If I could give you anything today, I would give you a seat on my glider on my deck where it is warm, and I would sit a glass of tea on the table beside you and make the presence of God on the other side of you so deep and rich, not only did you feel the peace of Him, but you knew the touch of His hand on yours or His arm around your shoulder...
...and I would leave y'all to talk...
...because today you need to talk to Him, to hear Him, to be with Him, to feel His love for you.
Today, you need to simply be in the arms of the One who loves you most, understands you best, and feels you deepest.
Today you don't need to perform or figure out what is expected. You simply need to be...
...and know whatever that is, wherever that is mentally or emotionally or spiritually...He wants to be there with you.
May you have THAT kind of day.
Showing posts with label peace. Show all posts
Showing posts with label peace. Show all posts
Thursday, March 1, 2012
Wednesday, February 1, 2012
And Then What Happened? Part 5--The Fifth Point on the Compass
My friend, John Perron, asked me once, "You know there are actually five points on a compass, right? Most folks only think there are four, but until you know the fifth point, the other four don't matter."
The four commonly known points tell a person where she is headed, but without the fifth point, they are useless and can, in fact, lead a person into worse terrain.
The fifth point, to which he refers, is the location of being, where a person is.
We people like to know where we are going. We want the path to where we want to get. What we neglect is the importance of recognizing and accepting where we are.
Too often we want others to believe we are in a high class subdivision with a great media room and nice car when in fact we are living on the edge of the city's favorite garbage heap. It stinks, is piled high with rotting garbage, and is shifted according to the latest thing that gets dumped out way. But we figure out the right words and the right ways to perform because we know what others expect of us. We know who we should be and what we should be, and we try to be that...even when we aren't.
So we fool people.
Sometimes...way too often...we fool ourselves.
And then we wonder why this compass keeps getting us right back Here.
The only way to get out of Here is to be honest about where Here is.
For me personally, I really didn't know where I was, I just knew what it looked like, and it looked dark.
And I didn't want to tell anyone that because I really didn't want to hear how I need to go see a counselor or how I need on meds or how there has to be some "fix". So you know, yes, I am aware my fabulous friends--and they are fabulous--are not trying to do a quick fix or plaster me with bandaids so I look good. They are truly concerned and are trying to help me find my way out either through a tour guide, ability to navigate the terrain better, or rescue ops. They love me. I know that. They wanted me out of my wilderness as much as I wanted out of it.
Sometimes it is hard to accept that the first step to getting out is embracing where you are.
You stop thinking about where you want to be or where you should be or where you hope to be. The other points on the mental/emotional/spiritual compass become mute. All the "should be's" don't matter, and you realize until you understand where you are, you will never have clear direction for where you are going.
I was in the dark.
I felt like I should be okay.
I felt like the holidays should have been the worst of it.
I felt like it had been ten months since Rob died, eighteen months since the split.
I felt like I should be able to pull it all together.
I felt like I should be able to determine big goals, break them into little goals, and identify a strategy to ge there.
I felt like...I shouldn't be sad or feel like something was missing...or miss...so much.
But I was sad, and I did feel like something was missing, and there was a lot I missed.
And I didn't know how to tell anyone because all of that was broken, and I didn't want to be broken. I wanted to be healed...and...
I was angry.
I was angry that God expected me to have so much together...anyway.
I was angry that He didn't care if I hurt or was sad. He had these grandiose plans that I needed to fulfill, and He had given these promises that I was supposed to be excited about. He had a hope and a future, and I should be thrilled.
Except no matter how hard I tried, I wasn't excited or thrilled. I was hurt, but I couldn't be hurt. I couldn't be sad. I couldn't...be honest about where I was...because after all, I knew what I should be, and I was trying so hard to be that.
About ten days after the crater, I decided to give myself a break. Instead of trying to keep it together, I hid in the garage. It has been in disarray for over a year as I added Mom's things and then Rob's things and shuffled things around and out and finally decided I couldn't do anymore. With camping season coming, the disarray needed to be organized, so I headed into the disorganized stuff dungeon.
I can't tell you what set it off. I honestly don't remember. I simply remember throwing the box and letting loose on God.
All the anger about His expectations erupted.
I let Him know how I was trying to be everything He wanted me to be, but I felt like He wasn't helping, and sometimes, it felt like He even went so far as to sabotage things.
I told Him how I was asking for help, and He was letting more hits come.
I told Him how much I hated everything that had happened, that I didn't understand, that I was trying to trust Him anyway, but He made it hard.
I told Him how I was trying to do and be...and I was tired.
I told Him I really didn't know what He wanted anymore...but if He would just tell me, I would do my best to be it just so I could have out of the pain.
I screamed and yelled and unleashed my human heart on a perfect God...
...and waited for Him to squish me like a bug.
Who am I to question or accuse a perfect God? Who is He to take it?
He is a perfect Daddy, and I am the daughter He adores.
Periodically, I hear Him speak with clarity of human voice, something so audible and clear that it fills the room. It was that voice He used when He stood with me in my garage and said gently,
"I miss him."
I felt the presence of God sit beside me. "What do you miss?"
And I told Him.
I miss his laughter and his smile. I miss the inside jokes. I miss the smell of his cologne. I miss the familiarity of his kiss. I miss the out of the box amazing things he did. I miss the feel of reaching over and his being in bed with me. I miss...Rob.
And He listened. He listened to me tell Him how I missed the beauty of the masterpiece He had loaned me for twenty-three years.
He didn't question.
He didn't ask how I could miss someone who had hurt me so deeply, someone who had walked out and took "until death do we part" promises with him. He didn't think I was absurd for being sad or feeling a loss. He didn't give me reason to be ashamed or embarrassed that I loved someone who made mistakes, someone was broken in heart and did broken things, and I didn't have to explain.
I just had to be...
honestly...
in that moment...
And for the first time in over a year and a half, I was at peace...not with everything that had happened...but with being Here...even when no one else understood where I was or why...
I understood...and for the first time, I knew He wasn't focused on where I should be...I knew He was okay with my being...
...Here.
The four commonly known points tell a person where she is headed, but without the fifth point, they are useless and can, in fact, lead a person into worse terrain.
The fifth point, to which he refers, is the location of being, where a person is.
We people like to know where we are going. We want the path to where we want to get. What we neglect is the importance of recognizing and accepting where we are.
Too often we want others to believe we are in a high class subdivision with a great media room and nice car when in fact we are living on the edge of the city's favorite garbage heap. It stinks, is piled high with rotting garbage, and is shifted according to the latest thing that gets dumped out way. But we figure out the right words and the right ways to perform because we know what others expect of us. We know who we should be and what we should be, and we try to be that...even when we aren't.
So we fool people.
Sometimes...way too often...we fool ourselves.
And then we wonder why this compass keeps getting us right back Here.
The only way to get out of Here is to be honest about where Here is.
For me personally, I really didn't know where I was, I just knew what it looked like, and it looked dark.
And I didn't want to tell anyone that because I really didn't want to hear how I need to go see a counselor or how I need on meds or how there has to be some "fix". So you know, yes, I am aware my fabulous friends--and they are fabulous--are not trying to do a quick fix or plaster me with bandaids so I look good. They are truly concerned and are trying to help me find my way out either through a tour guide, ability to navigate the terrain better, or rescue ops. They love me. I know that. They wanted me out of my wilderness as much as I wanted out of it.
Sometimes it is hard to accept that the first step to getting out is embracing where you are.
You stop thinking about where you want to be or where you should be or where you hope to be. The other points on the mental/emotional/spiritual compass become mute. All the "should be's" don't matter, and you realize until you understand where you are, you will never have clear direction for where you are going.
I was in the dark.
I felt like I should be okay.
I felt like the holidays should have been the worst of it.
I felt like it had been ten months since Rob died, eighteen months since the split.
I felt like I should be able to pull it all together.
I felt like I should be able to determine big goals, break them into little goals, and identify a strategy to ge there.
I felt like...I shouldn't be sad or feel like something was missing...or miss...so much.
But I was sad, and I did feel like something was missing, and there was a lot I missed.
And I didn't know how to tell anyone because all of that was broken, and I didn't want to be broken. I wanted to be healed...and...
I was angry.
I was angry that God expected me to have so much together...anyway.
I was angry that He didn't care if I hurt or was sad. He had these grandiose plans that I needed to fulfill, and He had given these promises that I was supposed to be excited about. He had a hope and a future, and I should be thrilled.
Except no matter how hard I tried, I wasn't excited or thrilled. I was hurt, but I couldn't be hurt. I couldn't be sad. I couldn't...be honest about where I was...because after all, I knew what I should be, and I was trying so hard to be that.
About ten days after the crater, I decided to give myself a break. Instead of trying to keep it together, I hid in the garage. It has been in disarray for over a year as I added Mom's things and then Rob's things and shuffled things around and out and finally decided I couldn't do anymore. With camping season coming, the disarray needed to be organized, so I headed into the disorganized stuff dungeon.
I can't tell you what set it off. I honestly don't remember. I simply remember throwing the box and letting loose on God.
All the anger about His expectations erupted.
I let Him know how I was trying to be everything He wanted me to be, but I felt like He wasn't helping, and sometimes, it felt like He even went so far as to sabotage things.
I told Him how I was asking for help, and He was letting more hits come.
I told Him how much I hated everything that had happened, that I didn't understand, that I was trying to trust Him anyway, but He made it hard.
I told Him how I was trying to do and be...and I was tired.
I told Him I really didn't know what He wanted anymore...but if He would just tell me, I would do my best to be it just so I could have out of the pain.
I screamed and yelled and unleashed my human heart on a perfect God...
...and waited for Him to squish me like a bug.
Who am I to question or accuse a perfect God? Who is He to take it?
He is a perfect Daddy, and I am the daughter He adores.
Periodically, I hear Him speak with clarity of human voice, something so audible and clear that it fills the room. It was that voice He used when He stood with me in my garage and said gently,
"I just want you to be you. In every moment, I want you to be you and not fight it.I sat on a set of low shelves and sobbed.
You hurt. Let yourself hurt and don't fight it.
You are angry. Let yourself be angry and don't fight it.
I created you to have all of these emotions. Let yourself be what I created you to be.
I created you to be angry, to be sad, to be lonely.
I created you to feel deeply. Let yourself...even when it hurts."
"I miss him."
I felt the presence of God sit beside me. "What do you miss?"
And I told Him.
I miss his laughter and his smile. I miss the inside jokes. I miss the smell of his cologne. I miss the familiarity of his kiss. I miss the out of the box amazing things he did. I miss the feel of reaching over and his being in bed with me. I miss...Rob.
And He listened. He listened to me tell Him how I missed the beauty of the masterpiece He had loaned me for twenty-three years.
He didn't question.
He didn't ask how I could miss someone who had hurt me so deeply, someone who had walked out and took "until death do we part" promises with him. He didn't think I was absurd for being sad or feeling a loss. He didn't give me reason to be ashamed or embarrassed that I loved someone who made mistakes, someone was broken in heart and did broken things, and I didn't have to explain.
I just had to be...
honestly...
in that moment...
And for the first time in over a year and a half, I was at peace...not with everything that had happened...but with being Here...even when no one else understood where I was or why...
I understood...and for the first time, I knew He wasn't focused on where I should be...I knew He was okay with my being...
...Here.
Wednesday, January 11, 2012
Saturday, December 24, 2011
The Joy of Christmas
This morning I was talking to a friend about Christmas, and she asked how we are doing. I told her how totally joyous and full I feel this year and how it is so happy around here, and she asked why. :-)
(Funny how when we are miserable people "understand" but when we are happy folks ask why?)
I didn't have an answer right then, but on my way home from delivering some cookies, I had a chance to think about it. What was the joy? What was THIS?
I confess to you, it is not what I usually associate with Christmas.
For me Christmas has been a holiday of knowing no matter how hard I try I make someone unhappy. If there had been three sets of us to be at different parents' homes, maybe, but then, I'm sure I would have grated on someone's nerves. That happens when folks don't like you, and yes, I am fully aware of how unliked I was.*
The hardest part, though, wasn't extended family. The hardest part was right here at home.
Most of my memories of Christmas with Rob include sadness from feeling disconnected and simply wishing I felt loved by him. I know. Folks who know us...him...can say, "But he did love you." I know. I can't explain it. All I can tell you is I never felt connected to him, and it hurt, and I spent nearly 20 Christmases being in a room of people feeling totally alone, feeling like I couldn't get "it" right, knowing I was not what was wanted...and not liking Christmas.
But this year is different.
This year smile wrinkles are coming to live under my eyes, and there are creases where my cheeks sit higher and my smile is trying to catch up. When I breathe deep, it isn't to stuff down the tears but to exhale the overflow of contentedness and joy inside me because if I don't let it out somewhere, I am sure I will explode.
This year...this year is CHRISTMAS.
The Christ-mass.
The celebration of the love gift reaching beyond the lines to relationship healing, holding, and creating.
It is the unmerited gift of loving and letting someone love back...the wild wonder of belonging...of being wanted...of being...me...and that being enough.
But it really isn't about me. It's the life--the lives--surrounding me.
It's Christmas light looking with the kids.
Lunch with my friend Windi.
Checking in texts from Taylor.
Fabulous folks I enjoy at the Artisan when I volunteer.
A long family dinner at my Aunt Bobbie's.
Amelia hanging out in my kitchen while I bake 17 dozen cookies.
Tammy and Vicki sitting in my living room, chatting it up with the kids and me.
Time with Scott.
New friends made today that are just groovy as all get out.
My brother being here tomorrow.
Texts from my brother-in-law as he shopped for the kids and sent me pictures so I could feel the excitement and joy as though I were shopping with them.
Rae. 'Nuff said.
Kaylan's surprise visit before he heads to Afghanistan.
Sharilyn making aluminum hats to dance in the rain with my kids.
Blessed friends (Multiple Marys and Lisas, Leanna, Kenneth and Joy, Morgan, MaryKate, and the list even Santa can't rival) to smile and laugh with us...and cry sometimes too...
And....
The gift isn't a day...the gift is the LIFE...and I am surrounded by AMAZING, BEAUTIFUL, DEEP LIVES, and because of them, my life is amazing, beautiful, and deep.
THAT is Christmas.
When I have a life THAT full, how can it be anything but fabulous.
Yep....I *LOVE* this Christmas.
(Funny how when we are miserable people "understand" but when we are happy folks ask why?)
I didn't have an answer right then, but on my way home from delivering some cookies, I had a chance to think about it. What was the joy? What was THIS?
I confess to you, it is not what I usually associate with Christmas.
For me Christmas has been a holiday of knowing no matter how hard I try I make someone unhappy. If there had been three sets of us to be at different parents' homes, maybe, but then, I'm sure I would have grated on someone's nerves. That happens when folks don't like you, and yes, I am fully aware of how unliked I was.*
The hardest part, though, wasn't extended family. The hardest part was right here at home.
Most of my memories of Christmas with Rob include sadness from feeling disconnected and simply wishing I felt loved by him. I know. Folks who know us...him...can say, "But he did love you." I know. I can't explain it. All I can tell you is I never felt connected to him, and it hurt, and I spent nearly 20 Christmases being in a room of people feeling totally alone, feeling like I couldn't get "it" right, knowing I was not what was wanted...and not liking Christmas.
But this year is different.
This year smile wrinkles are coming to live under my eyes, and there are creases where my cheeks sit higher and my smile is trying to catch up. When I breathe deep, it isn't to stuff down the tears but to exhale the overflow of contentedness and joy inside me because if I don't let it out somewhere, I am sure I will explode.
This year...this year is CHRISTMAS.
The Christ-mass.
The celebration of the love gift reaching beyond the lines to relationship healing, holding, and creating.
It is the unmerited gift of loving and letting someone love back...the wild wonder of belonging...of being wanted...of being...me...and that being enough.
But it really isn't about me. It's the life--the lives--surrounding me.
It's Christmas light looking with the kids.
Lunch with my friend Windi.
Checking in texts from Taylor.
Fabulous folks I enjoy at the Artisan when I volunteer.
A long family dinner at my Aunt Bobbie's.
Amelia hanging out in my kitchen while I bake 17 dozen cookies.
Tammy and Vicki sitting in my living room, chatting it up with the kids and me.
Time with Scott.
New friends made today that are just groovy as all get out.
My brother being here tomorrow.
Texts from my brother-in-law as he shopped for the kids and sent me pictures so I could feel the excitement and joy as though I were shopping with them.
Rae. 'Nuff said.
Kaylan's surprise visit before he heads to Afghanistan.
Sharilyn making aluminum hats to dance in the rain with my kids.
Blessed friends (Multiple Marys and Lisas, Leanna, Kenneth and Joy, Morgan, MaryKate, and the list even Santa can't rival) to smile and laugh with us...and cry sometimes too...
And....
The gift isn't a day...the gift is the LIFE...and I am surrounded by AMAZING, BEAUTIFUL, DEEP LIVES, and because of them, my life is amazing, beautiful, and deep.
THAT is Christmas.
When I have a life THAT full, how can it be anything but fabulous.
Yep....I *LOVE* this Christmas.
Sunday, November 27, 2011
Rattling Around
For the last two days
I have been trying to get comfortable
in my own skin
and instead just seem to rattle around in who I am.
If you understand what I mean, please know my heart goes out to you, and I am praying for you.
Jerri
Tuesday, November 15, 2011
Gift of Presence
The holidays are coming, and this year, they are not being greeted with the usual excitement. This year the anticipation has been replaced by dread.
When holidays are about family get-togethers, seeing others open the gifts you gave and watching their faces beam with joy, laughing together, and enjoying everybody, when those people are gone, it is hard. Traditions are hard when the traditional people aren't there to enjoy them with you. It could be parents, spouse, children, or friends.
When lives change big, big holes are created where the treasures used to be.
In our home, we are very traditional. We have a huge tree, five-foot diameter at the base, and eight feet tall. We bought it a few years ago to hold all our ornaments. Our ornaments are ones we've been collecting since 1988. The first Christmas Rob and I dated, we bought an ornament and had it personalized with both our names. Every Christmas after that we either bought an ornament with our names or we each bought an ornament. Then we had our four-legged children because we weren't planning to have two-legged ones, and they each got an ornament. Then Anna got her ornament. Then Robert got his ornament. It took time, but we eventually removed all ornaments that were not personal either in name of memory. All we have are named ornaments or ornaments with stories. It is pretty neat actually. Every year we put up the ornaments and tell the stories and laugh all over again.
Except this year the stories are a bit more painful than funny, and the personal ornaments that brought such great joy only magnify the empty place of the person not here to put up his ornament...either here with us or at his house with the kids.
My parents are gone. There is no family get together.
All the things we loved--the PEOPLE--we loved aren't here, and the hole is huge.
So, we held a meeting.
The very real option of ditching the holidays and going on a trip was put on the table. The option to not up a tree was laid out there, too. The option to scratch what we had always done and start all over was dropped into the mix.
"Like what?"
"Like what what?"
"Like what like we've never done?"
"Like anything we want to do."
Quiet.
"I like the tree," I ventured. "I like to turn on the lights, listen to quiet music, and just be."
Two heads nod.
"But I can't put up the personal ornaments this year." My voice cracks without permission.
Two heads nod.
"We can get new ornaments," I suggest.
Two bodies come to attention.
"Really? We can do that?"
"Really. We can do that."
Today we did.
We went tropical with lime green, Caribbean blue, and hot pink. Streamers and viney looking straight ornaments in all colors, fancy pink butterflies, lime dragon flies, and blue flowers. It is our Christmas Carnival tree. A million miles from the stoic somber trees we usually see. None of the Christmas decorum for us. No, sirree. We are all about celebration...in the brightest sense of the word.
We shopped for our unit in Afghanistan while we were at it. Tomorrow we bake cookies and put a box of homemade, "You rock. Thank you for all you do!" in the mail.
And then...
I don't know.
But I have a feeling it will include laughter, a lot of cookies, some Kleenex, and Latin rhythms.
I wish I knew a way to make it better. I wish I knew a way to take away the ache. I wish...
I already see them.
When holidays are about family get-togethers, seeing others open the gifts you gave and watching their faces beam with joy, laughing together, and enjoying everybody, when those people are gone, it is hard. Traditions are hard when the traditional people aren't there to enjoy them with you. It could be parents, spouse, children, or friends.
When lives change big, big holes are created where the treasures used to be.
In our home, we are very traditional. We have a huge tree, five-foot diameter at the base, and eight feet tall. We bought it a few years ago to hold all our ornaments. Our ornaments are ones we've been collecting since 1988. The first Christmas Rob and I dated, we bought an ornament and had it personalized with both our names. Every Christmas after that we either bought an ornament with our names or we each bought an ornament. Then we had our four-legged children because we weren't planning to have two-legged ones, and they each got an ornament. Then Anna got her ornament. Then Robert got his ornament. It took time, but we eventually removed all ornaments that were not personal either in name of memory. All we have are named ornaments or ornaments with stories. It is pretty neat actually. Every year we put up the ornaments and tell the stories and laugh all over again.
Except this year the stories are a bit more painful than funny, and the personal ornaments that brought such great joy only magnify the empty place of the person not here to put up his ornament...either here with us or at his house with the kids.
My parents are gone. There is no family get together.
All the things we loved--the PEOPLE--we loved aren't here, and the hole is huge.
So, we held a meeting.
The very real option of ditching the holidays and going on a trip was put on the table. The option to not up a tree was laid out there, too. The option to scratch what we had always done and start all over was dropped into the mix.
"Like what?"
"Like what what?"
"Like what like we've never done?"
"Like anything we want to do."
Quiet.
"I like the tree," I ventured. "I like to turn on the lights, listen to quiet music, and just be."
Two heads nod.
"But I can't put up the personal ornaments this year." My voice cracks without permission.
Two heads nod.
"We can get new ornaments," I suggest.
Two bodies come to attention.
"Really? We can do that?"
"Really. We can do that."
Today we did.
We went tropical with lime green, Caribbean blue, and hot pink. Streamers and viney looking straight ornaments in all colors, fancy pink butterflies, lime dragon flies, and blue flowers. It is our Christmas Carnival tree. A million miles from the stoic somber trees we usually see. None of the Christmas decorum for us. No, sirree. We are all about celebration...in the brightest sense of the word.
We shopped for our unit in Afghanistan while we were at it. Tomorrow we bake cookies and put a box of homemade, "You rock. Thank you for all you do!" in the mail.
And then...
I don't know.
But I have a feeling it will include laughter, a lot of cookies, some Kleenex, and Latin rhythms.
I wish I knew a way to make it better. I wish I knew a way to take away the ache. I wish...
But this is what I know. We won't always ache. We won't always feel like there is a hole...unless we choose to. We won't always...wish.
One day we will enjoy the new treasures, be comfortable in the new traditions, laugh to new jokes. One day the room won't be lit by the stings on the trees but the faces around us. One day we will see through the veil to rejoice in the lives that have filled our lives.
I don't know how God is incorporating them yet, but I see faces...all around me. I feel the new lives, the warmth of the knitting. It is good. It is very good.
And I choose to focus on THOSE gifts, the gifts of the present, the gifts of presence.
Do they "fix" things? No. They don't replace the loved ones we lost. But if we are going to be here, I sure am thankful for the gift of their presence.
Monday, November 14, 2011
For Clarity--What I Believe
In the last 18 months I have said some things that have left people wondering what I believe, and evidently some folks are questioning my Christianity and faith. Fair enough. So I thought I would take a moment to share what I believe.
I believe:
-God is all-mighty, all-knowing, all-seeing Father and Creator.
-His love is deeper than we can fathom, and I know I had never seen it more clearly than I have in the last year and a half.
-The Bible is the inspired and infallible word of God. Unfortunately, the people who use it are not infallible.
-The Bible is God's way of reaching into a lost and hurting world and offering hope and salvation. Unfortunately, men too often use it to beat the hell out of people rather than lead them to heaven. God never intended for the Bible to be used as a weapon, but men are too often okay with making things with a special purpose multipurpose, and when that happens, people get hurt.
-The right verse at the right moment is life-giving. A verse given as a bandaid or demand to believe only inflicts more pain.
-God is not afraid of hard questions.
-Jesus came to save ANYone who accepts Him.
-There is one and only one God that manifests as the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.
-Being loved by God and being saved by Christ are not the same thing.
-Nothing is too big for God to forgive.
-God heals.
-God loves to talk to His children.
-No one is ever too far for God's hand to reach them.
And because I believe those things....
I believe wherever you are, whatever you've done, whatever is happening in your life...
God loves you and is pursuing you.
I am utterly and completely convinced,
whatever your need, whatever your sin, whatever your pain,
God can provide, forgive, and heal.
You have not fallen too far.
You have not sinned too big.
You have not waited too long.
You are not too screwed up, too dirty, too useless.
And wherever you are, whatever you've done, however you feel, I know the life you dreamed of, the peace you dreamed of, the hope you dreamed of...the love you dreamed of...it isn't just a dream.
It is the heart of God, and it is very real.
Hard to believe? Can be.
Am I still convinced it is true? Absolutely.
I believe:
-God is all-mighty, all-knowing, all-seeing Father and Creator.
-His love is deeper than we can fathom, and I know I had never seen it more clearly than I have in the last year and a half.
-The Bible is the inspired and infallible word of God. Unfortunately, the people who use it are not infallible.
-The Bible is God's way of reaching into a lost and hurting world and offering hope and salvation. Unfortunately, men too often use it to beat the hell out of people rather than lead them to heaven. God never intended for the Bible to be used as a weapon, but men are too often okay with making things with a special purpose multipurpose, and when that happens, people get hurt.
-The right verse at the right moment is life-giving. A verse given as a bandaid or demand to believe only inflicts more pain.
-God is not afraid of hard questions.
-Jesus came to save ANYone who accepts Him.
-There is one and only one God that manifests as the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.
-Being loved by God and being saved by Christ are not the same thing.
-Nothing is too big for God to forgive.
-God heals.
-God loves to talk to His children.
-No one is ever too far for God's hand to reach them.
And because I believe those things....
I believe wherever you are, whatever you've done, whatever is happening in your life...
God loves you and is pursuing you.
I am utterly and completely convinced,
whatever your need, whatever your sin, whatever your pain,
God can provide, forgive, and heal.
You have not fallen too far.
You have not sinned too big.
You have not waited too long.
You are not too screwed up, too dirty, too useless.
And wherever you are, whatever you've done, however you feel, I know the life you dreamed of, the peace you dreamed of, the hope you dreamed of...the love you dreamed of...it isn't just a dream.
It is the heart of God, and it is very real.
Hard to believe? Can be.
Am I still convinced it is true? Absolutely.
Wednesday, September 14, 2011
From My Journal--Faith, Fear, and Faithfulness
Fear is my feeling that whatever comes will disrupt my "happy spot" or comfort zone. Probably will, but faith says I'll like it on the other side.
Saturday, July 9, 2011
Left Behind Bones and Expected Adventures
The thank you notes are finished.
Some of the notes are hand-written, personal with a name. Some are typed "form letters" filled with heart-deep sincerity and gratitude. One person said not to worry about writing notes at all because people would understand and if they didn't, oh well. I confess that thought crossed my mind, but I am hoping, even the typed twenty-copy note will let people know their kindness had an impact. I hope it encourages them to love someone else as generously as they loved us. I hope it fortifies them against the enemy's words that whisper their efforts don't matter....because they did...and they do...
So, I typed some notes. Hand wrote others.
I cried. Not as hard as I was afraid I would, but still, I cried.
Yes, some of the tears were because Rob is gone. Some tears, though, were because of new goodbyes and fresh letting go.
Notes from friends we enjoyed twenty years ago that we have not seen in the last ten, words of "Let's get together sometime." I answer, "Yes, let's. That would be nice." It probably would be, but I know. We won't. And it isn't them, and it isn't me. It's just...time...
Time to let go...
It's like in my mind I see myself setting these rafts of "stuff" loose on the tide, watching them float away. It is easy to cling to them because to let them go could leave me with nothing...except I don't believe God leaves anyone with nothing...at least not anyone who chooses to let go of things that no longer give life and embrace things that do. One may keep a pile of dead bones in a treasury, go in and talk to them every day, remember the life that was, but they are still dead bones. Taking them out of the treasury and making room for something new does not make them more dead...it only makes me open to more life.
And today I sealed envolopes and mailed them away just like tombs sealed and left behind, and I cried...
...and I smiled...
...and I wondered what new life...new people...new adventures...
the Lord has for me next.
Some of the notes are hand-written, personal with a name. Some are typed "form letters" filled with heart-deep sincerity and gratitude. One person said not to worry about writing notes at all because people would understand and if they didn't, oh well. I confess that thought crossed my mind, but I am hoping, even the typed twenty-copy note will let people know their kindness had an impact. I hope it encourages them to love someone else as generously as they loved us. I hope it fortifies them against the enemy's words that whisper their efforts don't matter....because they did...and they do...
So, I typed some notes. Hand wrote others.
I cried. Not as hard as I was afraid I would, but still, I cried.
Yes, some of the tears were because Rob is gone. Some tears, though, were because of new goodbyes and fresh letting go.
Notes from friends we enjoyed twenty years ago that we have not seen in the last ten, words of "Let's get together sometime." I answer, "Yes, let's. That would be nice." It probably would be, but I know. We won't. And it isn't them, and it isn't me. It's just...time...
Time to let go...
It's like in my mind I see myself setting these rafts of "stuff" loose on the tide, watching them float away. It is easy to cling to them because to let them go could leave me with nothing...except I don't believe God leaves anyone with nothing...at least not anyone who chooses to let go of things that no longer give life and embrace things that do. One may keep a pile of dead bones in a treasury, go in and talk to them every day, remember the life that was, but they are still dead bones. Taking them out of the treasury and making room for something new does not make them more dead...it only makes me open to more life.
And today I sealed envolopes and mailed them away just like tombs sealed and left behind, and I cried...
...and I smiled...
...and I wondered what new life...new people...new adventures...
the Lord has for me next.
Sunday, July 3, 2011
I'd Give You Peace
Dear Lord,
If I could give my loved ones anything this morning, I'd give them peace.
I'd give them peace within themselves that gave them courage to resolve the conflict of person they struggle with. I would give them peace to address inconsistencies that aggravate them. I would also give them peace that there is spirit...and there is flesh...and they are spiritual beings before you who happen to be spending time in a flesh body.
I would give them peace with you...so they could sit with you in the wonder of your presence and speak honestly to you about whatever hurts them, confuses them, amazes them, or angers them...even when you are any or all of the above.
I would give them peace with their situations...and the knowing that...Lord, I don't even know...so I'm just giving that one to you.
Lord, if I could give them anything right now, I'd turn off the tormenting voices, the painful regrets, the fears of wounds being touched and hurt again.
I'd give peace to the mind, heart, and spirit of every single one of them.
I would let them sleep or sit quietly or enjoy a watergun fight or...whatever their peace set them free to do and be...the part of them imprisoned by the lack of it. Lord, I'd give them back and give them the freedom to enjoy the part of them imprisoned by the lack of peace.
I can't do that. Would you do for them?
Thank you.
Amen
If I could give my loved ones anything this morning, I'd give them peace.
I'd give them peace within themselves that gave them courage to resolve the conflict of person they struggle with. I would give them peace to address inconsistencies that aggravate them. I would also give them peace that there is spirit...and there is flesh...and they are spiritual beings before you who happen to be spending time in a flesh body.
I would give them peace with you...so they could sit with you in the wonder of your presence and speak honestly to you about whatever hurts them, confuses them, amazes them, or angers them...even when you are any or all of the above.
I would give them peace with their situations...and the knowing that...Lord, I don't even know...so I'm just giving that one to you.
Lord, if I could give them anything right now, I'd turn off the tormenting voices, the painful regrets, the fears of wounds being touched and hurt again.
I'd give peace to the mind, heart, and spirit of every single one of them.
I would let them sleep or sit quietly or enjoy a watergun fight or...whatever their peace set them free to do and be...the part of them imprisoned by the lack of it. Lord, I'd give them back and give them the freedom to enjoy the part of them imprisoned by the lack of peace.
I can't do that. Would you do for them?
Thank you.
Amen
Monday, June 20, 2011
Not Sleeping
It's after 3:30 am, and I am not sleeping. I don't sleep a lot right now. Haven't in...a long time. When I do sleep, it is sort of a doze with dreams, nothing really restful. I wake up a lot, look at the time on the clock a lot.
I still haven't figured out this sleeping alone gig, I guess.
Most of the time, I think that is what it really is, sleeping with someone for so many years and adjusting to sleeping alone. Sometimes, though, it's more.
Tonight my heart is heavy, and I have nowhere to put it.
Once again I am in a season of removal. Friends I've depended on are being removed, and I understand it. Goodness, I've done it enough in the last few years, especially the last twelve months. I know the signs. I know what is happening. I don't know how to handle it yet.
I don't know what to do when people need to be needed more than I really need them. And people who usually get told "everything" don't handle it well when I tell them, "I have nothing to say," even though that is really the truth. "Best friends" become distant acquaintances, and that doesn't go well either.
No explanation I give makes sense to them, and I end up being the bad, unstable, anger-projecting person who needs anti-depressants and the humility to ask forgiveness for being such a lousy friend and not letting people help me.
Really, it makes me want to go in the closet with my pillow and blanket and sleep until the firestorm is over.
I do know it is hard for them. I've been on that side. I've had to learn from both sides that seasons are seasons. For reasons God does not explain to me, some friends are good for one season and not for another. And some folks come in for a few months, make a huge impact, and are suddenly gone leaving me gasping for breath in the vacuum. "Best friends" suddenly become bothers over night. I don't know why or how. I just know it happens.
It is hard for those seasoned out because they don't understand.
It is hard for those changing seasons...because they aren't understood.
And the empty place is hard.
For the people being seasonsed out, they lose one person. For the person changing seasons, most of an address book may disappear before it is over. That's a pretty big empty place with a lot of nice folks on the peripheral but no one in the middle where I am.
And that's where I am.
I know this is temporary. I know God never creates a void He isn't planning to fill. I know.
I also know yesterday I tried to pull the pictures from the external storage Rob set up. I couldn't access them. I don't know if they are there or gone. If they are gone, four years of pictures are gone. For my son, that is over 1/3 of his life's pictures with his dad. For my daughter is nearly 1/3 of her life with her dad that is gone. I sat with electronics spread out around me and sobbed by myself. Who was I supposed to call? Who would really understand the magnitude of what could be lost for me? I honestly could think of no one.
Yesterday I texted some people asking for prayer, made the mistake of sharing my heart a bit, and then got a lot about how they understood because of their lives which had nothing to do with the issues I was having. I ended up deleting replies without reading them.
I already feel pretty much totally alone. Decided not to make it worse.
There's more, like some comments made at my family reunion that make me worry about my gene pool. My favorite was, "Well, look at it this way. It's not like Rob would have been here anyway." Wow! Thanks for the reminder that our divorce would have been final because he decided being single was more fun than keeping our family together. I feel SO much better now! Glad we had this talk.
Can I undo the family reunion? No, but really, I'm not feeling motivated to attend other family gatherings either.
Believe it or not, I'm not angry. I'm just...
Up at 4:30 am with a heavy heart, a box of kleenex, and a quickly shrinking address list.
..................................
When God tells me to write things like the above, I often ask why. I already dread the responses. I already dread the "you know I'm always here for you" statements that are self-defense cloaked in accusation, and while well-intended have not been true. I've been going through this for a year. I already know what to expect, and I dread the "I'm sorry you are still so sad and have had to go through this" statements.
I'm not sad, and I'm not sorry I had to go through this. I've hated it, but I've learned more about compassion, grace, and mercy than I ever could have in any other way. Frankly, I am sickened by the legalistic, mind-over-matter, if-you-just-get-the-spiritual-stuff-right-it'll-work manure I gave as responses to hurting hearts and broken lives before. How God didn't just slap me really hard or kill me then is beyond me. But He didn't. Instead, He allowed me to walk through hell, watch my life be burned up while I was there, and come out the other side shocked at the destruction, but more sure of His amazing mercy, compassion, and understanding than ever. I have seen aspects of God in the hell of the last year that I could have never seen on a cushy pew or at some home Bible study.
And I am not sorry.
I'll tell you why I think God wanted me to write this. I think there are people out there whose lives are coming apart at the seams, and you don't understand the stripping down, clearing out, and complete excavation of your lives. People around you are watching and auditioning for the starring roles of Job's friends. You are staring at God wondering what you've done and begging Him to just tell you so you can fix it. And where you are is hell, and you are wondering what you've done to make God so mad.
If that is you, let me tell you something. All these people being deleted from my email list, I don't think they are wrong, and I don't think I am wrong. I think we don't work together for this season, and God has no problem removing something good to give me something better. And that is not to say the new people or activities coming in are better than those going out. Those people and activities were great FOR THAT SEASON. God has new things and people that are better FOR THIS SEASON.
And, yes, there is going to be something new, and, yes, you should thank God for the new thing, but it's okay to say, "This is HARD, and it blooming HURTS!" Yes, it is, and, yes, it does.
Unfortunately, I have no insta-answer. What I can tell you is I'm going to get off my computer now, and I'm going to pray for whomever else is doze-sleeping, looking at the clock a lot, or just not sleeping at all, and, yes, I believe God knows that is you.
God knows it is hard, and He knows you hurt. I'm praying you find Him in the empty place, that He gives you a place to lay down your heavy heart...and I pray you get some sleep.
--------------
I FOUND THE PICTURES!!!!!
For all of you who prayed, thank you! Thank you! Thank you!
I still haven't figured out this sleeping alone gig, I guess.
Most of the time, I think that is what it really is, sleeping with someone for so many years and adjusting to sleeping alone. Sometimes, though, it's more.
Tonight my heart is heavy, and I have nowhere to put it.
Once again I am in a season of removal. Friends I've depended on are being removed, and I understand it. Goodness, I've done it enough in the last few years, especially the last twelve months. I know the signs. I know what is happening. I don't know how to handle it yet.
I don't know what to do when people need to be needed more than I really need them. And people who usually get told "everything" don't handle it well when I tell them, "I have nothing to say," even though that is really the truth. "Best friends" become distant acquaintances, and that doesn't go well either.
No explanation I give makes sense to them, and I end up being the bad, unstable, anger-projecting person who needs anti-depressants and the humility to ask forgiveness for being such a lousy friend and not letting people help me.
Really, it makes me want to go in the closet with my pillow and blanket and sleep until the firestorm is over.
I do know it is hard for them. I've been on that side. I've had to learn from both sides that seasons are seasons. For reasons God does not explain to me, some friends are good for one season and not for another. And some folks come in for a few months, make a huge impact, and are suddenly gone leaving me gasping for breath in the vacuum. "Best friends" suddenly become bothers over night. I don't know why or how. I just know it happens.
It is hard for those seasoned out because they don't understand.
It is hard for those changing seasons...because they aren't understood.
And the empty place is hard.
For the people being seasonsed out, they lose one person. For the person changing seasons, most of an address book may disappear before it is over. That's a pretty big empty place with a lot of nice folks on the peripheral but no one in the middle where I am.
And that's where I am.
I know this is temporary. I know God never creates a void He isn't planning to fill. I know.
I also know yesterday I tried to pull the pictures from the external storage Rob set up. I couldn't access them. I don't know if they are there or gone. If they are gone, four years of pictures are gone. For my son, that is over 1/3 of his life's pictures with his dad. For my daughter is nearly 1/3 of her life with her dad that is gone. I sat with electronics spread out around me and sobbed by myself. Who was I supposed to call? Who would really understand the magnitude of what could be lost for me? I honestly could think of no one.
Yesterday I texted some people asking for prayer, made the mistake of sharing my heart a bit, and then got a lot about how they understood because of their lives which had nothing to do with the issues I was having. I ended up deleting replies without reading them.
I already feel pretty much totally alone. Decided not to make it worse.
There's more, like some comments made at my family reunion that make me worry about my gene pool. My favorite was, "Well, look at it this way. It's not like Rob would have been here anyway." Wow! Thanks for the reminder that our divorce would have been final because he decided being single was more fun than keeping our family together. I feel SO much better now! Glad we had this talk.
Can I undo the family reunion? No, but really, I'm not feeling motivated to attend other family gatherings either.
Believe it or not, I'm not angry. I'm just...
Up at 4:30 am with a heavy heart, a box of kleenex, and a quickly shrinking address list.
..................................
When God tells me to write things like the above, I often ask why. I already dread the responses. I already dread the "you know I'm always here for you" statements that are self-defense cloaked in accusation, and while well-intended have not been true. I've been going through this for a year. I already know what to expect, and I dread the "I'm sorry you are still so sad and have had to go through this" statements.
I'm not sad, and I'm not sorry I had to go through this. I've hated it, but I've learned more about compassion, grace, and mercy than I ever could have in any other way. Frankly, I am sickened by the legalistic, mind-over-matter, if-you-just-get-the-spiritual-stuff-right-it'll-work manure I gave as responses to hurting hearts and broken lives before. How God didn't just slap me really hard or kill me then is beyond me. But He didn't. Instead, He allowed me to walk through hell, watch my life be burned up while I was there, and come out the other side shocked at the destruction, but more sure of His amazing mercy, compassion, and understanding than ever. I have seen aspects of God in the hell of the last year that I could have never seen on a cushy pew or at some home Bible study.
And I am not sorry.
I'll tell you why I think God wanted me to write this. I think there are people out there whose lives are coming apart at the seams, and you don't understand the stripping down, clearing out, and complete excavation of your lives. People around you are watching and auditioning for the starring roles of Job's friends. You are staring at God wondering what you've done and begging Him to just tell you so you can fix it. And where you are is hell, and you are wondering what you've done to make God so mad.
If that is you, let me tell you something. All these people being deleted from my email list, I don't think they are wrong, and I don't think I am wrong. I think we don't work together for this season, and God has no problem removing something good to give me something better. And that is not to say the new people or activities coming in are better than those going out. Those people and activities were great FOR THAT SEASON. God has new things and people that are better FOR THIS SEASON.
And, yes, there is going to be something new, and, yes, you should thank God for the new thing, but it's okay to say, "This is HARD, and it blooming HURTS!" Yes, it is, and, yes, it does.
Unfortunately, I have no insta-answer. What I can tell you is I'm going to get off my computer now, and I'm going to pray for whomever else is doze-sleeping, looking at the clock a lot, or just not sleeping at all, and, yes, I believe God knows that is you.
God knows it is hard, and He knows you hurt. I'm praying you find Him in the empty place, that He gives you a place to lay down your heavy heart...and I pray you get some sleep.
--------------
I FOUND THE PICTURES!!!!!
For all of you who prayed, thank you! Thank you! Thank you!
Thursday, June 9, 2011
I'm Jerri, and I'm Good
This morning I am feeling...like satan is trying to put me back in a casket God raised me from.
I've heard a lot of, "You are so broken, scarred, wounded...not well enough to realy live yet."
Wrong.
I'm Jerri, and I'm good.
From a personal correspondence...
It's not polished. It's just true.
*******************
I've tried to be very "diplomatic" in what I've said and how I've said it because it seemed like the honorable thing to do. However, I think I need to clarify some things so folks understand where I am and can offer encouragement and support (or not) accordingly.
I am not Rob's widow. I was simply the woman married to him when he died.
My experience as "the widow" is not like most anyone else I know, and while I appreciate the deep compassion so many people extend, I simply cannot and WILL NOT do this widow gig.
We were one month from the divorce being final. I had known since early last fall Rob had decided he didn't want to come home.
Yes, his decisions hurt me. Yes, the failure of my marriage hurt me. But, when I grieve, I don't grieve as Rob's wife. I grieve as a woman who watched a lot of her life change dramatically in a year. I grieve the loss of family and friends that are no longer part of our lives. I grieve as someone who hates divorce and tried so hard to avoid it. I grieve for my children who only see a big black hole where their dad isn't anymore.
And, yes, for a long time all I saw was that hole, but I am not there anymore. If you notice, my pronouns have changed. I no longer us "we" or "us". It's "I" and "me". I am referring to life experiences less and less in relation to Rob and more and more as simpy life experiences. I've been to DC. Doesn't matter if Rob was there or not. *I* went to DC.
I am Jerri.
I am not the grieving widow of Rob Phillips.
I choose to define today, not be defined by the last year...or the 19 before that.
I'm not sad. I'm not depressed. I'm not...gloomy. If you think I am, talk to some folks who hang out with me, text me, or talk to me regularly.
Yes, I am still processing. I lived in an altered reality in Asperger's hell for 19 years. Having to figure out what was real and what was mirage, but I'm okay with that, and thankfully, I've been blessed with some amazing people to talk and walk me through it.
I'm learning a new life. Really, that is all it is. I've talked with several miltary friends who say coming back to the States after a deployment is relearning life. Moving from the country to the city is relearning life. The basics are the same, but the nuances and reality of logistics are different. That is it.
It isn't some deep wound or some glaring scar. It's simply figuring out the logistics and learning how to take care of the basics with new logistics.
And yes, some days it is hard. I went to sleep May of 2010 with a preteen happy to trust Mom knows virtually everything. I woke up June 2011 with a 14-year old who has a mind of her own and is trying to figure out how to use it in a productive positive way for God's glory. She is figuring out how to be herself and still honor me. I'm figuring out how to be Mom and respect her being herself. Not easy, but we are finding the laughter...and honest struggles...in the adventure. In some ways we are "growing apart". In other ways--deep ways--we are growing so much closer.
For those who are "deeply concerned", I do have a counselor. She's been great, one of my most wonderful supporters, and she keeps canceling my sessions because according to her, when someone 4 months out from the end of the year I've had is doing better on all fronts than people a few years out are hopefully doing, she sees no reason to see that person. And I tell her the same thing everytime--God is good.
And He is
And because of that...
I'm Jerri, and I'm good.
I've heard a lot of, "You are so broken, scarred, wounded...not well enough to realy live yet."
Wrong.
I'm Jerri, and I'm good.
From a personal correspondence...
It's not polished. It's just true.
*******************
I've tried to be very "diplomatic" in what I've said and how I've said it because it seemed like the honorable thing to do. However, I think I need to clarify some things so folks understand where I am and can offer encouragement and support (or not) accordingly.
I am not Rob's widow. I was simply the woman married to him when he died.
My experience as "the widow" is not like most anyone else I know, and while I appreciate the deep compassion so many people extend, I simply cannot and WILL NOT do this widow gig.
We were one month from the divorce being final. I had known since early last fall Rob had decided he didn't want to come home.
Yes, his decisions hurt me. Yes, the failure of my marriage hurt me. But, when I grieve, I don't grieve as Rob's wife. I grieve as a woman who watched a lot of her life change dramatically in a year. I grieve the loss of family and friends that are no longer part of our lives. I grieve as someone who hates divorce and tried so hard to avoid it. I grieve for my children who only see a big black hole where their dad isn't anymore.
And, yes, for a long time all I saw was that hole, but I am not there anymore. If you notice, my pronouns have changed. I no longer us "we" or "us". It's "I" and "me". I am referring to life experiences less and less in relation to Rob and more and more as simpy life experiences. I've been to DC. Doesn't matter if Rob was there or not. *I* went to DC.
I am Jerri.
I am not the grieving widow of Rob Phillips.
I choose to define today, not be defined by the last year...or the 19 before that.
I'm not sad. I'm not depressed. I'm not...gloomy. If you think I am, talk to some folks who hang out with me, text me, or talk to me regularly.
Yes, I am still processing. I lived in an altered reality in Asperger's hell for 19 years. Having to figure out what was real and what was mirage, but I'm okay with that, and thankfully, I've been blessed with some amazing people to talk and walk me through it.
I'm learning a new life. Really, that is all it is. I've talked with several miltary friends who say coming back to the States after a deployment is relearning life. Moving from the country to the city is relearning life. The basics are the same, but the nuances and reality of logistics are different. That is it.
It isn't some deep wound or some glaring scar. It's simply figuring out the logistics and learning how to take care of the basics with new logistics.
And yes, some days it is hard. I went to sleep May of 2010 with a preteen happy to trust Mom knows virtually everything. I woke up June 2011 with a 14-year old who has a mind of her own and is trying to figure out how to use it in a productive positive way for God's glory. She is figuring out how to be herself and still honor me. I'm figuring out how to be Mom and respect her being herself. Not easy, but we are finding the laughter...and honest struggles...in the adventure. In some ways we are "growing apart". In other ways--deep ways--we are growing so much closer.
For those who are "deeply concerned", I do have a counselor. She's been great, one of my most wonderful supporters, and she keeps canceling my sessions because according to her, when someone 4 months out from the end of the year I've had is doing better on all fronts than people a few years out are hopefully doing, she sees no reason to see that person. And I tell her the same thing everytime--God is good.
And He is
And because of that...
I'm Jerri, and I'm good.
Saturday, June 4, 2011
And the Truth Will Set You Free
In the entire year I could not remember it being so dark. The pain had seemed an ever present torment for as long as I could remember. The dark was darker than it had ever been. It was harder to get on top of, and the "feeling good" didn't last...long at all. Every time I thought it was getting better, it seemed to get worse.
I couldn't remember the last time I had even had a good day, one where I didn't cry or feel my heart was being ripped out or simply didn't hurt. Every day hurt.
I couldn't do it anymore.
And I couldn't change it.
All I could do was go to God and be blunt. "You have to do something. I'd quit if I could, but I have two children depending on me. You have to do something to get me out of this hell."
A simple, but oh, so clear response as audible as my children in the room with me: "You have to tell."
The thought had crossed my mind multiple times in the last year, but along with the thought came chest pain, the inability to breathe, and deep soul sobs. With each wave of fear, I had declared, "I can't tell."
This time, I only asked, "Who?"
My dear friends Kenneth and Joy came to mind. Yes, I could tell them.
I went in my bedroom, closed the door, sat on my bed with my computer, and pulled up a new email. I had no idea where to start, how to word things, or what the end would look like. I simply had to tell, so I started.
Then I told them about 19 years of marriage that left more scars than I believed would ever go away. I told them details, things I had never told anyone. I would write, stop, breathe deep, keep writing...and cry.
I told them about the shame. I typed, fought the desire to vomit, laid in a fetal position on my bed, sobbed until I ached, and then got up and typed more.
Then I said it, the thing that had tormented me that I couldn't admit, that hurt me to my very core, the truth.
I typed:
"He...didn't...want...me."
I stared at the blurred words while hot tears rolled down my face, and I read it over and over.
Really, that was what it all came down to.
He didn't want me.
It wasn't my hair or the way I kept house or my ironing or any THING. It was me. He didn't want me.
And I closed my computer, lay on my bed, and soul cried over nineteen years of truth.
I have no idea how long I cried. When I sat up, I opened my computer and finished writing the letter.
Four hours, ten pages, and a soggy pillow later, I ended the letter with:
The next day I woke up, went through the day, got to the end, and realized...it had been a really good day.
I texted Kenneth and told him. He and Joy rejoiced with me.
The next evening I texted, "Okay, that is two great days in a row."
After day three of my string of great days, I allowed myself to think maybe...possibly...
Then came the fourth day, and it was a great day, too. That is when I realized....
I wasn't sad. I wasn't fighting to be happy. There was real joy, and I wasn't having to fake it or fight for it. It was coming naturally. The smiles were real. The laughter was real.
The peace...was real.
And I knew it wasn't just a sunny time out in the prison yard before going to the cell again. I knew I was out of the prison...completely. I had been released from the dungeon and was in the sunshine. I was breathing, moving...living...hoping. I was also...
...sleepy.
In nearly eleven months I could not remember a time when I felt sleepy. I had been mentally and emotionally exhausted. I had slept to try to escape my thoughts, but I didn't remember when my mind had been so settled I could feel my body want to sleep. I don't think I have ever been so excited to be sleepy in my life.
I wrote that letter nearly three weeks ago. Since then I have...
...cleared the flowerbeds that previously brought me to tears.
...trimmed limbs (from ground level because I don't get dizzy standing on the ground) from several trees.
...assisted Anna as she redecorated the study and made it into a guest room.
...made a wonderful trip to Galveston and enjoyed the beach and churning water.
...relaxed....honestly relaxed!...with friends.
...enjoyed a house guest so much I really hated to see her go home.
...rejoined Habitat for Humanity.
...enjoyed time with my brother.
...laughed deeply.
...developed smile lines.
...slept.
...had one great day after another, and at the end of each one, I am delightfully sleepy. :-)
I couldn't remember the last time I had even had a good day, one where I didn't cry or feel my heart was being ripped out or simply didn't hurt. Every day hurt.
I couldn't do it anymore.
And I couldn't change it.
All I could do was go to God and be blunt. "You have to do something. I'd quit if I could, but I have two children depending on me. You have to do something to get me out of this hell."
A simple, but oh, so clear response as audible as my children in the room with me: "You have to tell."
The thought had crossed my mind multiple times in the last year, but along with the thought came chest pain, the inability to breathe, and deep soul sobs. With each wave of fear, I had declared, "I can't tell."
This time, I only asked, "Who?"
My dear friends Kenneth and Joy came to mind. Yes, I could tell them.
I went in my bedroom, closed the door, sat on my bed with my computer, and pulled up a new email. I had no idea where to start, how to word things, or what the end would look like. I simply had to tell, so I started.
"I do not expect you to have answers or…really anything. I just need to tell someone..."I told them about my struggle with God, not understanding Him, trying to figure out what trust and faith are all over again, feeling totally abandoned by Him for nineteen years, and yet, knowing He was faithful. Strangely that was the easy part.
Then I told them about 19 years of marriage that left more scars than I believed would ever go away. I told them details, things I had never told anyone. I would write, stop, breathe deep, keep writing...and cry.
I told them about the shame. I typed, fought the desire to vomit, laid in a fetal position on my bed, sobbed until I ached, and then got up and typed more.
Then I said it, the thing that had tormented me that I couldn't admit, that hurt me to my very core, the truth.
I typed:
"He...didn't...want...me."
I stared at the blurred words while hot tears rolled down my face, and I read it over and over.
Really, that was what it all came down to.
He didn't want me.
It wasn't my hair or the way I kept house or my ironing or any THING. It was me. He didn't want me.
And I closed my computer, lay on my bed, and soul cried over nineteen years of truth.
I have no idea how long I cried. When I sat up, I opened my computer and finished writing the letter.
Four hours, ten pages, and a soggy pillow later, I ended the letter with:
I hit "send", closed my computer, and put my head down. I was tired, and I needed to rest.And I wonder if I will ever not feel so completely destroyed, crushed, and shattered.Thank you for listening.Love you both.Jerri
The next day I woke up, went through the day, got to the end, and realized...it had been a really good day.
I texted Kenneth and told him. He and Joy rejoiced with me.
The next evening I texted, "Okay, that is two great days in a row."
After day three of my string of great days, I allowed myself to think maybe...possibly...
Then came the fourth day, and it was a great day, too. That is when I realized....
I wasn't sad. I wasn't fighting to be happy. There was real joy, and I wasn't having to fake it or fight for it. It was coming naturally. The smiles were real. The laughter was real.
The peace...was real.
And I knew it wasn't just a sunny time out in the prison yard before going to the cell again. I knew I was out of the prison...completely. I had been released from the dungeon and was in the sunshine. I was breathing, moving...living...hoping. I was also...
...sleepy.
In nearly eleven months I could not remember a time when I felt sleepy. I had been mentally and emotionally exhausted. I had slept to try to escape my thoughts, but I didn't remember when my mind had been so settled I could feel my body want to sleep. I don't think I have ever been so excited to be sleepy in my life.
I wrote that letter nearly three weeks ago. Since then I have...
...cleared the flowerbeds that previously brought me to tears.
...trimmed limbs (from ground level because I don't get dizzy standing on the ground) from several trees.
...assisted Anna as she redecorated the study and made it into a guest room.
...made a wonderful trip to Galveston and enjoyed the beach and churning water.
...relaxed....honestly relaxed!...with friends.
...enjoyed a house guest so much I really hated to see her go home.
...rejoined Habitat for Humanity.
...enjoyed time with my brother.
...laughed deeply.
...developed smile lines.
...slept.
...had one great day after another, and at the end of each one, I am delightfully sleepy. :-)
Friday, June 3, 2011
When You Don't Know What to Do, Celebrate...You
I didn't know what to do. I had never done this before, and I had no idea what to expect. I didn't know who to ask because...well, frankly it's a rather awkward topic, not something that comes up in social gatherings or emails either for that matter, and I wasn't sure anyone else could really relate anyway. It was going to happen, though. It wasn't like I could avoid it. It would have just been nice if there had been some kind of directions, some kind of...something.
But there wasn't.
Sometimes a person just has to find her own way...and I did. And my way was to celebrate.
June 2 is a big day in my world. It's the day I changed my name. The day I made a covenant to love and cherish till death do us part, and the day I was reminded of how horribly wrong things can go.
Last year was bad. I didn't even buy Rob a card. It was so obvious that our marriage was coming apart. We weren't even sleeping in the same room any more. I can't tell you if we went out or if we really even talked. I think he bought me a card, but I can't tell you what it said.
Then came the 8 months I could have never imagined, and I went from preparing to be an ex-wife to being a widow with one late-night visit from the police, and suddenly, our anniversary was here again, and I had no idea what to do.
All I really knew is I have hurt enough. I could not take one more day of...hell. And really, that is what the last year has felt like. It has been a mental and emotional hell I would never wish on anyone, and I could not do another day of it.
It's not enough to know what one doesn't want to do, though. One has to determine what she DOES want to do, and I wanted to be done.
I wanted to be done with the rejection. I wanted to be done with figuring out what made him unhappy. I wanted to be done wondering what I could have done differently. I wanted to be done being....
No.
That's not true.
It's more than what I wanted to leave behind. It's what I wanted to embrace. It wasn't what I wanted dead. It's how I want to live.
I wanted to celebrate me. I wanted to just enjoy being me, with my gifts, my talents, my personality, my sense of humor, my...life.
So, instead of getting a bottle of wine and offering a toast "to us" and "the good times" and feeling like puking because of the hypocrisy of it all, I pulled on my overalls, got in my pickup, and headed to a Habitat for Humanity site. I spent the day with amazing people who filled my heart with smiles, fabulous memories that felt good to my soul, and laughter that still rings in my mind and ears. I learned some new skills, did what I do best [talk :-) ], and felt needed and wanted. I wasn't a widow or an ex-wife. I was simply Jerri, and that was enough. I didn't do anything amazing or anything. I just did...me.
And it felt good.
Last night I went to dinner with my brother, and then we went to see a midnight premiere that ended about 2:30. I had never been to a midnight premiere. This morning my sides are sore from laughing so hard, and I ended up sleeping until nearly lunch. Horribly irresponsible and impractical. I will definitely do it again.
It was a wonderful day. I laughed. I sang. I breathed deep, and I celebrated life. I celebrated...me.
But there wasn't.
Sometimes a person just has to find her own way...and I did. And my way was to celebrate.
June 2 is a big day in my world. It's the day I changed my name. The day I made a covenant to love and cherish till death do us part, and the day I was reminded of how horribly wrong things can go.
Last year was bad. I didn't even buy Rob a card. It was so obvious that our marriage was coming apart. We weren't even sleeping in the same room any more. I can't tell you if we went out or if we really even talked. I think he bought me a card, but I can't tell you what it said.
Then came the 8 months I could have never imagined, and I went from preparing to be an ex-wife to being a widow with one late-night visit from the police, and suddenly, our anniversary was here again, and I had no idea what to do.
All I really knew is I have hurt enough. I could not take one more day of...hell. And really, that is what the last year has felt like. It has been a mental and emotional hell I would never wish on anyone, and I could not do another day of it.
It's not enough to know what one doesn't want to do, though. One has to determine what she DOES want to do, and I wanted to be done.
I wanted to be done with the rejection. I wanted to be done with figuring out what made him unhappy. I wanted to be done wondering what I could have done differently. I wanted to be done being....
No.
That's not true.
It's more than what I wanted to leave behind. It's what I wanted to embrace. It wasn't what I wanted dead. It's how I want to live.
I wanted to celebrate me. I wanted to just enjoy being me, with my gifts, my talents, my personality, my sense of humor, my...life.
So, instead of getting a bottle of wine and offering a toast "to us" and "the good times" and feeling like puking because of the hypocrisy of it all, I pulled on my overalls, got in my pickup, and headed to a Habitat for Humanity site. I spent the day with amazing people who filled my heart with smiles, fabulous memories that felt good to my soul, and laughter that still rings in my mind and ears. I learned some new skills, did what I do best [talk :-) ], and felt needed and wanted. I wasn't a widow or an ex-wife. I was simply Jerri, and that was enough. I didn't do anything amazing or anything. I just did...me.
And it felt good.
Last night I went to dinner with my brother, and then we went to see a midnight premiere that ended about 2:30. I had never been to a midnight premiere. This morning my sides are sore from laughing so hard, and I ended up sleeping until nearly lunch. Horribly irresponsible and impractical. I will definitely do it again.
It was a wonderful day. I laughed. I sang. I breathed deep, and I celebrated life. I celebrated...me.
Friday, January 28, 2011
Umbrella Drinks in the Fire
Annoyingly, the rollercoaster is still in full swing. I feel like a pendulum Tarzan slamming from one extreme mood to another. Okay, well, that euphoric part of the manic is a bit elusive lately, but nonetheless. DESPITE THE MOOD PENDULUM TELEPORTATION, I know things are getting better...I am getting better.
First of all, I have really missed my mom this week. Like I told a friend of mine, I don't think I have really been congnizant of grieving Mom in the last 3 1/2 months. I've missed her, but I haven't grieved. This week I grieved. This week, my heart felt broken, and the tears fell with just the mention of her. That Is huge because it means the pain from the divorce is not so great that I find the grief of Mom's death too much. I am now stable enough with the divorce to address the emotions of losing Mom.
Of course, that also means I just swapped rollercoaster rides. Yeehaw.
I'm also thinking through things faster and not getting lost in the pain, I think. In the last week a few things have slammed me really hard, and I've cried a lot, hurt a lot, but I've also prayed a lot, been still a lot, listened a lot, and thought a lot more clearly. And each time I've walked away from the "trigger" calmer, more focused, more...sure. I won't say I have a swagger in my step, but I do have a smile on my face.
And once again, I am able to see myself as a shaper of our future, not just someone trying to survive a helluva rough seven months, but someone who will flourish and have an amazing life. I can choose that. I'm not a victim. I am a visionary with determination and peace.
Oh, believe me, I am fully aware that tomorrow you could walk in and find me sobbing on my bedroom floor again. If so, just set the Kleenex box beside me. Feel free to sit down with me and wait it out or close the door behind you when you leave. Either is fine because today is good. Right NOW is good...in that "been through the fire and am still there but I'm learning how to enjoy an umbrella drink while I'm here" sort of way. :-)
First of all, I have really missed my mom this week. Like I told a friend of mine, I don't think I have really been congnizant of grieving Mom in the last 3 1/2 months. I've missed her, but I haven't grieved. This week I grieved. This week, my heart felt broken, and the tears fell with just the mention of her. That Is huge because it means the pain from the divorce is not so great that I find the grief of Mom's death too much. I am now stable enough with the divorce to address the emotions of losing Mom.
Of course, that also means I just swapped rollercoaster rides. Yeehaw.
I'm also thinking through things faster and not getting lost in the pain, I think. In the last week a few things have slammed me really hard, and I've cried a lot, hurt a lot, but I've also prayed a lot, been still a lot, listened a lot, and thought a lot more clearly. And each time I've walked away from the "trigger" calmer, more focused, more...sure. I won't say I have a swagger in my step, but I do have a smile on my face.
And once again, I am able to see myself as a shaper of our future, not just someone trying to survive a helluva rough seven months, but someone who will flourish and have an amazing life. I can choose that. I'm not a victim. I am a visionary with determination and peace.
Oh, believe me, I am fully aware that tomorrow you could walk in and find me sobbing on my bedroom floor again. If so, just set the Kleenex box beside me. Feel free to sit down with me and wait it out or close the door behind you when you leave. Either is fine because today is good. Right NOW is good...in that "been through the fire and am still there but I'm learning how to enjoy an umbrella drink while I'm here" sort of way. :-)
Umbrella Drinks in the Fire
Annoyingly, the rollercoaster is still in full swing. I feel like a pendulum Tarzan slamming from one extreme mood to another. Okay, well, that euphoric part of the manic is a bit elusive lately, but nonetheless. DESPITE THE MOOD PENDULUM TELEPORTATION, I know things are getting better...I am getting better.
First of all, I have really missed my mom this week. Like I told a friend of mine, I don't think I have really been congnizant of grieving Mom in the last 3 1/2 months. I've missed her, but I haven't grieved. This week I grieved. This week, my heart felt broken, and the tears fell with just the mention of her. That Is huge because it means the pain from the divorce is not so great that I find the grief of Mom's death too much. I am now stable enough with the divorce to address the emotions of losing Mom.
Of course, that also means I just swapped rollercoaster rides. Yeehaw.
I'm also thinking through things faster and not getting lost in the pain, I think. In the last week a few things have slammed me really hard, and I've cried a lot, hurt a lot, but I've also prayed a lot, been still a lot, listened a lot, and thought a lot more clearly. And each time I've walked away from the "trigger" calmer, more focused, more...sure. I won't say I have a swagger in my step, but I do have a smile on my face.
And once again, I am able to see myself as a shaper of our future, not just someone trying to survive a helluva rough seven months, but someone who will flourish and have an amazing life. I can choose that. I'm not a victim. I am a visionary with determination and peace.
Oh, believe me, I am fully aware that tomorrow you could walk in and find me sobbing on my bedroom floor again. If so, just set the Kleenex box beside me. Feel free to sit down with me and wait it out or close the door behind you when you leave. Either is fine because today is good. Right NOW is good...in that "been through the fire and am still there but I'm learning how to enjoy an umbrella drink while I'm here" sort of way. :-)
Saturday, November 6, 2010
Emotional Weather Days
I just want to cry.
It's that simple.
I have spent the day with tears sitting in the corners of my eyes waiting to fall, probably needing to fall. One of those be-good-to-yourself days when I can't.
They are children, mature and wonderful, full of grace, but children. They don't understand days when it is easier for me to lie in bed than stand against the sadness. They don't understand why my usual laughter is edged with annoyance or why small things have suddenly become so large.
I understand their confusion, and I seek a way to explain. Sometime I don't understand either. All I know is some days are hard, and on those days, tears come easy and patience doesn't.
Tired from the strain of trying to force calm that cannot be created, I lie on my bed and pull close those I've been pushing away. We try to find light in the emotional cloudiness of the day.
Cloudy. That is it. If only emotions came with a forecast, a type of heads up of what to expect, then we would know whether to wear galloshes in the form of careful steps or umbrellas in the form of greater grace. Perhaps we would simply know better how to avoid the storm altogether, and if we couldn't stop it, maybe we could ease the effects.
"Do you ever get sad with all that has been happening?" I venture. I know the answer, but they need to understand.
Silent nods...theirs and mine...an understanding.
"Me, too." I pause, let the reality sink in, let them think sad, let them feel it. "Do you ever have a sad day when you can't quite get over the sadness, you don't just sit and cry, but you're sad?"
Again...silent nods. I let them wander into those days, into those hearts.
"Me, too." We sit in those days, and I venture further. "When you have those days, do you ever feel like you can't quite get happy? Like you can't stop being unhappy? Like everything is a bit bad even when it isn't?"
Eyes drop. They don't need to nod. I know. They know. They've had those days. I've witnessed them. Now, I let them witness mine.
"Some days I have sad days. Some days I just can't quite find happy. Some days everything feels a bit bad, even when it isn't. Some days you two do everything right, but my heart is still wrong."
It is quiet. No one needs to nod. We know.
"Today is one of those days for me. I'm sorry it is a hard day. I am trying, but I can't quite get to happy, and that is not your fault. I know you are doing everything right. Unfortunately, today, my heart isn't right. Today it's sad, and maybe instead of trying to pretend it is sunny and perfect day, I can just tell you what it really is. Maybe on days like these, it would help if we could tell each other that it isn't a sunny day, but a cloudy one. Maybe we could help all of us by simply giving an emotional weather forecast just like they give weather forecasts on the news. Then we know what to expect from each other, and we act and respond accordingly."
There are no nods. We all know. We know the power of understanding, the power of grace. We have the power to give it. We do that well. Now we have power to ask for it.
We snuggle close. I smile. The clouds still roll, but we are not as stormy.
We rest in the peace we could not create...only find...in the grace we know how to give each other...and ourselves...especially on emotionally cloudy days.
It's that simple.
I have spent the day with tears sitting in the corners of my eyes waiting to fall, probably needing to fall. One of those be-good-to-yourself days when I can't.
They are children, mature and wonderful, full of grace, but children. They don't understand days when it is easier for me to lie in bed than stand against the sadness. They don't understand why my usual laughter is edged with annoyance or why small things have suddenly become so large.
I understand their confusion, and I seek a way to explain. Sometime I don't understand either. All I know is some days are hard, and on those days, tears come easy and patience doesn't.
Tired from the strain of trying to force calm that cannot be created, I lie on my bed and pull close those I've been pushing away. We try to find light in the emotional cloudiness of the day.
Cloudy. That is it. If only emotions came with a forecast, a type of heads up of what to expect, then we would know whether to wear galloshes in the form of careful steps or umbrellas in the form of greater grace. Perhaps we would simply know better how to avoid the storm altogether, and if we couldn't stop it, maybe we could ease the effects.
"Do you ever get sad with all that has been happening?" I venture. I know the answer, but they need to understand.
Silent nods...theirs and mine...an understanding.
"Me, too." I pause, let the reality sink in, let them think sad, let them feel it. "Do you ever have a sad day when you can't quite get over the sadness, you don't just sit and cry, but you're sad?"
Again...silent nods. I let them wander into those days, into those hearts.
"Me, too." We sit in those days, and I venture further. "When you have those days, do you ever feel like you can't quite get happy? Like you can't stop being unhappy? Like everything is a bit bad even when it isn't?"
Eyes drop. They don't need to nod. I know. They know. They've had those days. I've witnessed them. Now, I let them witness mine.
"Some days I have sad days. Some days I just can't quite find happy. Some days everything feels a bit bad, even when it isn't. Some days you two do everything right, but my heart is still wrong."
It is quiet. No one needs to nod. We know.
"Today is one of those days for me. I'm sorry it is a hard day. I am trying, but I can't quite get to happy, and that is not your fault. I know you are doing everything right. Unfortunately, today, my heart isn't right. Today it's sad, and maybe instead of trying to pretend it is sunny and perfect day, I can just tell you what it really is. Maybe on days like these, it would help if we could tell each other that it isn't a sunny day, but a cloudy one. Maybe we could help all of us by simply giving an emotional weather forecast just like they give weather forecasts on the news. Then we know what to expect from each other, and we act and respond accordingly."
There are no nods. We all know. We know the power of understanding, the power of grace. We have the power to give it. We do that well. Now we have power to ask for it.
We snuggle close. I smile. The clouds still roll, but we are not as stormy.
We rest in the peace we could not create...only find...in the grace we know how to give each other...and ourselves...especially on emotionally cloudy days.
Thursday, October 28, 2010
Dark Places
When I am in a dark place, I tend to be quiet, to sort of hide in the shadows.
I do not wish for people to see my tears, to hear my sobs, or to share their advice. I do not want people to expect me to be anything. I do not want people to expect me to be "over it", to be strong for others, to be happy anyway, or to be miserable with pain.
I simply want to be.
Right now, I am in a dark place.
A dark place isn't a bad place. It is simply a place where I must depend on something...Someone...outside myself to give direction because none of my senses are reliable at this point. All I know and all I think mean nothing because in the dark, sounds are magnified, steps are not obvious, and I am guessing...about what lies ahead...about what lies behind...and how the two relate.
The dark is a place to be quiet, to be still, to rest.
And I am resting...from the voices...from the expectations...from needing to know everything...from needing to understand...from needing to have answers.
I am simply being.
And there is a peace in simply being...
...Even when it is in a dark place.
I do not wish for people to see my tears, to hear my sobs, or to share their advice. I do not want people to expect me to be anything. I do not want people to expect me to be "over it", to be strong for others, to be happy anyway, or to be miserable with pain.
I simply want to be.
Right now, I am in a dark place.
A dark place isn't a bad place. It is simply a place where I must depend on something...Someone...outside myself to give direction because none of my senses are reliable at this point. All I know and all I think mean nothing because in the dark, sounds are magnified, steps are not obvious, and I am guessing...about what lies ahead...about what lies behind...and how the two relate.
The dark is a place to be quiet, to be still, to rest.
And I am resting...from the voices...from the expectations...from needing to know everything...from needing to understand...from needing to have answers.
I am simply being.
And there is a peace in simply being...
...Even when it is in a dark place.
Tuesday, August 31, 2010
Firestorm Days
I don't know what else to call it. It's the kind of day when everywhere I turn I seem to get hit. Usually, I reach the end of the day in tears and exhausted. However, tonight I'm neither in tears or exhausted. I'm just pondering.
About a month ago I had a heavy shelling day. There were several crying spells--fat, hot tears that burned as much in my heart as they did on my face. A few episodes of overreaction and raised voice. A long phone conversation helping me get perspective, and that was all by mid-day. By the time I fell into bed, I felt like a failure for handling the day so badly, losing my calm, letting things get to me, and misdirected my anger and frustration.
That evening I wrote an email to the friend who helped me get perspective and said:
Where did I feel I got hit hardest?
What hurt me? Why? What power was there in the words or actions that affected me? How do I keep from giving that power next time?
How can I react better? If I reacted in misdirected anger, what/who was really the target? How could I have dealt with that better?
If I overreacted, how could I have reacted better? Do I need to ask forgiveness?
If I did get mad or hurt, is there an action or words that triggers those reactions every time? If so, how do I need to address it so I control my reaction instead of being controlled by the circumstance, words, or act?
A lot of times my rough days are simply my not choosing responsibility to make them better or to protect them. Frankly, it is over more that I don't protect them than anything else.
For instance, one of the things that really frustrates me are people who have talked to me once or twice--or not at all--in the last two months, read my blog, and assume they have enough information to make judgments or offer advice on my actions, my family's health and coping, or --more specifically-- how well I am handling things are not.
This happens on a weekly basis, and on a weekly basis, my blood pressure goes up.
I really don't understand how people think a thirty or forty minute phone call or maybe two calls over a period of two months gives them any insight into what our home is like, and I would think folks would realize if they have known us for years and was shocked when Rob and I separated because there were lots of things we never shared, there is a novel of information I'm not going to put on my blog for public consumption. I keep thinking surely they realize that they have the equivalent of a few frames of in an epic movie. However, based on those few frames--or in the case of one person, nothing at all--they want to give advice or pass judgment.
Did I mention my blood pressure goes up?
So, my pondering tonight is what to do with this particular type of shelling because I'm tired of it getting to me. I need to find a response that fits within my belief system and my boundaries, and sometimes that is the hard part--setting boundaries that don't make folks happy.
The honest truth is my thoughts go something like this: "You don't know what is going on in our home. What makes you think we need your advice in the first place? What gives you the idea that simply reading my blog makes you any more informed than any other reader out there? And if you are going to ask a question, have the courtesy to listen while I answer fully without hearing only what you want so you can have an excuse to drop in what you want to say. If you really just want to tell me what you think, could you save me time by putting it in an email so I can skim it and hit delete?"
Sound horrible...or honest?
So why don't I say that? Because I might hurt someone's feelings. Because they might get offended. Because they might not speak to me anymore.
But, if I associate conversations with them as the equivalent of being blasted by so-called friendly fire, do I care if they talk to me again? What am I trying to save? If I cringe when I see their number on called id, what is the point of worrying if they don't call?
Usually, I just quit talking. It doesn't matter if I talk. It quickly becomes apparent the person is not actually listening to me or only listening to what they want to hear. In such cases, I end up wasting time I could be using for purposeful things and hope I mumble "uh-huh" and "m-hmm" at the right moment so they think I am listening instead of making a grocery list in my head. This is being nice?
What if I were just honest and said, "You know what, I appreciate your call, but really, I feel good about where we are and how we are doing. If I need you, I'll call."
Or just drop the whole diplomatic thing like I did last week when someone called and went right into criticizing choices made concerning Mom's health and care. The woman was about three sentences in when I firmly said, "I have had a long day, and I do not have the mental energy or the remotest interest in explaining our choices to you, not that it is your business anyway. I need to go now." And, without giving her a chance to reply, I ended the call.
The reality is people are always going to chime in with opinions and advice. Unless one becomes a hermit, it is unavoidable, but I truly believe I can control my response to them and even choose to stop the invasion in an area they have no right to because they have not chosen to know us well enough for the liberties they want to take.
While I try to always respond with a kind tone and kind words, sometimes a perfectly controlled response is simply, "You don't have the right to give advice about this," or something simpler. "I don't want to talk to you about it."
Yes, I've made some folks mad. Amazingly, I still feel no guilt, and I will probably make others mad. I'll let you know if I feel guilt then, but I'm not expecting any, so don't hold your breath.
The fact is there are parts of my day I have no control over. I can't control whether my mom remembers me or not. I can't control sniffly noses or broken toys. I can't always control what will make me incredibly sad in an instant. There are things I get hit with daily that I cannot prevent or stop, and there are some that I can. I just have to take responsibility to think through ahead of time what I will do when those situations come, make a plan, if need be write it down so I don't have to "think" but can mindlessly follow the script, and then act accordingly being firm in my choice of reaction.
The right or peace-bringing reaction doesn't happen on accident. It takes honesty about what bothers me and sometimes why. It requires me to think through things and take responsibility for myself and my family. No, sometimes my choices are not popular, but my goal isn't popularity. It's peace.
Sometimes the way to find peace on firestorm days is finding peace within myself in a calm moment, so I already know how to diffuse the fight before it ever starts.
About a month ago I had a heavy shelling day. There were several crying spells--fat, hot tears that burned as much in my heart as they did on my face. A few episodes of overreaction and raised voice. A long phone conversation helping me get perspective, and that was all by mid-day. By the time I fell into bed, I felt like a failure for handling the day so badly, losing my calm, letting things get to me, and misdirected my anger and frustration.
That evening I wrote an email to the friend who helped me get perspective and said:
"I guess, it was just things coming at me faster than I could respond to well. I know that firestorms like that prepare me for the next time, and I will respond better next time. Firestorm days are hard, though. They just are."They still are, but I was right. I handled today better than I handled the day a month ago, and the next time I'll do even better, but I won't handle it better by simply crawling into bed and feeling sorry for myself for having a lousy day that beat me up. Instead, I look at the elements of the day.
Where did I feel I got hit hardest?
What hurt me? Why? What power was there in the words or actions that affected me? How do I keep from giving that power next time?
How can I react better? If I reacted in misdirected anger, what/who was really the target? How could I have dealt with that better?
If I overreacted, how could I have reacted better? Do I need to ask forgiveness?
If I did get mad or hurt, is there an action or words that triggers those reactions every time? If so, how do I need to address it so I control my reaction instead of being controlled by the circumstance, words, or act?
A lot of times my rough days are simply my not choosing responsibility to make them better or to protect them. Frankly, it is over more that I don't protect them than anything else.
For instance, one of the things that really frustrates me are people who have talked to me once or twice--or not at all--in the last two months, read my blog, and assume they have enough information to make judgments or offer advice on my actions, my family's health and coping, or --more specifically-- how well I am handling things are not.
This happens on a weekly basis, and on a weekly basis, my blood pressure goes up.
I really don't understand how people think a thirty or forty minute phone call or maybe two calls over a period of two months gives them any insight into what our home is like, and I would think folks would realize if they have known us for years and was shocked when Rob and I separated because there were lots of things we never shared, there is a novel of information I'm not going to put on my blog for public consumption. I keep thinking surely they realize that they have the equivalent of a few frames of in an epic movie. However, based on those few frames--or in the case of one person, nothing at all--they want to give advice or pass judgment.
Did I mention my blood pressure goes up?
So, my pondering tonight is what to do with this particular type of shelling because I'm tired of it getting to me. I need to find a response that fits within my belief system and my boundaries, and sometimes that is the hard part--setting boundaries that don't make folks happy.
The honest truth is my thoughts go something like this: "You don't know what is going on in our home. What makes you think we need your advice in the first place? What gives you the idea that simply reading my blog makes you any more informed than any other reader out there? And if you are going to ask a question, have the courtesy to listen while I answer fully without hearing only what you want so you can have an excuse to drop in what you want to say. If you really just want to tell me what you think, could you save me time by putting it in an email so I can skim it and hit delete?"
Sound horrible...or honest?
So why don't I say that? Because I might hurt someone's feelings. Because they might get offended. Because they might not speak to me anymore.
But, if I associate conversations with them as the equivalent of being blasted by so-called friendly fire, do I care if they talk to me again? What am I trying to save? If I cringe when I see their number on called id, what is the point of worrying if they don't call?
Usually, I just quit talking. It doesn't matter if I talk. It quickly becomes apparent the person is not actually listening to me or only listening to what they want to hear. In such cases, I end up wasting time I could be using for purposeful things and hope I mumble "uh-huh" and "m-hmm" at the right moment so they think I am listening instead of making a grocery list in my head. This is being nice?
What if I were just honest and said, "You know what, I appreciate your call, but really, I feel good about where we are and how we are doing. If I need you, I'll call."
Or just drop the whole diplomatic thing like I did last week when someone called and went right into criticizing choices made concerning Mom's health and care. The woman was about three sentences in when I firmly said, "I have had a long day, and I do not have the mental energy or the remotest interest in explaining our choices to you, not that it is your business anyway. I need to go now." And, without giving her a chance to reply, I ended the call.
The reality is people are always going to chime in with opinions and advice. Unless one becomes a hermit, it is unavoidable, but I truly believe I can control my response to them and even choose to stop the invasion in an area they have no right to because they have not chosen to know us well enough for the liberties they want to take.
While I try to always respond with a kind tone and kind words, sometimes a perfectly controlled response is simply, "You don't have the right to give advice about this," or something simpler. "I don't want to talk to you about it."
Yes, I've made some folks mad. Amazingly, I still feel no guilt, and I will probably make others mad. I'll let you know if I feel guilt then, but I'm not expecting any, so don't hold your breath.
The fact is there are parts of my day I have no control over. I can't control whether my mom remembers me or not. I can't control sniffly noses or broken toys. I can't always control what will make me incredibly sad in an instant. There are things I get hit with daily that I cannot prevent or stop, and there are some that I can. I just have to take responsibility to think through ahead of time what I will do when those situations come, make a plan, if need be write it down so I don't have to "think" but can mindlessly follow the script, and then act accordingly being firm in my choice of reaction.
The right or peace-bringing reaction doesn't happen on accident. It takes honesty about what bothers me and sometimes why. It requires me to think through things and take responsibility for myself and my family. No, sometimes my choices are not popular, but my goal isn't popularity. It's peace.
Sometimes the way to find peace on firestorm days is finding peace within myself in a calm moment, so I already know how to diffuse the fight before it ever starts.
Wednesday, August 11, 2010
Enjoying the Day
This morning I woke up mentally and emotionally heavy. It's the kind of morning that seduces me to stay in bed and wallow in the sadness and glum of my life at the moment. No tears fall. No defined emotion, just a numbed misery that wants to suck me in and suck the life out of me.
It is easy to succumb.
But I don't.
Instead, I speak the heavy thoughts to the Lord, the ones that whisper hopelessness and loneliness. I tell Him my concerns, the ones over which I have so little control. I confide my desires--to be loved, to embrace these trials, to learn from them, to learn to battle through them, to enjoy this day anyway.
To enjoy this day anyway. Quite possibly the hardest battle of all.
I have become rebellious to the plastic mentality of putting on a happy face and pretending all is fine even when my heart has been ripped out of my chest and I feel I can't breathe. I have become militant in my determination to be real, to live authentically, to embrace every moment and every emotion, suck all the wisdom out of them, and then move forward. I will not lie about my pain so others can feel better or be more comfortable around me. Yet, despite my choice to embrace the feelings of the moment, I have become ardent in refusing to let them define me or my day. I have become passionately purposeful in living each day with hope, joy, and excitement--to live life at its most glorious...anyway.
Life at its most glorious is not an absence of trials. It is the choice to flourish in and because of the trials.
How do I do that today?
"Lord, give me strength."
He answers, "Strong is something you choose to be. Strong is the choice to do the right thing. You know how to be strong."
"Give me wisdom."
"I am. Right now."
"Lord, tell me what I need to do right now to embrace life at its most glorious."
"You're doing it. You are embracing the option and the day's possibilities."
"I can't pretend to be happy."
"I'm happy you won't pretend."
I chuckle.
"So what do I do to move past this? Because hopeless and gloomy are not who I am."
"Then be you and enjoy it. Enjoy what you bring to the world. Enjoy the hope and encouragement you bring. Enjoy you. I do."
A soft laugh, and I smile.
Be you...and enjoy it...I do.
Honestly, so do I.
I take a deep breath and sigh contentedly. Oh, yeah, it's going to be a great day.
It is easy to succumb.
But I don't.
Instead, I speak the heavy thoughts to the Lord, the ones that whisper hopelessness and loneliness. I tell Him my concerns, the ones over which I have so little control. I confide my desires--to be loved, to embrace these trials, to learn from them, to learn to battle through them, to enjoy this day anyway.
To enjoy this day anyway. Quite possibly the hardest battle of all.
I have become rebellious to the plastic mentality of putting on a happy face and pretending all is fine even when my heart has been ripped out of my chest and I feel I can't breathe. I have become militant in my determination to be real, to live authentically, to embrace every moment and every emotion, suck all the wisdom out of them, and then move forward. I will not lie about my pain so others can feel better or be more comfortable around me. Yet, despite my choice to embrace the feelings of the moment, I have become ardent in refusing to let them define me or my day. I have become passionately purposeful in living each day with hope, joy, and excitement--to live life at its most glorious...anyway.
Life at its most glorious is not an absence of trials. It is the choice to flourish in and because of the trials.
How do I do that today?
"Lord, give me strength."
He answers, "Strong is something you choose to be. Strong is the choice to do the right thing. You know how to be strong."
"Give me wisdom."
"I am. Right now."
"Lord, tell me what I need to do right now to embrace life at its most glorious."
"You're doing it. You are embracing the option and the day's possibilities."
"I can't pretend to be happy."
"I'm happy you won't pretend."
I chuckle.
"So what do I do to move past this? Because hopeless and gloomy are not who I am."
"Then be you and enjoy it. Enjoy what you bring to the world. Enjoy the hope and encouragement you bring. Enjoy you. I do."
A soft laugh, and I smile.
Be you...and enjoy it...I do.
Honestly, so do I.
I take a deep breath and sigh contentedly. Oh, yeah, it's going to be a great day.
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