New Joy

It wasn’t long in to the “single again” status that I realized I had to do something to get out of myself and find new purpose in life.  I spent a good chunk of time in the beginning pondering and analyzing my life and past, decisions and choices.  It was time spent working on me.  It was healing and growing, changing and refining.  It was really hard work.  It is not a completed work, but I’m in a different place in the process. 

Lately though, I’ve been finding new joy in helping others.  I’ve known for years that serving is part of where I get re-fueled; it’s probably one of the reasons I became a counselor.  But though being a counselor does provide fuel, it is also very draining.  There have to be other sources of fueling.

I’ve mentioned my “nail place” before, but as time goes on, I’ve become more and more involved at this little business.  I’ve come to think of those girls as my Vietnamese “family”.  The longer I go there, the more I learn about the family connections between some of the girls and the stories of their lives.

This past Monday afternoon, I’d made arrangements for my nieces and sister in laws to get their nails done at my place.  They gave me a deal, partially because of our relationship but partially because it’s just a slow time of year.  When I got there, one of the girls came and sat down next to me.  I’ve seen her many times, but she is one of the only girls that I hadn’t had much contact with.  My impression was that her English wasn’t very good.

Apparently, she and a couple of the other girls had been talking, and they told her about me helping them with their English.  She wanted help too.  She was so nervous about talking to me and asking for help.  I was really excited because I had seen her struggling on several occasions, and I really wanted to help her.  So we made a plan to begin today.

We met at Starbucks and started by just having a conversation.  The biggest thing the girls need is practice with someone who won’t make them feel stupid.  She was very embarrassed and apologetic about her grammar and not having a “good voice”.  This just stuns me.  I think that, given the circumstances they are in, these girls do very well.  English is a very inconsistent and difficult language. 

After some coaxing, she began to talk.  I learned that she had come to the states when she was in junior high.  She lives with her mom, dad, and two younger sisters.  When she got here, she worked to help support the family so that her two little sisters could go to school.  She didn’t get to go to school because her family needed her help financially.    She worked in a restaurant with her family for several years then went to school to get licensed to do nails.  She now works part time at the nail place and is finally getting to go to school.  She is 29 years old. 

I think she was completely stunned that I was willing to work with her.  She doesn’t understand that it is fun for me.  Today, we talked quite a bit and then read a children’s book together.  We traded off reading pages, stopping to go over difficult vocabulary.  She got teary several times because she was overwhelmed that I was helping her.  The funny thing is, I was having a great time.  I loved helping her.  We got some funny looks in Starbucks, but I didn’t really care.

Toward the end, we were going over some grammar and she made up a sentence for me in which she spoke of going to church tonight to sing.  I poked that a bit to find out a little about her background.  She told me that, “[she ] loves God because he has helped [her] so much”.  I told her that I thought He probably sent me to her.  She readily agreed and got teary again.

But the truth is, He probably sent her to me too.  I don’t really know if it was in His grand plan for us to meet up.  But getting to help her and the other girls has given me a new joy.  It’s the joy that comes from becoming a part of a new community.  It’s the joy that comes from getting to help others.  It’s the joy that comes from doing something you enjoy anyway.  It’s the joy that comes from knowing you are making a difference to someone else.

While I think that getting outside of myself in this way is especially good for a newly single person like me, I actually think it is good for everyone.  I think it’s good for us to step outside of ourselves and see the needs around us.  Needs that we can meet doing something we enjoy anyway.

Now I’m going to go try the eggroll and other assorted treats she brought that her mom made just for me.  What an honor.

Heavenly Banana Bread

There is something oh so wrong about over ripe bananas and oh so right about delicious banana bread.  My favorite banana bread recipe came from Gwen Goodyear, my sister in law’s mom.  I’ll be honest, it’s a difficult recipe.  You’ve got to be on really good speaking terms with your oven to get this one right.  It requires time adjustments, temperature adjustments, and sometimes tinfoil.  But when you get it right, it’s pure heaven. 

I feel sure that there are other recipes out there that are easier.  But I don’t care.  This is “Dusty’s Banana Bread,” though really Gwen’s, so it’s the one I’m going to make.  Gwen is now in heaven, so I feel sure that this recipe is right on the verge of being THE heavenly choice.   

My all time favorite memory of Gwen is a Christmas years ago; I don’t even remember what year it was.  What I do remember is Gwen and her three daughters all in Dusty’s kitchen preparing the meal.  They were laughing and fussing and laughing and arguing and laughing and really LOUD!  And it was awesome!  Somewhere I have a picture of it.  I should frame it with this recipe.  The very best part of the memory though is that I got to be right in there with all of them.  A perfect moment captured in my heart.

So here is the recipe.  Good luck…

Gwen’s Banana Bread

Sift:
1 ¼ c flour

1 c sugar

½ t salt

1 t baking soda

Cut in ½ c shortening.

Add and mix:

2 ripe bananas, mashed

2 eggs

Bake at 350 degrees for 35-40 minutes.

Give and Take

            Occasionally, I am presented with an opportunity to give that I cannot pass.  I’ve decided that the more I look for these opportunities, the more I am presented with them.  Or maybe it’s that the more I take the opportunity, the more I notice.  Some would say it’s a spiritual leading, and I’m comfortable with that.  Regardless of where the nudge comes from or why, I’ve found that answering is always rewarding…to me.

            This year I’ve had an opportunity to invest in my friend Allison.  She has made two trips to Africa to visit and work in orphanages.  There is an enthusiasm and passion about the way she talks about the kids she meets that is irresistible.  I think part of the draw for me is that she sponsors kids in addition to visiting.  But more, she never forgets those kids.  She has developed relationships with people who live and work there in order to serve better.  I have absolutely no desire to go to Africa.  But I’m glad she does.  And I feel blessed to be able to help her.

            Allison also works with St. Jude’s hospital.  She and a team of friends do the walk every year in support of various kids.  It’s a free hospital.  It’s a great cause.  But I can’t resist sponsoring her because of completely different reasons.  She has taught her daughter the importance of giving and helping others.  And this year, Allison’s daughter is crazy excited that she gets to walk too.  How can I not support that enthusiasm?

            Then there is school.  There are always opportunities to support causes at schools.  I’ve picked up a “Senior” (elderly person) from one of our student organization’s angel tree that I need to shop for this afternoon.  I have no idea why I couldn’t pass this one up; it’s not like I needed another person to shop for, but for some reason, I had to pick up a Senior Angel.

            About five minutes ago, I bought raffle tickets for another cause.  It’s a group that provides an after school learning program for our high school kids.  It goes straight to my kids.  For kids who need a safe place.  And they learn cooking, sewing, social skills, study skills, and lots of other things.  It’s like an extension of what the counseling program is about, how can I resist?

            One of the teachers at my school who is an only child, lost his dad this weekend.  He had to make an emergency trip across the country to make arrangements.  His wife and kids had to stay here because one of his kids has a serious illness that requires regular hospital visits and stays.  As a result, they are strapped financially.  I can’t imagine being in this situation.  I only learned about it recently when I also discovered that I’d gone to college with and knew his wife.  When someone from his department asked, how could I not help?

            Writing is processing for me, and as I’m sitting here writing this, I think I know why I have to respond to these types of opportunities.

            When I was in 8^th grade, my dad was diagnosed with leukemia.  There were four kids in my family, two in high school, one in junior high, and a toddler.  Mom was home with John running a day care.  Money was really tight.  But we were taken care of.

            A teacher from my dad’s school, Pasadena High School, was my dad’s summer school substitute and never took a dime for sub pay.

            One of the Assistant Principals there gave Dad something like $100 from every one of her pay checks. 

            During a particularly long hospital stay, an old friend from Michigan came down and helped me run the day care while Mom stayed at the hospital with Dad. 

            When he was super sick, he would teach the first part of class then lay down on a cot in the office next door while one of the other math teacher’s monitored class work during his/her conference period.

            The people I babysat for knew I wanted to go to a workshop in Abilene for Bible class teachers with a group from church, so they paid for me to go.  In fact, they made that trip happen in minutes before I went home one night from sitting with their boys, and I left the next morning.

            People would shake my mom’s hand at church and leave bills of all sorts of denomination behind. 

            After Dad passed, someone paid to fly my brother home from Arkansas.  Someone else paid the rest of his college tuition that semester.  The church paid off our van.  People brought us food.

            When I moved out a year and a half ago, one of my friends walked by my side every step of the way.  She helped me figure out my finances.  She helped me find a place to live where I would be safe.  She loved me without judgment.  She loaned me her children for hugs.

            When my mom heard, she got in the car and drove 11 hours to help me move.  She didn’t know details but she knew ME.  She stayed at my apartment and unpacked and organized me while I went to work.  She bought me a mop and a tool kit and lots of other little things to make me more comfortable.  Mostly she loved me.

            Another of my friends came over with bags of groceries to stock my refrigerator, freezer, and pantry.  She also brought me a television which I’m still using.  And she let me do laundry at her house for almost a year, insisting that I not bring my own detergent.  During our laundry/study sessions, she listened for hours.  Today, she called and sang, “I Just Called To Say I Love You” on my voice mail.

            A stranger with whom I have a mutual friend gave me a washer and dryer to use the last few months in Amarillo. 

            I know what it means to be given gifts when you least expect it and never dream to even ask.  I have been given many, many gifts in my life.

            It isn’t always comfortable to take help when it is offered.  Sometimes it’s downright painful.  My mom used to say that when you don’t allow others to help you when you are in need that you are robbing them of the opportunity to serve.  I think she is right.

            She has something else to say about giving.  She once bought someone glasses and then shared this with me from Proverbs, “Do not withhold good from those who deserve it, when it is in your power to act.”

            I think we NEED to give of ourselves and help others.  I think it is essential to our personal growth.  Life is not all about “me”.  It’s good for me when Allison reminds me that there are millions of orphans who need help.  It’s good when community needs are brought to my attention at school.  It’s really good when I can pay forward to a coworker what was done for my family.  And I didn’t write all of that to toot my own horn.  It’s not about that at all.  It’s about recognizing the fact that we have as much need to give as we sometimes have to receive.

            I think it’s good for you too.  If you can’t give of your money, give of your time.  I’ve been doing some tutoring here recently that I’m convinced is far more rewarding for me than my “students”.

            I understand the need to circle the wagons and focus inward for a time.  I’ve been there before.  But sometimes, when circling is the temptation, I think we are better off looking out.  There are always so many others who have it worse.  There is always something we can give.  And sometimes the thing that is most fulfilling to us, is pouring into others.

Lost and Found

Before you get worried about my current state of mind, know that the following was inspired by multiple things over the course of a couple of years.  While I do believe the words, feel the words, the completed piece is the strained and concentrated feelings, as my poems usually are.  Besides reflecting on my own life, part of this is from reflection on a blog post a friend of mine wrote months ago, one that I've gone back and reread multiple times.  Then today at work, I had an interesting conversation with a student that inspired me further.

Lost and Found

I want to be sighted in the crosshairs of somebody’s scope

I want to be scented by a well-trained hound

I want to be tracked in the rain, foot prints washed away

I want to be hunted until I am found.

I want to be chased until breathless with aching sides

I want to be pursued to the ends of the earth

I want to be sought like a treasure, a precious gem

I want to be appraised with the highest worth

I want to be appreciated, wafted, swirled in a glass

I want to be held up, inspected in the light

I want to be savored, sipped, not gulped or sloshed

I want to be valued with highest price

I want to be noticed, acknowledged, never ignored

I want to be prioritized, top of the list

I want to be searched for if lost, away from the path

If I’m missing I want to be missed.

Reciprocal

Sometimes it fills me to listen
Sometimes it empties my tank

Sometimes cheering is energizing
Sometimes it just feels like a drain

Sometimes initiating is exciting
Sometimes invisible seems best

Sometimes silence is comfort
Sometimes it feels like a test

Sometimes the work seems worth it
Sometimes it feels like a waste

Sometimes each word choice matters
Sometimes it just tumbles in haste

Sometimes being the talker is easy
Sometimes it’s a lot of hurt

Sometimes being quiet is better
Sometimes it makes others work

The Most Sacred Gift

I believe, and have believed for some time, that the greatest gift a person can give you is a piece of himself.  When someone shares part of his story with you, you have been given the gift of trust.  That you can be trusted to hold that little piece of him with respect, and without judgment, is an amazing honor. 

Because of this belief, I am constantly amazed at the way people talk to me.  The ladies at my manicure shop talk to me.  One of them talks to me about the challenges of being a working mom.  She pours her heart out to me.  She hardly knows me!

Where I used to work, random teachers would drop in and plop down and tell me all about their husbands and kids and in-laws and all of their troubles.  Occasionally, someone would lurk at the door and I could tell she needed to talk.  So I’d invite her in and before you know it, she had talked and cried and laughed all in the space of a conference period.

I occasionally play an online game with people who are total strangers.  Sometimes a conversation will begin and within an hour I’ve heard some random stranger’s life story along with his deepest, darkest secrets.  It’s nuts!

I know I’m a counselor so I’ve been trained to listen, but I don’t really think that’s why people talk to me.  I’m not really anything special as counselors go.   I think people just desperately want someone to listen.  They need to be heard.

I think people want to give this gift of sharing far more than they actually give it.  It’s so hard sometimes to find someone you feel comfortable enough with to extend that sacred trust to.  I think maybe it’s even harder to find someone who is willing to receive it. 

And that astonishes me.  Because there is no greater gift.

I was reminded of all of this today with one of my students.  I sent for her because one of her teacher’s had expressed some concerns.  I’d visited with her once before.  She has a therapist who is most likely far more qualified than I am.  I asked the young lady how she was doing and she gave me the typical, “fine.”  Her words and her eyes didn’t match, which I told her.  I asked if she was sure she was ok.  “Yeah”.  I told her I wouldn’t force her to talk to me but that I thought she was a big fat liar.  She smiled.

A few minutes later she started talking.  I listened.  She shared.  It was so good.  Lots of opportunities to praise good things and sympathize with hard things.  Really good stuff. 

Then I found out she was a writer.  I suspected as much because she had a very pretty notebook that looked suspiciously like a journal.  I have a similar one.  We had a long conversation about writing and sharing and poetry and music.  I have a quote from P!nk on my credenza that she recognized.  A line from a song, “Change the voices in your head.  Make them like you instead.”  We talked about it.  It was a counselor’s dream really.

Then she did something unbelievable.  She asked me if I wanted to read one of her poems.  I was so excited.  What an honor!  Talk about a precious gift.  Of course, I accepted.  She ended up allowing me to read several.  She has talent.  I ended up keeping her far too long.  It was just such an incredible experience.  She talked AND shared her writing!

So why am I telling you all of this?

Lately, I am constantly amazed at people’s need to be acknowledged.  One of the easiest…and hardest…ways to do that is to listen.  Stop and listen to the people who are talking to you.

Your kids.  Your friends.  Your spouses.  Your coworkers. 

They want to give you a most sacred gift.  Don’t miss it.

You Matter

I was blessed to receive tons of birthday wishes today.  From people I’m close to and people who are more acquaintance than friend.  But it mattered.

Four or five years ago, I had a 5^th grade boy in my office.  My phone rang, and I ignored it.  He wanted to know why I wasn’t answering.  I told him he was more important than that phone call.  He was stunned.  It mattered.

A friend of mine who lives far away, “pokes” me on Facebook every time she is on.  It matters to me.

One of the other counselors at my school has this goofy student who comes by several times a day just to say hello.  She always acknowledges him, even if it is just a smile or wave.  It matters.

There are countless ways that I am affirmed on a daily basis of the importance of my existence.  Today’s unusual abundance of those acknowledgments has had me thinking about it.  I am so incredibly blessed to have so many family members and friends who care about me.  And that matters.

I am frequently stunned at the number of people who go through life not knowing whether their existence even matters.  Kids.  Spouses.  Employees.  Employers.  Parents.  Neglected and wondering if their absence would even register to those they interact with on a daily basis. 

One of the most important lessons I’ve learned in life, both in counseling and in my personal life, is of people’s basic need to matter.  To be noticed.  Acknowledged.  Valued.

And providing that kind of feedback can be so incredibly simple.  A smile.  A hug.  A nod.  A pat.  A nudge.  A “hello”.  A wink.  A wave.  An ignored call or text.  A pause to listen.  All so incredibly simple.  But so very important. 

There are so many people in my life who can easily go unnoticed.  People who provide me services and luxuries.  People who just happen to cross my path.  The manicure ladies.  My hair stylist.  The guy who bags my groceries.  The oil change people.  My secretaries.  The receptionist.  The custodians.  The apartment maintenance people.  Students in the hall I don’t even know. 

Today, more than usual, I know I matter to others.  And I’m reminded of how very simple it is to return that favor.  Not everyone has the kind of friends and family I do.

Exorcising Pride

I just finished watching a movie called, The Rite.  I’m pretty sure it would be classified as horror, which is absolutely not my regular genre, but since Anthony Hopkins was the star, I decided to give it a go.  It is about a young man who goes to seminary as an alternative to becoming a mortician.  His future is dictated by his dad’s willingness to pay for only those two options.  The entire movie is basically about his faith struggles.  He ends up being connected with an older priest, Hopkins, who is an exorcist. 

I won’t go in to the entire story, though surprisingly, I liked the movie.  But the message of the movie is, I think, a really good one.  Hopkins does major battle against satan through some fairly unorthodox exorcism methods.  But over the course of his career, the devil manages to creep in anyway.  Ultimately, and in the nick of time, the young priest comes to terms with his own faith and “saves” Hopkins by exorcising satan from him.

So.  What’s the point?  I found it interesting that the very people who were supposed to be the authorities on fighting evil, ultimately had struggles of their own.  For the older priest, pride seemed to be a contributing factor.  For the younger, faith. 

I think sometimes we get so caught up in pointing out and noticing everyone else’s faults that we fail to see our own.  Our pride and judgment of others blinds us to what is going on in ourselves.  The perfect storm developed from pride that “goes before a fall,” and working on someone else’s splinter without noticing our own blinding plank.

I’ve experienced a lot of judgment in the last couple of years and know how painful it can be.  It has caused me to look at other people and their struggles differently.  I think that piece is a good lesson for me.  But this movie was a little reminder for me when I find myself getting comfortable or being smug.  I am so far from having it all together.  I think kindness, love, and compassion are always good choices.

Trust

I've been contemplating the concept of trust lately.  I even started writing a piece about it, comparing it to a spider's web, sticky and shaky, sending vibrations when encroached upon by nasty insects.  Then I put a starter on FB that said, "Trust is..." and waited for the comments, some of which I found sad.  Then I remembered that I'd written some things on Trust this past year.  As it turns out, I don't need to write a lengthy post after all.


Written 2/24/22


Trust

A delicate web
A spiral,
Radiates.

A small touch,
A test,
Reverberates.

A careless swipe,
A break,
Devastates.

A precious gift,
A choice,
Recreates.

Oh what
A tangled web
We weave.

Challenge the System

In counseling, sometimes the best way to promote change is to challenge the beliefs of the system.  I’ve been challenging my own system lately.  And while I may be a family of one, I still operate with a system of beliefs that have been shaped by other systems I’ve belonged to over the years.

When you are young, asking “why” is acceptable and normal, though occasionally annoying to those whom you are constantly asking.  But some people, lots of people really, slowly quit asking that question.  There are all sorts of reasons to quit asking…you think you know all the whys, or you just want to keep peace, or you don’t want to make waves, or you don’t want to be made fun of, or maybe you grow tired of the answer.  But for me, challenging the system often involves asking “why?”. 

I challenge other people all the time.  I’m a counselor.  It’s what I do.  Listen and challenge.  In the last couple of years, I’ve started listening and challenging myself.  Asking why.

Last week I was putting some dirty dishes in the dishwasher and thinking about how I would have to wash my breakfast dishes the next morning.  I fix my instant oatmeal in these plastic cups that are the perfect size for microwaving without bubbling over.  But I only have three of them.  And what I do is use the three, then wash one a couple of times by hand.  For some reason last week I stopped and asked myself why I didn’t just run the dishwasher.

I thought about it, and the reason is because…you don’t run the dishwasher until it’s full.  Well, in my home, that takes a week.  But I need those cups after three days.  The more I thought about it, the more I realized that it was ridiculous for me to wait a week to run the dishwasher.  If the dishwasher’s job is to wash my dishes…why not let it?  Pretty dumb huh…

Not running the dishwasher until it’s full makes great sense in a big family when you go through dishes quickly.  Fill that sucker up!  But for me, it makes no sense at all.  So…I ran the dishwasher half full.  And the earth did NOT fall out of its orbit.  Nor did the ground crack open and swallow me up.  But the next morning, I had a clean cup for my oatmeal.

At this point you might be wondering what the big deal is.  Well, changing my dishwashing pattern is actually not that big of a deal.  But the idea of questioning how you do things…I think that is big. 

So often, we get stuck in patterns of living and functioning and continue in them because it’s how we’ve always done it.  Don’t get me wrong, I’m all for routine and tradition.  But I think that an occasional “Why?”, is healthy.

People

Like layered cake

Filled and frosted.

With iced masks

Of buttercream

Or fondant.

Delicate whirls

Of imperfect

Uniqueness.

Or smooth

Perfection

Draping.

Creamy filling

Moisty goodness

Sticking to the frost

Or flaky stale

Dried up bland

Hidden under gloss.

Signpost

I used to lie in my bed at night and cry and pray for my marriage.  I would go for a drive and cry and pray.  I’d beg and plead with God.  Make bargains.  Cry some more.  I have probably spent more time crying and praying for my marriage than any other thing/person in my life.

Four days before I left, a switch flipped inside of me.  I quit crying.  And my prayer changed.  As to the tears, I think I was just out of tears.  I’d cried for my marriage for so long that when I made the decision to leave, I couldn’t cry.  Crying opened me up and made me vulnerable.  And I had to be strong.  Stronger than I’d ever had to be in my life.  My prayer became really simple, “God help me.”  I guess those words became my cry.  My cry for help, strength, courage.  Survival. 

And then there was a time after I left when I quit talking to God much.  I was really ticked off at Him.  I couldn’t figure out why He’d allowed things to turn out the way they had.  I told my mom I was angry with God.  I loved Him, but I was really mad.

I quit listening to Christian music because it infuriated me.  The words all seemed to say that if you just trusted in Him, He would work it all out.  Well, it didn’t feel to me like He’d worked things out for me.  And I worked my marriage hard.  I begged and pleaded with God for years. 

I don’t think I’d ever been angry with God before this time.  With myself, yes.  With my ex-husband, for sure.  But not God.

Eventually, we worked things out.  Me and God.  We are back on regular speaking terms though the nature of our conversations has changed considerably…which is a topic for a whole different post.

But when I quit praying for my marriage, I quit praying for my ex-husband.  Until this week.

I heard through the grapevine that my ex is having some health issues.  He had a significant procedure done, and I’m told, might have to have surgery.  It’s not a life threatening kind of thing, but significant nonetheless.

So I prayed for him this week.  Not for hours or anything.  Just some simple prayers for his well-being.  I don’t hate him.  I never have.  I don’t wish bad things for him.  I had just quit praying for him. 

I think it’s an important step for me.  I think it’s part of the ongoing process of forgiving.  And healing.  And I don’t need praise for it.  Writing just happens to be how I process things.

I’m a big believer in markers.  Alters.  Heaps of rocks piled up to mark something significant on the journey.  This is my pile of rocks.




Addendum:  Added a couple of hours after the original post.

In my last post, when I was talking about being angry with God, I said I’d been angry with myself before and my ex-husband, but not God.  I just re-read that and knew immediately that part of the statement wasn’t true.  In fact, it’s something I’ve talked to a couple of my friends about and something I’ve thought about many times.

I didn’t get angry with my husband.  I very seldom got mad.  I got hurt.  I got frustrated.  But I didn’t really feel anger toward him until after I left.  That is actually one of the pieces in our marriage that I think I own as a mistake.

I SHOULD have gotten mad.  I SHOULD have gotten spitting blind furious!  But I didn’t.  Up until the last few months, I always thought everything was my fault.  And I realize that is quite a few superlatives, but it’s fairly accurate.  I truly believed that our issues were all mine.  That I was the one who was annoying and a poor communicator, and a long list of other things. 

I should have gotten mad in the first few weeks.  I didn’t.  I tried to please and smooth everything into niceness.  And that is what I continued to do for years.  It kind of reminds me of frosting a cake.  You can smooth over lots of imperfections with sweet, fluffy icing.  Make it all look smooth and dreamy.  That’s what I did.  That is the reason so many people were stunned when I left. 

But the person I was fooling the most was me.

Ok, more than enough deep thought for one night.  =]

Allison

My friend Allison left her heart in Uganda when she went over on a mission trip to visit, encourage, and lend aid to orphans.  She paid her own way to go, but feels called to return.  Check out her blog. 

www.goingwherehesendsme.bl​ogspot.com

She is currently selling beautiful handcrafted beads made by Uganden women, but I feel sure she would be happy of anything you might send her way, including prayers.  She is a woman worth investing in.

Stress

On tip toe feet
It creeps up slow

Mirroring movements
Staying in shadow

A dark stickiness
Clinging tar

Frozen breath
Makes me shiver

Chasing my thoughts
Making them race

My heart beats fast
Faster, faster

Running, running
To stay ahead.


I wrote this at school today.  And yes, it was a pretty stressful day.  So much to learn, so little time.  And I was feeling this at one point.  But don't worry.  I made lists, piles, and notebooks.  All the while looking over my shoulder calling, "run run as fast as you can, you can't catch me I'm the list making man...well, woman."  (As opposed to gingerbread man for those who did not catch the reference.)  =]

Sometimes, when you least expect it...

Panic

Heart skips

Breath catches

Brain freezes

Ears ring

Beat resumes

Heart pounds

Pulse races

Tumbling thoughts

Faster faster

Blood pumping

Panting panting

Can’t think

Self talk

Eyes closed

Breathing in

Breathing out

Slower slower

Fog clearing

Breathing breathing

Icy veins

Collateral Damage

Angry scar across the heart

Jagged, dimpled mass

An ugly reminder of bone deep pain

That no one but He can see.

Tears and hope slathered on

Reusable, endless salve

That slowly heals and softens scabs

So healing can begin.

Relationships scattered

Across lines in the sand

After comparing records of wrongs

Few neutrals remain intact.

Brave contact, courageous few

Gather wood and tools to build

A simple bridge of planks and rope

Across the landmined path.

Blooming

This spring I fell in love with flowers.  My flowers haven’t lived long in the past because I didn’t really learn how to care for them.  So when I began buying baskets of hanging flowers and pots of assorted flowers this year, I decided it was time to really learn how to take care of them and keep them alive.  And I’ve learned some important things.

Lesson One

Flowers need to be fed and watered often.  I used to water them once a week.  Maybe.  The greenhouse ladies I spoke to recommended watering once a day at least.  Sometimes twice.  Flowers also need food.  I’ve never fed my flowers before.  This year, I started feeding them.  I put food in the watering can and feed them every couple of weeks.

Lesson Two

Flowers need to be deadheaded.  I never knew how to do this before or why it was necessary.  But basically, it’s just a matter of pulling off the dead flowers.  And different types of flowers need to be deadheaded in different ways.  Some require taking part of the stem as well.  When you remove the old flower, it causes the flower to bloom again faster.  If you want to keep your plants flowering, deadheading is an absolutely essential step.

Lesson Three

Repeat lessons one and two.  If you don’t continue to feed, water, and deadhead your flowers, they will quit blooming and eventually die.  A couple times this summer I had to leave town.  I got babysitters for my flowers, but it wasn’t the same.  They were getting watered, but they weren’t getting the full treatment that they needed.  When I got back to town, I always had to catch my flowers up and get them back in to shape.  And the longer they had been neglected, the more work I had to do.

This past year I fell in love with me.  That does not mean that I now moon about at myself when I look in the mirror.  Not at all.  But for years I’ve been neglecting myself physically and spiritually, and as a result, parts of my spirit had died.  So this year I’ve learned some very important things about caring for myself.

Lesson One

I need to be fed and watered regularly.  Part of this is actual food.  I’ve had to change the way I eat and live.  As a result, I’ve lost some weight.  I have a long way to go, but I’m on the right track.  But part of the feeding that I need is spiritual.  I have to have good stuff coming in to my life.  For me, this is only partially about church.  It’s also about having good friends who listen to me and process with me.  It’s about doing things like walking and riding my bike.  It’s about spending time with family.  It’s about being connected to others.  For me, this is essential food and water.

Lesson Two

I need to be deadheaded regularly.  I have emotional baggage.  I’ve been hurt and have adopted some unhealthy coping techniques.  So, I have to deal with this stuff as it comes up.  I sometimes get upset about things that shouldn’t upset me.  And when I do, I have to really think about it and figure out what dead flower is behind it.  And then I have to deal with it and pull it out. 

Lesson Three

Repeat lessons one and two.  Self maintenance is a continual process.  I have to feed my spirit regularly.  If I let things go, things get backed up for me emotionally.  If I go for weeks without attending to my spiritual needs, then more work has to be done later.  I also cannot depend on others to take care of my spiritual and emotional needs.  Other people help me process and can be energizing, but ultimately, I have to take responsibility for my own mental and spiritual maintenance.  I have to take care of me.

I’ve learned a lot about flowers and myself in the past year.  And I’m happy to report that we are all blooming.

Voices

There’s a secret voice inside my head,
Hiding in the darkest corner
Crouched behind boxes of old memories.

He watches my every move
And sighs.
Listens to my thoughts
And rolls his eyes.

I pretend he isn’t there.
And for a moment, I forget.
Thinking he’s the past.

But sometimes, he leaps out of hiding
Arms waving
Shouting, “STOP!
You’ll get lost!”

But today is different.
I turn anyway,
Tentatively
And find my own way.

Sometimes he tiptoes,
Creeping quietly
Whispering, “Don’t!
You’ll break it!”

But today is different.
I do it anyway,
Cautiously
And fix it.

Sometimes he swaggers up,
Looking at my reflection
Accusing, “You aren’t…”

But today is different.
I look back
Steadily declaring,
“I am…”

Tomorrow, I may listen
For a moment
And think he’s right.

But someday, silence.
Faded echoes
Of forgotten lies.


Written 1/26/11


Sometimes you listen to lies so often that you begin to believe them.  And sometimes the silliest of them can be devastating.  For example, I was told for years that I had no sense of direction.  I've told people myself that I'm "directionally challenged." 

A while back I challenged that belief, and it was very scary.  The day I wrote this poem, I was driving to work and stopped at Hastings for coffee in Canyon.  I'd thought for weeks that I could take a short cut through one of the side streets to get to my school faster.  But I was afraid to try.  I mean really afraid.  But after several weeks of thinking about it, and we all know I'm an over analyzer, I decided that the worst that could happen was that I'd get turned around and be a little late.

As it turns out, my guess about the shortcut was correct.  It was a very big day for me.  I know it seems small, but from then on, I began to challenge the belief that I couldn't find my way.  I've explored lots of short cuts since then.  And I don't recall a single occasion when I've gotten lost.

Since I moved back home, I've done a lot of exploring.  The area in which I live isn't exactly where I lived before, but it is familiar.  I've explored back ways to the main shopping center and to church.  And I've been able to find my way.  And I've discovered that I have a feel for where things are in my mind.  Now, I still have difficulty "sensing" north, south, east, and west, but I can point and tell you which direction my mom is, or my Supertarget, etc. 

There are a number of lies I'm doing battle with.  And it may take years before the voice is completely silenced.  But I'm making progress.  =]

Things I'm Thankful For Today

*My new office. ~ It isn't the big one I thought I had, which I'm glad of.  This one is more my size and feels like a hug.

*John ~ For hauling loads and loads of boxes at my apartment and school.

*Mom ~ For unloading loads of boxes at my apartment and school.

*Friends ~ For checking in regularly.

*My keurig ~ Because starting the day with a great cup of coffee is still a guilty pleasure.

*Throw pillows ~ Because they are pretty and feel no need to serve a particular purpose except pleasing me.

*Baskets ~ My favorite for organizing and storing, prettily.

*My new Italian friend ~ She reminds me that life is to be savored.

*Naps ~ Because I seem to need them after the craziness of this summer.

*Skype and FB ~ Helping me keep in touch.

*Old books ~ They smell good, feel good, and are essential decorating tools.

*Grace

FB Trigger

I hate divorce.  It is not glamorous, and I do not recommend it.  But sometimes it’s necessary.  Divorce is the death of a relationship.  And with death, there is mourning.  Grief comes in stages.  I’ve grieved the death of my father and understand that the process never completely ends.  The pain of loss eases over time, but the mourning comes and goes.  Holidays, anniversaries and other life markers can stir old feelings of sadness or loss triggering the process of working through familiar emotions in different ways.  This is a healthy thing.  It’s how grief and loss work.  And when you work through these different triggers and feelings in a healthy way, you grow.  Goodness, I sound like a counselor.

Last night I hit a trigger unexpectedly.  A friend of mine accepted my friend request on FB, so I went and looked at his page.  I got to thinking that he might be friends with some of my former in-laws.  Sure enough, he is.  One page led to another, and in minutes, I’d seen faces and caught up on more news than I have in over a year.  And it hurt like crazy.

One of the most searing pains of divorce for me has been the loss of family.  They say that when you marry, you marry the whole family.  The same is often true in divorce.  I didn’t feel like it was fair or right for me to “steal” family from my ex-husband, so I chose to let the relationships with all of my former in-laws go.  In reality, it's hard for people to be neutral in a divorce.  I felt like he needed that support system and hoped they would surround him with love.  But it has been very hard.  I'm very much a relationship person.

For many years, I had almost no contact with my extended family, but lots with his.  The cousins really got connected.  I went to all of the weddings and most of the reunions.  I loved them.  Truth is, I still do.  But this last year, I missed births and birthdays and anniversaries.  And that is hard. 

Another piece of the mourning is that I have no idea what those people whom I loved and respected think of me now.  I know in my brain that it doesn’t matter.  I’m good with me.  I believe God is good with me.  Other than that, it shouldn’t matter.  But “seeing” some of them made me wonder all over again.  And I’m going to have to let that go.

And that’s the point.  Grief is a process.   And I will continue to work through the triggers.  I’ll think.  Cry.  Think.  Crochet.  Think.  Process.  Cry.  And think some more.  And I’ll be better and further along on the journey.  But today, I feel what I feel.  And mourn.

Queen For A Day

One of the ideas that I heard over and over in my home growing up was of “giving up your rights”.  The idea was not living as if the world owed you something.  Sometimes you have to give up what you perceive as your “right”.  For example, do I really have the right to not be cut off in traffic?  Well, no.  I don’t own the road.  I share it with others.  Others who are flawed and who do stupid stuff.  So, if I believe that it is my “right” to not ever be cut off, then the 500 times a day I get cut off I’m going to be angry and/or frustrated.  What’s the point in that?  It's a simplistic example, but you get the idea.

I guess the underlying theme of that concept is being selfless.  My mom really wanted us to understand gratitude and selflessness.  She taught me from a very young age that serving others brings joy.  It is rewarding in and of itself.  This teaching came in a variety of ways, but I remember her talking about it a lot.  Doing a job for someone else can and should bring joy.

Mixed in with these teachings were training in the traditional roles of wife and mother.  My mom wanted me to know the joy of being a “good” wife and mother.  She wanted me to learn the pleasure of taking care of my family.  That sometimes even the dirtiest of jobs could be rewarding because of doing it for someone you love.

I learned these lessons well.  I am a people pleaser by nature, so the idea of doing something for someone else bringing me pleasure makes sense. 

But somewhere in there I think some of these good things went horribly wrong.  In some of my relationships, pleasing the other person by giving up my rights caused me to lose my self.  What I wanted and/or needed no longer mattered.  Except that isn’t really true, of course.  It DID matter.  But I was so focused on pleasing the other person, keeping the peace, that my wants and needs went mostly unfulfilled.  That kind of neglect isn’t sustainable forever. 

I’m not actually blaming this on anyone.  I made choices.  But having had the last year to reflect on my life, I think all of this is significant.  I think some healthy beliefs got polluted in my mind and in the pattern of my life.

The last months I’ve been doing things for myself.  Physical things like growing my hair out and tanning.  And emotional/spiritual things like “crochet therapy” and reading.  All in an effort to rediscover the transforming me. 

But I have found lately that it is something with which I still struggle.  I’ve moved and have been decorating my new place.  I bought new bedding for the master bedroom and things to coordinate in the master bath.  What I picked is totally me.  It’s beautiful and feminine, though not flowery or frilly.  There are ten pillows on my bed that I love assembling each morning.  It makes me feel utterly indulgent and peaceful to walk in to my home and see that pile of pillows neatly arranged.  And the Bath and Body Work’s  Lavender and Vanilla scent makes me feel like I’m at a spa every time I catch a whiff. 

But I must admit that every choice and purchase has been a struggle.  Not financially.  Target and Walmart are my friends.  But emotionally, I’ve struggled with buying things just for me.  Choosing things that I like without worrying about what anyone else thinks.  I’d ask my friend Kim about some small piece and she would say, “What do YOU like?”  And I’d have to stop and think about it.  It felt so selfish.  And frankly, I didn't always know the answer.

On one of our Hobby Lobby visits, we were looking for something to hang in my bathroom, and she came across a piece with a crown like a queen.  The colors were perfect.  I was hesitant.  A crown???  She said it was perfect because this was MY space.  My little every day spa.  I gave in.  Later I spotted a piece that said “hers”.  I joked about hanging it next to the crown.  Kim loved it, and I reluctantly gave in.  Though if I’m honest, a little part of me was pretty excited about it because I knew it would be cute and clever, but mostly, because it would have meaning.

Is there anything wrong with me being the queen of my home?  I’m the only one living there after all.  Why shouldn’t I choose what I want?  I can’t think of a single reason.  But it is still difficult.  It makes me feel selfish.

Transformation is a process.  I don’t think giving up “rights” equals giving up identity.  Though I do think it’s connected to taking on the identity of Christ.  I’ll keep chewing on it.  But for now, I find that the line between selfish and having my own opinion feels as though it were drawn by an ultra fine tip pen.  And while I am tentatively enjoying making these choices, don’t worry.  I haven’t convinced myself that I’m the Queen of it all.  =]