand stabbing back. A sinking feeling came into my gut when I realized that he held not a sword but a shield. As I carry my sword he walks with a shield ever ready to deflect my blows. The weight of both is getting too heavy to carry on the journey and it is up to me to lay mine down first.
So where is the hope in all this you ask? I never mentioned the picture of the sword and shield to anyone. I simply asked God for the grace to lay down my sword. Last night my husband went for a long walk with our son. In the midst of the conversation our son told him that he felt like I was jabbing at him all the time with words and that he had to constantly defend himself and that it was just easier not to talk to me at all about his girlfriend.
I know better than to think that I will spontaneously lay down my sword once and for all, as nice and spiritual as that sounds. But my grip is looser today than it was yesterday and I know for as many times as I may drop it and pick it up again my grip will become looser and looser until the need to carry the sword is gone. And that is such a good and hope filled picture.
Saturday, January 07, 2006
Brewing In My Soul
42 days ago we were on the cusp of Advent. It was a snowy day here and as I headed out the door to attend an Advent retreat, I faced icy roads and a long drive ahead of me in the dark. It was to be my first taste of Advent since my reception into the church and of experiencing for myself what it means to wait for the Light to pierce the darkness. During that retreat I wrote this prayer. Turning my chair towards a wall of windows while watching giant flakes of snow fall I shut out my inner censor and spilled my guts to God in that prayer. Afterwards I sat in the room of women and wondered what they would think had they known that renting a porn flick for my solitary enjoyment the previous night was what prompted that prayer. That I knew with the viewing of that film I was spiralling downwards fast while seesawing between both the shame and the thrill of it. It was the culmination of a lifetime of sexual compulsion/addiction within me manifesting itself outwardly in a way I could no longer hide from even myself. My written prayer scared the shit out of me. I don't know what felt worse. What happened when I let my guard down and rented that movie or what happened when I let my guard down and wrote that prayer.
When I had been doing a step 4 and sharing it with Father Charlie in a Step 5, my sexual issues weighed heavymost on my mind. There was some relief in alluding to them, even speaking clearly about some of them. While inching closer to the Light however, I skirted around rigorous honesty. I was playing at seeing how close I could come to the truth without actually facing it. Compulsions I could admit to, but the label of having a sexual addiction perhaps belonged to the perpetrators in my past, it didn't belong to me. It wasn't too far of a cry from standing up at my first AA meeting nearly 18 years ago, and admitting that I was an alcoholic. In that moment I felt I had become my mother(the real alcoholic), something I said would never happen.
I brought a copy of my Advent prayer to Father Charlie the next time we met for counseling. It took a while before I could say that my prayer was connected to my struggles and that it had a name. Sexual addiction. I understood that some people could engage in some of the behaviours I struggled with and it wasn't compulsive or an addiction for them. The same way some people can have a drink and it doesn't become a problem. But for me this was a complusion spiralling out of control.
I reached out for help from someone I knew who had been on the path I was staring at. Her counsel, encouragement and prayers gave me strength to climb out of the pit of denial and stand on solid ground. Pope John Paul II said once that we should not fear "the truth about ourselves." Not exactly what goes through my mind when I think of Jesus saying, "Be not afraid."
I have thought often of writing about my struggle here but if other things I've shared with you have felt like an unveiling of my soul this surley tops them all. I kept open to sharing and then a few things happened to prompt me to go ahead and write this post.
One was that Moneybags wrote about people requesting a patron saint for the year. Well, actually it was about a patron saint picking you for the year. I am still new in my Catholic faith and thought, "what the hell - having a saint intercede for me couldn't hurt anything." And at first when I found out St. Augustine of Hippo picked me I had him mixed up in my head with St. Francis of Assisi. When the fog cleared I remembered that the last time the cat had made it into the house I yelled that if that cat was on the counter licking the butter again I was going to kill it and I knew I didn't have all that in common with old St. Frank, although it wouldn't hurt to have him intercede for the cat. After that my eyes grew larger with the realization that all I could remember about St. Augustine was his reputation for being sexually out of control. "Ohhhh," I thought. How appropriate. I was sure he was winking at me from heaven and saying, "Gotcha."
This morning I found this snippet about St. Augustine:
He is a prophet for today, trumpeting the need to scrap escapisms and stand face-to-face with personal responsibility and dignity."
and this one:
St. Augustine of Hippo is the patron of brewers because of his conversion from a former life of loose living, which included parties, entertainment, and worldly ambitions. His complete turnaround and conversion has been an inspiration to many who struggle with a particular vice or habit they long to break."
Oh ye good St. Augustine - you understand exactly what's been brewing in my soul.
The other factor in writing this came about from reading Ronald Rolheiser's book Against an Infinite Horizon. I read this account and it puts into words my own experience of these last 42 days of abstaining:
He goes on to talk about a film called Sex, Lies, and Videotape in which he says "a man who has every kind of dysfunction, including sexual neuroses in his background, makes a vow to never again tell a lie. He sets up a video camera and invites people to , with as much honesty as possible, tell the story of their sexual lives. The ones who come and speak honestly, regardless of whatever weaknesses or perversions they have get better, grow gentler and eventually get healthy while the people who lie and do not face their truth slide ever deeper into hardness, rationalization and self deception."
The Truth shall set you free is a theme that has woven itself through many of my posts. After I dared to say the phrase "sexual addiction" outloud to Father Charlie I felt my body actually relax. There is truly something freeing about admitting to another human being the exact nature of our wrongs.(step 5) I no longer struggle on my own strength. God knows. God's there.
Well, we both know God has been there all along. But once, many years ago I felt Jesus standing beside my bed and saying, "You know what? That (behaviour)will never be life giving. You are trying to find life where there is none. Only I can fill that gap." There was no judgement, no weariness in his tone. Just a full knowing that I was seeking life where there was none to be had. And he was going to be patient for however long it took for me to surrender to that truth.
What else can I say? I look back at the process of restlessness with where my sexual issues were going and how that prompted me to do a step 4. I see how the grace imparted in doing that step showed me some truth which helped me on my journey. But it didn't stop there. It didn't halt the process of self denial in this area because I hadn't disclosed fully to myself just what I was messing with. Seeing the process of opening the door a crack to let a little light in lead to the door being blown off my self deception.
And this is not the end of the story. In giving up a source of comfort, a way of soothing my emotions and keeping real intimacy at bay I am left with a gaping hole of sorts. I find myself more emotional, more agitated. I see these things about myself with as little self judgement as possible. I pray more. I feel some embarrassment that it's taken this many years of sobriety to come to a fuller understanding of sobriety in other areas. There is also a deeper sense that the journey is a journey, a process. I haven't arrived. I never will. But there is a freedom, a relief in not lying to myself anymore. A gentleness with myself that leaves room for the process to continue. God's patience with me is life long. His love never fails. I shudder to think of trying to conquer this addiction once and for all but for this moment I can abstain.
It's taken me several hours of writing to get this post to the point where I can hit the publish post button. I started writing when it was still dark out. It is appropriate in more ways than one that the light is now breaking through the darkness outside as I sign off for today.
When I had been doing a step 4 and sharing it with Father Charlie in a Step 5, my sexual issues weighed heavymost on my mind. There was some relief in alluding to them, even speaking clearly about some of them. While inching closer to the Light however, I skirted around rigorous honesty. I was playing at seeing how close I could come to the truth without actually facing it. Compulsions I could admit to, but the label of having a sexual addiction perhaps belonged to the perpetrators in my past, it didn't belong to me. It wasn't too far of a cry from standing up at my first AA meeting nearly 18 years ago, and admitting that I was an alcoholic. In that moment I felt I had become my mother(the real alcoholic), something I said would never happen.
I brought a copy of my Advent prayer to Father Charlie the next time we met for counseling. It took a while before I could say that my prayer was connected to my struggles and that it had a name. Sexual addiction. I understood that some people could engage in some of the behaviours I struggled with and it wasn't compulsive or an addiction for them. The same way some people can have a drink and it doesn't become a problem. But for me this was a complusion spiralling out of control.
I reached out for help from someone I knew who had been on the path I was staring at. Her counsel, encouragement and prayers gave me strength to climb out of the pit of denial and stand on solid ground. Pope John Paul II said once that we should not fear "the truth about ourselves." Not exactly what goes through my mind when I think of Jesus saying, "Be not afraid."
I have thought often of writing about my struggle here but if other things I've shared with you have felt like an unveiling of my soul this surley tops them all. I kept open to sharing and then a few things happened to prompt me to go ahead and write this post.
One was that Moneybags wrote about people requesting a patron saint for the year. Well, actually it was about a patron saint picking you for the year. I am still new in my Catholic faith and thought, "what the hell - having a saint intercede for me couldn't hurt anything." And at first when I found out St. Augustine of Hippo picked me I had him mixed up in my head with St. Francis of Assisi. When the fog cleared I remembered that the last time the cat had made it into the house I yelled that if that cat was on the counter licking the butter again I was going to kill it and I knew I didn't have all that in common with old St. Frank, although it wouldn't hurt to have him intercede for the cat. After that my eyes grew larger with the realization that all I could remember about St. Augustine was his reputation for being sexually out of control. "Ohhhh," I thought. How appropriate. I was sure he was winking at me from heaven and saying, "Gotcha."
This morning I found this snippet about St. Augustine:
He is a prophet for today, trumpeting the need to scrap escapisms and stand face-to-face with personal responsibility and dignity."
and this one:
St. Augustine of Hippo is the patron of brewers because of his conversion from a former life of loose living, which included parties, entertainment, and worldly ambitions. His complete turnaround and conversion has been an inspiration to many who struggle with a particular vice or habit they long to break."
Oh ye good St. Augustine - you understand exactly what's been brewing in my soul.
The other factor in writing this came about from reading Ronald Rolheiser's book Against an Infinite Horizon. I read this account and it puts into words my own experience of these last 42 days of abstaining:
"You are as sick as your sickest secret. That's a phrase AA groups use to challenge people to understand what, at its roots, sobriety really is. Drunkenness, of all kinds, has much more to do with lying than it has to do with alcohol, drugs, or anything else. We are sober, truly sober, when we stop lying."
He goes on to talk about a film called Sex, Lies, and Videotape in which he says "a man who has every kind of dysfunction, including sexual neuroses in his background, makes a vow to never again tell a lie. He sets up a video camera and invites people to , with as much honesty as possible, tell the story of their sexual lives. The ones who come and speak honestly, regardless of whatever weaknesses or perversions they have get better, grow gentler and eventually get healthy while the people who lie and do not face their truth slide ever deeper into hardness, rationalization and self deception."
The Truth shall set you free is a theme that has woven itself through many of my posts. After I dared to say the phrase "sexual addiction" outloud to Father Charlie I felt my body actually relax. There is truly something freeing about admitting to another human being the exact nature of our wrongs.(step 5) I no longer struggle on my own strength. God knows. God's there.
Well, we both know God has been there all along. But once, many years ago I felt Jesus standing beside my bed and saying, "You know what? That (behaviour)will never be life giving. You are trying to find life where there is none. Only I can fill that gap." There was no judgement, no weariness in his tone. Just a full knowing that I was seeking life where there was none to be had. And he was going to be patient for however long it took for me to surrender to that truth.
What else can I say? I look back at the process of restlessness with where my sexual issues were going and how that prompted me to do a step 4. I see how the grace imparted in doing that step showed me some truth which helped me on my journey. But it didn't stop there. It didn't halt the process of self denial in this area because I hadn't disclosed fully to myself just what I was messing with. Seeing the process of opening the door a crack to let a little light in lead to the door being blown off my self deception.
And this is not the end of the story. In giving up a source of comfort, a way of soothing my emotions and keeping real intimacy at bay I am left with a gaping hole of sorts. I find myself more emotional, more agitated. I see these things about myself with as little self judgement as possible. I pray more. I feel some embarrassment that it's taken this many years of sobriety to come to a fuller understanding of sobriety in other areas. There is also a deeper sense that the journey is a journey, a process. I haven't arrived. I never will. But there is a freedom, a relief in not lying to myself anymore. A gentleness with myself that leaves room for the process to continue. God's patience with me is life long. His love never fails. I shudder to think of trying to conquer this addiction once and for all but for this moment I can abstain.
It's taken me several hours of writing to get this post to the point where I can hit the publish post button. I started writing when it was still dark out. It is appropriate in more ways than one that the light is now breaking through the darkness outside as I sign off for today.
Thursday, January 05, 2006
Searching For God Knows What
I swear I am losing my mind. Well, my family knows I have lost it but I am still trying to pretend it's all there. You know those memes going around listing 5 weird things about the poster - you might find out 5 weird things about me without me even trying to do the meme.
Went to town today to see the doctor. My hubby made out just fine....a stress test for him in a few weeks and we'll be reassured his heart is fine. Huge sigh of relief. He's not feeling himself exactly so we sure hope the stress test shows there is truly nothing wrong with his heart.
Went to use bank card to withdraw cash but typed in the number wrong 3 times. Miraculously the machine did not eat the card for lunch but it now refuses to acknowledge the real pin number. Wonderful town where bank card is from is 110 kms in the other direction. Left town with no groceries.
Get home and pet dogs on the way into the house. All three of them. Forget I've done that until after I've ripped the plastic wrap off the pizza pops and put them on a plate. I only remember when I get that distinct doggie smell wafting up to greet me. Petting a dog and then touching food without washing my hands in between is enough to make me panic? In my haste to wash my hands I throw plastic wrap dangerously close to lit burner on which the tea kettle is sitting. Did I mention that a few weeks ago I turned on the kettle and forgot about it - and forgot to notice that the burner didn't light until after the gas had filled the house for over 20 minutes? My guardian angel was working over time that day and it is a miracle that me and the house didn't get blown up. Today I went into the livingroom to read a snippet from Donald Miller's book (I forget its name, sorry - but somehow I know you aren't surprised. Oh, now I remember(honestly I didn't remember until at least 10 minutes after I typed that - it's called Searching For God Knows What) and came back to the kitchen when the microwave beeped to tell me the pizza was done. I get in the kitchen and think, oh I turned the kettle on.
In fifteen minutes my husband will be back with the bank card all fixed up and off we will go in the other direction to buy groceries. Miscalculated there. Here he is now. There's probably not 5 weird things about me in this post but I tried.
Went to town today to see the doctor. My hubby made out just fine....a stress test for him in a few weeks and we'll be reassured his heart is fine. Huge sigh of relief. He's not feeling himself exactly so we sure hope the stress test shows there is truly nothing wrong with his heart.
Went to use bank card to withdraw cash but typed in the number wrong 3 times. Miraculously the machine did not eat the card for lunch but it now refuses to acknowledge the real pin number. Wonderful town where bank card is from is 110 kms in the other direction. Left town with no groceries.
Get home and pet dogs on the way into the house. All three of them. Forget I've done that until after I've ripped the plastic wrap off the pizza pops and put them on a plate. I only remember when I get that distinct doggie smell wafting up to greet me. Petting a dog and then touching food without washing my hands in between is enough to make me panic? In my haste to wash my hands I throw plastic wrap dangerously close to lit burner on which the tea kettle is sitting. Did I mention that a few weeks ago I turned on the kettle and forgot about it - and forgot to notice that the burner didn't light until after the gas had filled the house for over 20 minutes? My guardian angel was working over time that day and it is a miracle that me and the house didn't get blown up. Today I went into the livingroom to read a snippet from Donald Miller's book (I forget its name, sorry - but somehow I know you aren't surprised. Oh, now I remember(honestly I didn't remember until at least 10 minutes after I typed that - it's called Searching For God Knows What) and came back to the kitchen when the microwave beeped to tell me the pizza was done. I get in the kitchen and think, oh I turned the kettle on.
In fifteen minutes my husband will be back with the bank card all fixed up and off we will go in the other direction to buy groceries. Miscalculated there. Here he is now. There's probably not 5 weird things about me in this post but I tried.
Monday, January 02, 2006
Good Hands
** Updated below
I had the beginnings of a post all nicely forming in my head and then life happens....I was going to quote from Anthony DeMello's book about love and how if a person wants to try and change the world so that it fits them, go ahead and try it but changing circumstances won't be the answer to happiness but that changing the thinking that goes on in your head will. Sigh. I spend an inordinate amount of time wishing people in my life would just cooperate with my plan. You'd think I hadn't spent any time in recovery circles by my seeming lack of progress in wanting control over everything and everyone. So much so that I ended up in confession yesterday asking for the grace to make more progress for my sake and for the sake of my relationships with those I love.
If some of you have read about Hector's daughter lately you know she got hit with a bad case of encephalitis or viral meningitis. Nasty stuff. My husband, me and our infant son came down with meningitis 17 years ago. My husband has been plagued by migraine headaches ever since, a lasting legacy of the meningitis. He takes meds for them but last week had to take it three days in a row(which is the maximum limit). I just got a call from where he works(he is an ER nurse) and he is in ER with chest pain and heart irregularities as a result of the migraine meds. I know, I know, you are asking me why I am sitting here typing instead of in the vehicle on my way there. I spoke to him and everything is under control, no sign of a heart attack but they are taking no chances and are keeping him there all day. As soon as my daughter is out of the shower I'll take my turn and then we'll hit the road. We are 90 minutes away from where he works.
We are headed out the door now. Thank you for praying. I am sure he will be okay. He is in Good Hands.
Update: I was thinking as I went to sleep last night that I probably never made the connection clear in my post yesterday between the migraine meds and the heart problems. I wonder how much of our communication is like that? We are connecting the dots in our minds and think that because we thought them the other person heard them too? The migraine medication my husband took carried risks of creating heart problems. He can't take them anymore, that's for sure. The doctor told him to take today off of work too and he is going to get a stress test done soon. The ECG showed some irregular stuff going on and only nitro spray would make the chest pain go away. With his family's history of heart problems(dad has had 3 open heart surgeries, mom has angina) they weren't taking any chances. He's tuckered right out today and yesterday is pretty much a blurr to him. He's so used to making the calls about cardiac patients, not being one himself. Thank you for your prayers. I had a very short period of time yesterday to make a decision as to whether I was going to put out a call for prayers locally on a prayer chain or put out an online request for prayer. I haven't written about my emotional reaction to all this stuff - all I can say is that we've been married almost 24 years....with all my own health stuff we've always thought I'd been gone first. The thought of my husband dying is about more than I can handle thinking about. Snuggling up to him last night was very comforting.
I had the beginnings of a post all nicely forming in my head and then life happens....I was going to quote from Anthony DeMello's book about love and how if a person wants to try and change the world so that it fits them, go ahead and try it but changing circumstances won't be the answer to happiness but that changing the thinking that goes on in your head will. Sigh. I spend an inordinate amount of time wishing people in my life would just cooperate with my plan. You'd think I hadn't spent any time in recovery circles by my seeming lack of progress in wanting control over everything and everyone. So much so that I ended up in confession yesterday asking for the grace to make more progress for my sake and for the sake of my relationships with those I love.
If some of you have read about Hector's daughter lately you know she got hit with a bad case of encephalitis or viral meningitis. Nasty stuff. My husband, me and our infant son came down with meningitis 17 years ago. My husband has been plagued by migraine headaches ever since, a lasting legacy of the meningitis. He takes meds for them but last week had to take it three days in a row(which is the maximum limit). I just got a call from where he works(he is an ER nurse) and he is in ER with chest pain and heart irregularities as a result of the migraine meds. I know, I know, you are asking me why I am sitting here typing instead of in the vehicle on my way there. I spoke to him and everything is under control, no sign of a heart attack but they are taking no chances and are keeping him there all day. As soon as my daughter is out of the shower I'll take my turn and then we'll hit the road. We are 90 minutes away from where he works.
We are headed out the door now. Thank you for praying. I am sure he will be okay. He is in Good Hands.
Update: I was thinking as I went to sleep last night that I probably never made the connection clear in my post yesterday between the migraine meds and the heart problems. I wonder how much of our communication is like that? We are connecting the dots in our minds and think that because we thought them the other person heard them too? The migraine medication my husband took carried risks of creating heart problems. He can't take them anymore, that's for sure. The doctor told him to take today off of work too and he is going to get a stress test done soon. The ECG showed some irregular stuff going on and only nitro spray would make the chest pain go away. With his family's history of heart problems(dad has had 3 open heart surgeries, mom has angina) they weren't taking any chances. He's tuckered right out today and yesterday is pretty much a blurr to him. He's so used to making the calls about cardiac patients, not being one himself. Thank you for your prayers. I had a very short period of time yesterday to make a decision as to whether I was going to put out a call for prayers locally on a prayer chain or put out an online request for prayer. I haven't written about my emotional reaction to all this stuff - all I can say is that we've been married almost 24 years....with all my own health stuff we've always thought I'd been gone first. The thought of my husband dying is about more than I can handle thinking about. Snuggling up to him last night was very comforting.
Thursday, December 29, 2005
Becoming God's
I've tried to start this post several times today and am having trouble finding the words. Today is my one year anniversary of being received into the Catholic faith. One year ago today I experienced confirmation, reconciliation and first communion plus the sacrament of marriage all in one fell swoop.
All I knew at the time was that I was going forward in obedience to the best of my ability. I did worry I was going to become some religious zealot....someone who did all these religious things without any substance on the inside. I think it is sometimes the lack of words or the confusion over language that makes things more difficult than they need to be. For some reason being described as a devoted Catholic brings negative connotations to my head as opposed to being described as one who is on fire for God. I've lived for too long hearing people say that this or that person is a Christian despite being Catholic. I mourn the divisions that stand between people that aren't necessary.
I thought if I just brushed up on apologetics and could have every answer at my fingertips when questioned that that would somehow count for something in any person's eyes, whether they were for or against my choice. I gave up on that idea quickly. I am no different than the next person. I believe when I want to and I dismiss when I want to. Someone can question my choice but not hear a thing I say because they have already made up their mind that I am in error. I do it to other people too. It's not only God that I do my "la la land dance" with. You know, the one where I stick my fingers in my ears and sing loudly, "la, la, la,..." so I don't have to hear what the other person is saying? That one. It's been freeing and frightening to find out that the Catholic church teaches one to be open to the truth wherever one finds it even if finding it means in another faith altogether. A professor I had responded to the question one of my classmates posed about Bhuddism by saying, "Sometimes I think God is elbowing us and saying, look at that truth there that you have missed." When you are used to people just telling you everyone is wrong but the way they see it, it does a number on your brain to have it stretched in this way.
So it is a year later on my journey. In every which way the best year of my life. Most painful. Most healing. Most discouraging. Most hopeful. If I've become a religious zealot it's okay.
I remember sitting with a Catholic priest about 3 years ago and hearing him talk about his niece and her husband and how they were attending such and such a church and were finding a home there. I was still in the place where I thought everyone had to see things my way in order for me(who do I think I am anway!) to bless their journey. I remember puzzling greatly over his acceptance at his niece's choice.
I think about Rich Mullins and how he told people when they heard he was exploring the Cathoic faith that it wasn't really about becoming Catholic or not it was about him becoming God's. And that about sums up my year. A knowing that I am truly becoming God's.
All I knew at the time was that I was going forward in obedience to the best of my ability. I did worry I was going to become some religious zealot....someone who did all these religious things without any substance on the inside. I think it is sometimes the lack of words or the confusion over language that makes things more difficult than they need to be. For some reason being described as a devoted Catholic brings negative connotations to my head as opposed to being described as one who is on fire for God. I've lived for too long hearing people say that this or that person is a Christian despite being Catholic. I mourn the divisions that stand between people that aren't necessary.
I thought if I just brushed up on apologetics and could have every answer at my fingertips when questioned that that would somehow count for something in any person's eyes, whether they were for or against my choice. I gave up on that idea quickly. I am no different than the next person. I believe when I want to and I dismiss when I want to. Someone can question my choice but not hear a thing I say because they have already made up their mind that I am in error. I do it to other people too. It's not only God that I do my "la la land dance" with. You know, the one where I stick my fingers in my ears and sing loudly, "la, la, la,..." so I don't have to hear what the other person is saying? That one. It's been freeing and frightening to find out that the Catholic church teaches one to be open to the truth wherever one finds it even if finding it means in another faith altogether. A professor I had responded to the question one of my classmates posed about Bhuddism by saying, "Sometimes I think God is elbowing us and saying, look at that truth there that you have missed." When you are used to people just telling you everyone is wrong but the way they see it, it does a number on your brain to have it stretched in this way.
So it is a year later on my journey. In every which way the best year of my life. Most painful. Most healing. Most discouraging. Most hopeful. If I've become a religious zealot it's okay.
I remember sitting with a Catholic priest about 3 years ago and hearing him talk about his niece and her husband and how they were attending such and such a church and were finding a home there. I was still in the place where I thought everyone had to see things my way in order for me(who do I think I am anway!) to bless their journey. I remember puzzling greatly over his acceptance at his niece's choice.
I think about Rich Mullins and how he told people when they heard he was exploring the Cathoic faith that it wasn't really about becoming Catholic or not it was about him becoming God's. And that about sums up my year. A knowing that I am truly becoming God's.
Wednesday, December 28, 2005
Living The Experience
One of my favourite authors is Jean Vanier. I was pleased to receive his new book, Befriending The Stranger this Christmas. Here is an excerpt:
"We all have to ...come to a greater understanding
that those who are blessed
are not those who succeed 'religiously'
but those who keep trusting
even as they live the experience of failure."
Before I started writing this post the phrase "How do you like your humanity? came into my head. Some days I want to put as much distance as I can between me and my humanity. Today is one of them. This too shall pass.("Thank God," the choir said.)
I am tired and crabby today. Okay, that is an understatement. I am extremely tired and crabby today. I'm having a hard time accepting that my humanity will always stick with me like a bad case of static cling. Would it be a groan-worthy play on words to say that God is the ultimate humanity softener?
"We all have to ...come to a greater understanding
that those who are blessed
are not those who succeed 'religiously'
but those who keep trusting
even as they live the experience of failure."
Before I started writing this post the phrase "How do you like your humanity? came into my head. Some days I want to put as much distance as I can between me and my humanity. Today is one of them. This too shall pass.("Thank God," the choir said.)
I am tired and crabby today. Okay, that is an understatement. I am extremely tired and crabby today. I'm having a hard time accepting that my humanity will always stick with me like a bad case of static cling. Would it be a groan-worthy play on words to say that God is the ultimate humanity softener?
Saturday, December 24, 2005
Have A Very Merry Christmas....
My world is a richer one this Christmas because of you. Yes, you. Thank you for your input into my life and for being such an encouragement. I wish you a very Merry Christmas and all the best in 2006. I don't know about you but I like my life. Right now. As is. I think I really may be absorbing the reality that life is a journey, a process and for that I am grateful.
God bless you this holy season.
God bless you this holy season.
Wednesday, December 21, 2005
The Waiting
Sometimes after a session with Father Charlie I feel like it's just the same crap different pile. It feels like I've been visiting these piles forever. I asked myself on the way home the other day which pile was I stirring this time. As if I had nothing better to do with my time. Sigh. I'm weary of it. Father Charlie told me today that even so it was movement, it was progress, and sometimes a person stirs just a little but it's still movement.
I had a restless sleep last night. There are blurry lines in my head between me and my mom and me and my daughter. The patterns of abuse from my childhood home I repeated in my own home. Certain images of my actions haunt me. It was a slow ride up out of the abuse pit to break the cycle for the next generation. One may turn a corner abruptly but the baggage they carry with them cuts a wide swath and it takes a while for the momentum to stop. I was shocked when Father Charlie asked me about my feelings towards my mom to have the image of wanting to strike her flash through my head. To pummel her mercilessly for the pain she has caused me. I am so tired of there not being peace when I think about my mom. It comes occasionally in small doses - like when she was in the hospital with congestive heart failure....but whenever I go inside to that tender spot where the pain is the greatest there are waves of anger, pain and fear. Jesus, could you just heal me already?
One of the books I bought when I went to West Edmonton Mall was about one man's 30 day Ignatian retreat. Within its pages he shared his experience of an exercise called a Triple Colloquy that stuck with me. Here is the gist of it:
Triple Colloquy: from St. Ignatius:
Next, in the company of Mary, I go to her Son, Jesus, and ask that he may obtain these same graces from the Father.
Finally, with Mary and Jesus, I approach the Father and make the same requests.
Last night by candle light I visualized going with my mother to Mary. The look of compassion on Mary's face...her knowing as a mother herself...she made haste to bring us to Jesus. I felt like a bit of a bystander because I was curious what it looked like to see my mother going to Jesus. Tears and more tears as I sensed her longing for mercy. When we went to God together, the final scene of Braveheart came into my head and I realized that extending mercy towards my mother meant freedom for me. I have always loved that final scene where William Wallace cries "freedom" with every last ounce of energy left in his body while the crowd wants him to cry mercy to be saved from the pain of a brutal death.
This morning as I did some research I had no idea that the theme of the Triple Colloquy was mercy. I could remember none of the specifics. Last night I forgot there were three points or anything. All I knew was that I was to go in prayer to Mary, then with her to Jesus and then together to God. I'm not sure why I brought my mother along with me.
After this time of prayer I went to bed and dreamt I was standing outside my bedroom door in a dark vise-like grip. Picture a silhouette outlined with a thin veneer of concrete and that is what it felt like. On my own power I could not move. The very Prince of this World held me tight. In the dream I struggled for a long time, I prayed different things. Nothing made any difference to the hold Satan had on me. Finally I prayed through the Apostle's Creed and started to say 'Lord have mercy, Christ have mercy.' As soon as I said "Christ have mercy" whatever was binding me let go. I woke up gasping for breath from the strain of trying to break free.
Last night I had prayed for the courage to drop the baggage I have been carrying around with me for 43 years. Today I am more than hopeful that my prayer will be fruitful.
I also read through Being Home. This selection says it for me:
Repotting
~ Gunilla Norris in Being Home
That means that even when I feel like I'm standing still I'm not.
I had a restless sleep last night. There are blurry lines in my head between me and my mom and me and my daughter. The patterns of abuse from my childhood home I repeated in my own home. Certain images of my actions haunt me. It was a slow ride up out of the abuse pit to break the cycle for the next generation. One may turn a corner abruptly but the baggage they carry with them cuts a wide swath and it takes a while for the momentum to stop. I was shocked when Father Charlie asked me about my feelings towards my mom to have the image of wanting to strike her flash through my head. To pummel her mercilessly for the pain she has caused me. I am so tired of there not being peace when I think about my mom. It comes occasionally in small doses - like when she was in the hospital with congestive heart failure....but whenever I go inside to that tender spot where the pain is the greatest there are waves of anger, pain and fear. Jesus, could you just heal me already?
One of the books I bought when I went to West Edmonton Mall was about one man's 30 day Ignatian retreat. Within its pages he shared his experience of an exercise called a Triple Colloquy that stuck with me. Here is the gist of it:
Triple Colloquy: from St. Ignatius:
I go to Mary that she may ask, on my behalf, for three favors from her Son:In the book I bought it describes it as an understanding of how the Prince of this World works, and to hate those works.
~ deep realization of what sin is in my life,
~ an understanding of the disorders in my life and how to amend them,
~ and an insight into the culture that surrounds me and leads me to seek empty things as if they could bring happiness.
Next, in the company of Mary, I go to her Son, Jesus, and ask that he may obtain these same graces from the Father.
Finally, with Mary and Jesus, I approach the Father and make the same requests.
Last night by candle light I visualized going with my mother to Mary. The look of compassion on Mary's face...her knowing as a mother herself...she made haste to bring us to Jesus. I felt like a bit of a bystander because I was curious what it looked like to see my mother going to Jesus. Tears and more tears as I sensed her longing for mercy. When we went to God together, the final scene of Braveheart came into my head and I realized that extending mercy towards my mother meant freedom for me. I have always loved that final scene where William Wallace cries "freedom" with every last ounce of energy left in his body while the crowd wants him to cry mercy to be saved from the pain of a brutal death.
This morning as I did some research I had no idea that the theme of the Triple Colloquy was mercy. I could remember none of the specifics. Last night I forgot there were three points or anything. All I knew was that I was to go in prayer to Mary, then with her to Jesus and then together to God. I'm not sure why I brought my mother along with me.
After this time of prayer I went to bed and dreamt I was standing outside my bedroom door in a dark vise-like grip. Picture a silhouette outlined with a thin veneer of concrete and that is what it felt like. On my own power I could not move. The very Prince of this World held me tight. In the dream I struggled for a long time, I prayed different things. Nothing made any difference to the hold Satan had on me. Finally I prayed through the Apostle's Creed and started to say 'Lord have mercy, Christ have mercy.' As soon as I said "Christ have mercy" whatever was binding me let go. I woke up gasping for breath from the strain of trying to break free.
Last night I had prayed for the courage to drop the baggage I have been carrying around with me for 43 years. Today I am more than hopeful that my prayer will be fruitful.
I also read through Being Home. This selection says it for me:
Repotting
How hard it is to know
when the pot is too small for the plant.
Some plants need to be contained, held very close.
Others cannot be crowded.
I don't know when I myself am too pot-bound,
lacking courage to be replanted,
to take the shock of new soil,
to feel into the unknown and to take root in it.
This drying out, this self-crowding
sneaks up on me. It seems I must always feel
a little wilted or deadened before I know
I'm too pot bound.
This african violet must first be cut
and divided. The knife goes through the root.
The white flesh exposed and moist
looks as if it is bleeding.
It must have soil immediately
so the plant won't die.
Then water. Water taken in from below.
This water must seep up into the plant
by infusion. Then comes the waiting
as the shock registers.
Days and weeks of waiting.
It will be months before a new leaf appears.
Perhaps the plant won't make it.
So it is when the time comes for me to be cut
and divided so as to grow again.
Help me to see this not as a problem
but as a process. Help me surrender
to the growth that only comes with pain,
with division, with helplessness, with waiting.
Especially the days and weeks of waiting.
~ Gunilla Norris in Being Home
Tuesday, December 20, 2005
Cocooned
I'm feeling raw and vulnerable today. Yesterday's session with Father Charlie was full of pain, fear and tears. Tears coursed down my face as I spoke my fears outloud. This morning the picture in my head is of being wrapped in a loose, whirlwind-like cocoon of soft red, blue and white strings. Red anger, blue pain, and white fear. I am crouched down hugging my knees. The cocoon only goes part way up my torso. I have a sense that Jesus is holding the cocoon and lifting me up to God.
Snuggled up to my husband this morning, waiting for the sun to rise yet at 9 am, I shared some of my fears outloud with him. I worried that he would think less of me, hold against me some of my actions of the past. Oh, how I thank God for this man. He said to me, "Only the legal system punishes people for things in the past."
Snuggled up to my husband this morning, waiting for the sun to rise yet at 9 am, I shared some of my fears outloud with him. I worried that he would think less of me, hold against me some of my actions of the past. Oh, how I thank God for this man. He said to me, "Only the legal system punishes people for things in the past."
Sunday, December 18, 2005
Looking Both Ways
Sunday mornings one of the local radio stations plays songs from their Country Classic Collection. This morning I listened to Charlie Rich, Conway Twitty, and Charlie Pride sing songs that took me back to my childhood. My mom loved (still does) listening to these guys.
I get pretty homesick this time of year. Phoning home on Christmas day and hearing the sounds of family in the background makes me teary inside. I just want to be home with my parents and siblings. The six hundred miles between us seems to stretch forever at Christmas.
Tonight our only daughter comes home for the holidays. On Friday our oldest son joins us and while our youngest son is still living at home, he is counting the days until he turns 18 (before the end of the month!). We haven't been real big on Christmas traditions. My husband came from a tradition that treated Christmas just about like any other day of the year except for going to church that day, no matter what day of the week it was(isn't that a hot topic this year?!) They were very poor and presents were few. Typical Christmas decorations were not part of his culture or religion. No Christmas tree, no lights on the house, no Santa Claus, no Christmas carols on a radio. The one thing we have carried over from his childhood is the making of Peppernuts. This morning I have the dough rolled out in logs, chilled and ready to bake so that when only daughter walks in the door tonight that is the smell that greets her. From my side of the family the tradition that continues is the hanging of Norwegian flags on the Christmas tree. These flags come in a package of two strings of about 15 tiny flags each and cost only $2. The Christmas that my older sister sent me a package of them I cried.
There was something special this morning listening to my mom's favourite singers on the radio while I was preparing peppernuts for my daughter's homecoming. With a finger on each generation it was as if I was looking backwards and forewards at the same time.
I get pretty homesick this time of year. Phoning home on Christmas day and hearing the sounds of family in the background makes me teary inside. I just want to be home with my parents and siblings. The six hundred miles between us seems to stretch forever at Christmas.
Tonight our only daughter comes home for the holidays. On Friday our oldest son joins us and while our youngest son is still living at home, he is counting the days until he turns 18 (before the end of the month!). We haven't been real big on Christmas traditions. My husband came from a tradition that treated Christmas just about like any other day of the year except for going to church that day, no matter what day of the week it was(isn't that a hot topic this year?!) They were very poor and presents were few. Typical Christmas decorations were not part of his culture or religion. No Christmas tree, no lights on the house, no Santa Claus, no Christmas carols on a radio. The one thing we have carried over from his childhood is the making of Peppernuts. This morning I have the dough rolled out in logs, chilled and ready to bake so that when only daughter walks in the door tonight that is the smell that greets her. From my side of the family the tradition that continues is the hanging of Norwegian flags on the Christmas tree. These flags come in a package of two strings of about 15 tiny flags each and cost only $2. The Christmas that my older sister sent me a package of them I cried.
There was something special this morning listening to my mom's favourite singers on the radio while I was preparing peppernuts for my daughter's homecoming. With a finger on each generation it was as if I was looking backwards and forewards at the same time.
Friday, December 16, 2005
Shades Of Grey
This comimg Monday I have an appointment with Father Charlie, who has gone from being my spiritual director to my counselor. Two weeks ago I took him a copy of my Advent Prayer. We discussed the nitty gritty specifics of the darkness within me. I spoke outloud the sin in my life that I have skirted around for so long. There was no accompanying panic, no urge to hide. It simply felt like I was saying, "Here I am in all my humanity." Incredibly, I left the session filled with much hope. Two weeks later it's still there. The hope I mean. The darkness, a lighter shade of grey. The shade it turns when Light shines on it. That sounded corny to my ears even as I typed it, yet I can't help but be overwhelmed by the grace that is greater than any sin. The scripture "Mercy triumphs over judgement." is a balm of sweetness to my ears.
This is a different season in my life. It's the first December since I've lived in the north when I haven't dreaded the encroaching darkness. By this time next week we will be past the day when we see but a scant 6 to 7 hours of daylight. I can't seem to muster up the sinking feeling which has come unbidden every year in the past as that day presents itself. For once I am okay being in this season instead of wishing away the hours waiting for the next one. I haven't been straining and searching for the coming of the light so I could wave goodbye to the darkness. I hesitate to say that darkness has its place, yet we all have a shadow side. We all have things we could write on a post card and send to Post Secret.
That warm and red egg shaped symbol is still cropping up in my prayers, thoughts and reflections. I don't know what it means. The tightly wound spring that appeared in the middle of it seems to have unwound itself.
I have no idea what my session on Monday is going to be like. I think for the first time I will go with no printed out blog post to share. When I first went to Al-Anon nearly 18 years ago, I took my newborn baby with me more as a security blanket than anything. I have a hunch that sharing my blog posts with Father Charlie has two edges to it. I do want him to know that this is who I am but the posts have also been a bit of a security blanket for me too. By sharing specific posts I felt like I was a bit more in control of the sessions.
I'm 43 years old. At last it feels good to be me.
This is a different season in my life. It's the first December since I've lived in the north when I haven't dreaded the encroaching darkness. By this time next week we will be past the day when we see but a scant 6 to 7 hours of daylight. I can't seem to muster up the sinking feeling which has come unbidden every year in the past as that day presents itself. For once I am okay being in this season instead of wishing away the hours waiting for the next one. I haven't been straining and searching for the coming of the light so I could wave goodbye to the darkness. I hesitate to say that darkness has its place, yet we all have a shadow side. We all have things we could write on a post card and send to Post Secret.
That warm and red egg shaped symbol is still cropping up in my prayers, thoughts and reflections. I don't know what it means. The tightly wound spring that appeared in the middle of it seems to have unwound itself.
I have no idea what my session on Monday is going to be like. I think for the first time I will go with no printed out blog post to share. When I first went to Al-Anon nearly 18 years ago, I took my newborn baby with me more as a security blanket than anything. I have a hunch that sharing my blog posts with Father Charlie has two edges to it. I do want him to know that this is who I am but the posts have also been a bit of a security blanket for me too. By sharing specific posts I felt like I was a bit more in control of the sessions.
I'm 43 years old. At last it feels good to be me.
Wednesday, December 14, 2005
Being Home
A few weeks ago we stopped at this mall, which was once dubbed the largest mall in the world. There is only one store I absolutely have to go into when we go there. The other 800 stores pale in comparison to The Book Outlet discount book store. I love it. Leave me alone for a few hours while I scour the shelves. Most books are between 5 and 10 bucks, brand new. This time I came across a book I treasure. I have taken it out of the library several times and was thrilled to find my own copy for 5 bucks! The author writes meditations on everything from Awakening to Planning The Day and Setting The Alarm.
Here is an excerpt from it for you:
Getting Dressed
You have made us so naked.
We have no plumage to speak of -- no fur
or feathers against the cold. Does that mean
you want us to dress ourselves in nakedness?
To have only thin skins between us and You,
between us and Your world?
When I contemplate such nakedness
I know I cannot bear it.
I want immediately to cover myself.
Even so, You have placed Your life
within this exposed skin on purpose.
You have asked me to feel with You...
to be profoundly touched.
Let my need for safety not make
layers of insulation against the majesty
of Your trust in my vulnerability.
As I put on these clothes today let me remember
the intimate life You have called me to:
to touch and to be touched.
I don't want to shy away from knowing this
when I am with others. Let me wear
these outer garments lightly...for warmth
and for shelter...within them, let me remain
as you made me...utterly naked.
~Gunilla Norris in Being Home
Here is an excerpt from it for you:
Getting Dressed
You have made us so naked.
We have no plumage to speak of -- no fur
or feathers against the cold. Does that mean
you want us to dress ourselves in nakedness?
To have only thin skins between us and You,
between us and Your world?
When I contemplate such nakedness
I know I cannot bear it.
I want immediately to cover myself.
Even so, You have placed Your life
within this exposed skin on purpose.
You have asked me to feel with You...
to be profoundly touched.
Let my need for safety not make
layers of insulation against the majesty
of Your trust in my vulnerability.
As I put on these clothes today let me remember
the intimate life You have called me to:
to touch and to be touched.
I don't want to shy away from knowing this
when I am with others. Let me wear
these outer garments lightly...for warmth
and for shelter...within them, let me remain
as you made me...utterly naked.
~Gunilla Norris in Being Home
Monday, December 12, 2005
The Excruciating Faith Of Leo
I read this post by CHB last night and returned to it this morning because it struck a chord with me. I thought of many of you who comment here and felt that you might have some insight to give him that would help him know that he is not the only one with these kind of thoughts and struggles.
Friday, December 09, 2005
Being Out There
My husband was raised in a religious tradition that kept their distance from all things worldly. In a remote farming community with no radio or TV in his home, his thoughts on what the heck the world was like out there was mostly influenced by what he heard from the pulpit. In brief, the world was anything that wasn't of their church. Capisce? He heard countless messages about those other pretend wanna-be Christians of other faiths who were worldly and therefore lost, and he heard plenty about the people who weren't even pretending, who ran around and drank, smoked and danced.
When my husband decided the night before his baptism that he simply couldn't go through with it, he believed he only had one other choice. He had to act like that wicked world out there. So he promptly bought a pack of smokes, went to the bar and got drunk. After all, that's what those not of his parent's church did, right? It was the starkest black and white thinking ever. He stumbled into his parents bedroom in the wee hours of the morning smelling like the bar, and told them he wouldn't be getting baptized that morning. This many years later we can only imagine the pain they would have felt. He had already made a profession of faith adequate to pass the scrutiny of an all member meeting as to whether his conversion was the genuine thing. The embarrassment at having their son be a no-show for that all important rite that tied him forever to membership in their church and his ticket to heaven, must have been most difficult.
I was wondering today just how much kinship there is in my thinking with that of his parent's church. I shudder at thinking that outloud here but the reality is that it does flit in and out of my head. No, I don't doubt my now adult children's place with God. Or do I? I keep stubbing my toe on thoughts that rise to the surface and embarrass me. Thoughts that I just want my adult kids to at least look like they are doing the right thing. Could they at least go to church, not swear, not drink, not smoke dope, not do this that and the other thing? I can easily get hung up on the external. I hate it when I see how skilled I am at talking out of both sides of my mouth at once. I hate it that I often seem to want them to project the acceptable image with less concern about the internal workings of their heart than the outer actions of their lives. Just how human can they be and still be okay with God? In their mind, fully human.
It all seems so ironic. I was raised in that scary worldly world my husband was taught to fear while he was raised in the shelter of a community that shunned it all. Yet today my husband never gets his insides in a knot over the behaviour of his kids. It's not that he doesn't get concerned but he never automatically ties their behaviour to their heart relationship with God. Oh man, I feel like I am digging a bigger hole the more I try to explain my thoughts. I can hear some of you saying that you can't divorce the two. I don't know about you but if my actions and attitudes are a reflection 24/7 of my heart relationship with God then I am in big trouble. It is only recently that I have been able to relax enough to know and I mean, know that God reads my heart and understands my humanity far better than I do. I hold my humanity against myself more so than God does.
Okay. In the circles we have raised our kids in if a kid was drinking or smoking dope or going to the bar or doing any number of other things, it has always been equated with them walking away from God. There was no wiggle room. There wouldn't be a sigh of relief until they were back going to church and not doing that stuff. And I wonder why it has to be that way? I think about all the things I struggle with in my walk and how people don't doubt my relationship with God because of it. They give me the room to be human but that doesn't always seem to be the case with our young adults/teenagers. Why is that? And why can't they stumble on the way and be supported as they try to keep on the path? Oh man, someone please read between the lines and get what I am trying to say.
I was thinking today of our kids' pastor and how I would answer him if he asked me how they were doing. And how I couldn't say that they were doing this that and the other thing because his concern for them would overshadow all else. He wouldn't stop being concerned for them until they stopped doing these things. They wouldn't be okay with God unless they did. And how I wouldn't be able to find the words to tell him that God was underpinning their life despite how it looked. And that none of them doubted how firm a grip God had on them.
Maybe that is what bugs me. My kids are freer to live in the grace of God than I am. They accept they are human and feel at ease with their humanity. They know that their intrinsic worth in the sight of God remains the same. Always. In my mind, mine tends to fluctuate. They don't equate a list of behaviours with being in or out with God. That they believe this sometimes makes me feel like I have failed.
Our kids come to us and tell us what they are doing. I realized today that they don't fear condemnation from us for it. Oh, I do throw a great hissy fit, there's no doubt about it. Because of that they go to their dad first and me (sometimes) never, (most times) later. They aren't fessing up necessarily. They are just sharing their experiences with him honestly and openly. He tells them how he sees it but he doesn't judge them for their experimenting. He has seen how God has kept him in His sight through his own life, and trusts that God will do the same for his kids. Maybe what I am seeing is that because of how approachable their dad is, my kids are not scared of God. And I want them to be. A bit. Enough to walk my line.
I had lunch with my oldest son today. He is experimenting with dope a bit. He talks about it freely. Not bragging. Not keeping secrets either, though. We talk about addiction and his decision long ago not to drink because of the generational alcohol addicition in my family. We talk about the dangers of things becoming coping mechanisms and stress reducers. We talk freely about it. I'd rather he didn't experiment at all. He knows it. We talk about things his brother is doing. He tells me he is shocked I didn't kill his brother for his own recent admission of things that could get any mother's shirt in a knot. My penchant for temper tantrums is still intact and it just about kills me to have to respond to it all like I'm an adult too. They are so matter of fact about life and so free to admit this or that wasn't a good choice without any embarrassment. And free to remind me it is their choice when they continue to make a different choice than I would.
I sit here and wonder about my trust level in God, in my kids, in the world. How much easier it would be to belong to a tradition that spelled it all out and kept everyone in bondage under the guise of being right with God. How much I still find that desirable and abhorrent both. It should come as no surprise to me that if I struggle with wanting to clean up this blog post and portray a different reality that I would definitely want my kids to portray an image to those they actually meet in person in their day to day lives.
When my husband decided the night before his baptism that he simply couldn't go through with it, he believed he only had one other choice. He had to act like that wicked world out there. So he promptly bought a pack of smokes, went to the bar and got drunk. After all, that's what those not of his parent's church did, right? It was the starkest black and white thinking ever. He stumbled into his parents bedroom in the wee hours of the morning smelling like the bar, and told them he wouldn't be getting baptized that morning. This many years later we can only imagine the pain they would have felt. He had already made a profession of faith adequate to pass the scrutiny of an all member meeting as to whether his conversion was the genuine thing. The embarrassment at having their son be a no-show for that all important rite that tied him forever to membership in their church and his ticket to heaven, must have been most difficult.
I was wondering today just how much kinship there is in my thinking with that of his parent's church. I shudder at thinking that outloud here but the reality is that it does flit in and out of my head. No, I don't doubt my now adult children's place with God. Or do I? I keep stubbing my toe on thoughts that rise to the surface and embarrass me. Thoughts that I just want my adult kids to at least look like they are doing the right thing. Could they at least go to church, not swear, not drink, not smoke dope, not do this that and the other thing? I can easily get hung up on the external. I hate it when I see how skilled I am at talking out of both sides of my mouth at once. I hate it that I often seem to want them to project the acceptable image with less concern about the internal workings of their heart than the outer actions of their lives. Just how human can they be and still be okay with God? In their mind, fully human.
It all seems so ironic. I was raised in that scary worldly world my husband was taught to fear while he was raised in the shelter of a community that shunned it all. Yet today my husband never gets his insides in a knot over the behaviour of his kids. It's not that he doesn't get concerned but he never automatically ties their behaviour to their heart relationship with God. Oh man, I feel like I am digging a bigger hole the more I try to explain my thoughts. I can hear some of you saying that you can't divorce the two. I don't know about you but if my actions and attitudes are a reflection 24/7 of my heart relationship with God then I am in big trouble. It is only recently that I have been able to relax enough to know and I mean, know that God reads my heart and understands my humanity far better than I do. I hold my humanity against myself more so than God does.
Okay. In the circles we have raised our kids in if a kid was drinking or smoking dope or going to the bar or doing any number of other things, it has always been equated with them walking away from God. There was no wiggle room. There wouldn't be a sigh of relief until they were back going to church and not doing that stuff. And I wonder why it has to be that way? I think about all the things I struggle with in my walk and how people don't doubt my relationship with God because of it. They give me the room to be human but that doesn't always seem to be the case with our young adults/teenagers. Why is that? And why can't they stumble on the way and be supported as they try to keep on the path? Oh man, someone please read between the lines and get what I am trying to say.
I was thinking today of our kids' pastor and how I would answer him if he asked me how they were doing. And how I couldn't say that they were doing this that and the other thing because his concern for them would overshadow all else. He wouldn't stop being concerned for them until they stopped doing these things. They wouldn't be okay with God unless they did. And how I wouldn't be able to find the words to tell him that God was underpinning their life despite how it looked. And that none of them doubted how firm a grip God had on them.
Maybe that is what bugs me. My kids are freer to live in the grace of God than I am. They accept they are human and feel at ease with their humanity. They know that their intrinsic worth in the sight of God remains the same. Always. In my mind, mine tends to fluctuate. They don't equate a list of behaviours with being in or out with God. That they believe this sometimes makes me feel like I have failed.
Our kids come to us and tell us what they are doing. I realized today that they don't fear condemnation from us for it. Oh, I do throw a great hissy fit, there's no doubt about it. Because of that they go to their dad first and me (sometimes) never, (most times) later. They aren't fessing up necessarily. They are just sharing their experiences with him honestly and openly. He tells them how he sees it but he doesn't judge them for their experimenting. He has seen how God has kept him in His sight through his own life, and trusts that God will do the same for his kids. Maybe what I am seeing is that because of how approachable their dad is, my kids are not scared of God. And I want them to be. A bit. Enough to walk my line.
I had lunch with my oldest son today. He is experimenting with dope a bit. He talks about it freely. Not bragging. Not keeping secrets either, though. We talk about addiction and his decision long ago not to drink because of the generational alcohol addicition in my family. We talk about the dangers of things becoming coping mechanisms and stress reducers. We talk freely about it. I'd rather he didn't experiment at all. He knows it. We talk about things his brother is doing. He tells me he is shocked I didn't kill his brother for his own recent admission of things that could get any mother's shirt in a knot. My penchant for temper tantrums is still intact and it just about kills me to have to respond to it all like I'm an adult too. They are so matter of fact about life and so free to admit this or that wasn't a good choice without any embarrassment. And free to remind me it is their choice when they continue to make a different choice than I would.
I sit here and wonder about my trust level in God, in my kids, in the world. How much easier it would be to belong to a tradition that spelled it all out and kept everyone in bondage under the guise of being right with God. How much I still find that desirable and abhorrent both. It should come as no surprise to me that if I struggle with wanting to clean up this blog post and portray a different reality that I would definitely want my kids to portray an image to those they actually meet in person in their day to day lives.
Thursday, December 08, 2005
Mirror, Mirror.....
I've been keeping a journal for many years now. Yesterday I was reading over my journal for the past year and came upon an entry that I would like to share:
"I feel like I've been freed to do His will. There is a willingness within me that is free of guilt or obligation or all those words that make me feel like I'm striving. Instead, I feel like I am becoming. I feel like God is coaxing me towards a mirror so that He can reveal to me the fullness of who I was created to be. He has this beautiful beaming smile on his face, pleased with his creation and he wants me to see myself through his eyes. What he sees is good.
And I'm finding that as I inch my way towards the mirror I am already looking at those around me differently. With more grace, more compassion. Or so it seems. When I make a stabbing comment about someone I hear it for the sounding gong that it is. The comment reveals more about me than anything. I know from experience that in those times when negativity seems to radiate from me in waves that it's because I'm viewing myself in the same way.
As the mirror gets closer God is telling me that how I see myself is not the sum total of who I am. Yes, I have all these human foibles. I get moody, pissy. I can make a verbal attach that has the power to mortally wound a spirit. I have compulsions and coping mechanisms that embarrass me. But God seeing it all doesn't condemn me for it. He encourages me to embrace it all. As he does."
~January 13, 2005
"I feel like I've been freed to do His will. There is a willingness within me that is free of guilt or obligation or all those words that make me feel like I'm striving. Instead, I feel like I am becoming. I feel like God is coaxing me towards a mirror so that He can reveal to me the fullness of who I was created to be. He has this beautiful beaming smile on his face, pleased with his creation and he wants me to see myself through his eyes. What he sees is good.
And I'm finding that as I inch my way towards the mirror I am already looking at those around me differently. With more grace, more compassion. Or so it seems. When I make a stabbing comment about someone I hear it for the sounding gong that it is. The comment reveals more about me than anything. I know from experience that in those times when negativity seems to radiate from me in waves that it's because I'm viewing myself in the same way.
As the mirror gets closer God is telling me that how I see myself is not the sum total of who I am. Yes, I have all these human foibles. I get moody, pissy. I can make a verbal attach that has the power to mortally wound a spirit. I have compulsions and coping mechanisms that embarrass me. But God seeing it all doesn't condemn me for it. He encourages me to embrace it all. As he does."
~January 13, 2005
Monday, December 05, 2005
Patience? I Think Not
There is a standing joke in my parents' home - I am always greeted with a chuckle when I make a birthday or anniversary phone call a day or two early. The real surprise is when I actually wait for the right day to call! I also either send the card early or not at all (sorry Dad I found your Father's Day card in a pile of papers last week). When I buy gifts I feel like I am a horse with a bit in its mouth, being held back by God-knows-what, when I can't give the present the moment after I've bought it. I like celebrations. I like to surprise people. I really nearly jump up and down when I match the perfect gift with the right person. It's too bad I can't jump on a trampoline anymore because that is what my heart does when I give a gift.
You will have to forgive me for being early with this post. You see, in 3 days from today, on December 8th, it will be one year since I wrote my first post on this blog. I am a bit giddy about it. I want to dance and shout and make merry. I want to celebrate me and you and you and you. Every member of my family will be laughing, but not surprised, that I could not wait to write this post. It is one way I am sooo predictable.
I have a commitment phobia of sorts. I avoid making commitments as much as possible. Other than being married for nearly 24 years and meeting regularly with friends for the past 216 weeks(it's been that long all you boundary people!), well, don't count on me to show up, okay?
So that I have shown up here is something to celebrate. That you have shown up here is incredible. This morning when I clicked on my blog there was the little counter at the bottom showing I've had 10,000 visitors. Okay, okay, minus 2,000 at least of those hits as mine and well, I am still dancing around in my heart.
I have been stretched in unpredictable ways by reading all of your blogs. Recently my husband had a dream about his brother who passed away 18 months ago. In the dream his brother said to him, "You don't see the whole picture." I still don't see the whole picture but I see a bigger one than I did before I met all of you. I had thought of listing you all but with my blog favourites somewhere over 200 blogs it would be a mammoth list. Thank you for the regulars who keep encouraging me to write and letting me know that I am not alone on the journey.
Two things now. First, could you lurkers post a comment to let me know you are here. With hits just about at 100 a day curiousity gets the better of me. Oh dear, I am so full of myself. Sigh. Some things never change! Second, below are links to my favourite posts. I got over the fear of posting "shitty first drafts" as Anne Lamott calls them and have learned to hit the "publish post" button far short of perfection. It feels much better than the days when I laboured over every sentence before I considered anything worthy of being read by anyone else ('cept my sister).
My Favourites:
The Whole Journey
Getting My Fix
Note To Self
Jockeying For Position
Saran Wrapped
Having A Q-Tip Moment
Head Noise
Sweet, Sweet Days Of Summer
Give Me The Goods
Come Dine With Me...Not
Of Sawdust and Icons
The Full Monty
The Truth Shall Set You Free
Believe In You
Cracked For good
You will have to forgive me for being early with this post. You see, in 3 days from today, on December 8th, it will be one year since I wrote my first post on this blog. I am a bit giddy about it. I want to dance and shout and make merry. I want to celebrate me and you and you and you. Every member of my family will be laughing, but not surprised, that I could not wait to write this post. It is one way I am sooo predictable.
I have a commitment phobia of sorts. I avoid making commitments as much as possible. Other than being married for nearly 24 years and meeting regularly with friends for the past 216 weeks(it's been that long all you boundary people!), well, don't count on me to show up, okay?
So that I have shown up here is something to celebrate. That you have shown up here is incredible. This morning when I clicked on my blog there was the little counter at the bottom showing I've had 10,000 visitors. Okay, okay, minus 2,000 at least of those hits as mine and well, I am still dancing around in my heart.
I have been stretched in unpredictable ways by reading all of your blogs. Recently my husband had a dream about his brother who passed away 18 months ago. In the dream his brother said to him, "You don't see the whole picture." I still don't see the whole picture but I see a bigger one than I did before I met all of you. I had thought of listing you all but with my blog favourites somewhere over 200 blogs it would be a mammoth list. Thank you for the regulars who keep encouraging me to write and letting me know that I am not alone on the journey.
Two things now. First, could you lurkers post a comment to let me know you are here. With hits just about at 100 a day curiousity gets the better of me. Oh dear, I am so full of myself. Sigh. Some things never change! Second, below are links to my favourite posts. I got over the fear of posting "shitty first drafts" as Anne Lamott calls them and have learned to hit the "publish post" button far short of perfection. It feels much better than the days when I laboured over every sentence before I considered anything worthy of being read by anyone else ('cept my sister).
My Favourites:
The Whole Journey
Getting My Fix
Note To Self
Jockeying For Position
Saran Wrapped
Having A Q-Tip Moment
Head Noise
Sweet, Sweet Days Of Summer
Give Me The Goods
Come Dine With Me...Not
Of Sawdust and Icons
The Full Monty
The Truth Shall Set You Free
Believe In You
Cracked For good
Seven Things Meme
from Bobbie
7 Things To Do Before I Die:
1. Publish a book
2. Hold a grandchild in my arms
3. Learn to play a dulcimer(thanks poor mad peter)
4. Belly dance
5. Keep that darn hoola hoop aloft
6. Visit the ocean again
7. Meet at least one person from the blogsphere
7 Things I Cannot Do:
1. Roll my tongue
2. Sing in tune
3. Change oil in my van
4. Change a tire either
5. Use tact without effort
6. Make small talk
7. Make my face not express what I am really thinking
7 Things That Attract Me To My Husband:
1. His heart for God
2. His sparkling, mischievious eyes
3. His hands
4. His soft spot for animals
5. ooh, those kissable lips of his
6. His laugh (the one that's just for me)
7. His sense of humour
7 Things I Say Most Often
1. Oh crap
2. I'm just gonna check my email
3. Really?
4. I love you
5. No, no, no, no don't (when ice cold hands are approaching my skin)
6. You're kidding right?
7. Good grief
7 Books or Series I Love:
1. Little Britches Series by Ralph Moody
2. The Way To Love by Anthony de Mello
3. Little Notebook by Nicole Gausseron
4. The Nickel-Plated Beauty by Patricia Beatty
5. Being Home by Gunilla Norris
6. Everyday Sacred by Sue Bender
7. The Secret Garden by Frances Hodgson Burnett
7 Movies I Would Watch Over And Over Again:
1. As Good As It Gets
2. Chasing Amy
3. Love Actually
4. Wit
5. Crash
6. Life Is Beautiful
7. To Sir With Love
7 bloggers to tag: Amanda, Jan, Daisymarie, Katy, Eija, WhichJo, Jackie
7 Things To Do Before I Die:
1. Publish a book
2. Hold a grandchild in my arms
3. Learn to play a dulcimer(thanks poor mad peter)
4. Belly dance
5. Keep that darn hoola hoop aloft
6. Visit the ocean again
7. Meet at least one person from the blogsphere
7 Things I Cannot Do:
1. Roll my tongue
2. Sing in tune
3. Change oil in my van
4. Change a tire either
5. Use tact without effort
6. Make small talk
7. Make my face not express what I am really thinking
7 Things That Attract Me To My Husband:
1. His heart for God
2. His sparkling, mischievious eyes
3. His hands
4. His soft spot for animals
5. ooh, those kissable lips of his
6. His laugh (the one that's just for me)
7. His sense of humour
7 Things I Say Most Often
1. Oh crap
2. I'm just gonna check my email
3. Really?
4. I love you
5. No, no, no, no don't (when ice cold hands are approaching my skin)
6. You're kidding right?
7. Good grief
7 Books or Series I Love:
1. Little Britches Series by Ralph Moody
2. The Way To Love by Anthony de Mello
3. Little Notebook by Nicole Gausseron
4. The Nickel-Plated Beauty by Patricia Beatty
5. Being Home by Gunilla Norris
6. Everyday Sacred by Sue Bender
7. The Secret Garden by Frances Hodgson Burnett
7 Movies I Would Watch Over And Over Again:
1. As Good As It Gets
2. Chasing Amy
3. Love Actually
4. Wit
5. Crash
6. Life Is Beautiful
7. To Sir With Love
7 bloggers to tag: Amanda, Jan, Daisymarie, Katy, Eija, WhichJo, Jackie
Thursday, December 01, 2005
Make-A-Flake Fun
In the spirit of play that Father Charlie is always encouraging me to discover, have fun making your very own snow flake. The scissors are a bit hard to figure out how to use - at least they were for me. It's a little bit of creativity to make you smile. Enjoy.
Via Lisa
Via Lisa
Break A Leg
We're going away for a few days - only daughter is in a production at the little theatre school she is attending. We are thrilled to go see her in action! Our sons both took time off work to make the trip so this will truly be a family affair. It's our way of saying to only daughter collectively, "You go girl!"
I leave you with this quote:
"Can you, from time to time, just nurture a little warm feeling toward yourself? I truly believe that's all it takes (for sanity and realistic expectations). A little warm feeling creates an atmosphere of acceptance, of allowing, of permitting. And within that atmosphere there is a kind of encouragement for the goodness to grow: the goodness that is you, the goodness that is life in you, the goodness of creation in you, God's goodness in you."
~Gerald May in Simply Sane
I leave you with this quote:
"Can you, from time to time, just nurture a little warm feeling toward yourself? I truly believe that's all it takes (for sanity and realistic expectations). A little warm feeling creates an atmosphere of acceptance, of allowing, of permitting. And within that atmosphere there is a kind of encouragement for the goodness to grow: the goodness that is you, the goodness that is life in you, the goodness of creation in you, God's goodness in you."
~Gerald May in Simply Sane
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