Being a teacher of middle school students, a divorced mother of mentally ill children for more than a decade, and having a spirit of wanderlust that makes me want to get into a car and drive away into the sunset on the quest to find some happiness. While I loathe those pensive, "whoa is me" types who clearly haven't much to be definitively unhappy about, I fear that lately I have been down that trek. I have friends who are worried about me and I dearly appreciate the concern. Too much life has taken me by storm lately and I am getting old (middle-aged, as my father likes to call me) and I'm not bouncing back as fervently as I used to. My old philosophy of stuffing things down under the proverbial beach ball and just sitting on top is no longer a viable solution (as though it ever was). I slipped off and everything that I had been packing away emerged, now waiting to be dealt with instead of avoided.
I've spent most of my life waiting to be happy; childishly hoping that someday, that I would earn enough points and that the confetti would fall from the sky and I would then be happy. I would pep talk myself into thinking, "This is the year that it is going to happen." I often re-read journals that begin with , "This year....." Then I would see people who truly had the spirit of happiness that flowed from deep within.
Once when I was really sick with undiagnosed hydrocephalus, two girls came over and cleaned my house. It was horrifically embarrassing and just opening the door to the mess left me mortified. They spent hours cleaning while I sat on the couch feeling guilty- and at the end, they thanked me for letting them come and clean my house- that it was a joy. I spent the rest of the day pondering upon how cleaning could be joyful and rewarding. While I still do not find peace or joy when I clean, I do like the result. It took me a while to realize that the joy was in serving others, and not necessarily the act of cleaning-which is clearly not my spiritual gift.
Growing up in the family that I did, I never understood the value in serving others. I learned that you did things for some people so that when you needed something later, you could repay them- tit for tat. I never envisioned encountering people who were happy and giving just as a part of their nature.
Recently, with my mother's passing, I have seen true servants watch over my father without his realizing it. I had the opportunity to thank them for being such great neighbors to him. In his own oblivion, he has people who make sure that he is ok on a daily basis, which makes me be ok with him being so far away from me. My father is only 62, but he has a number of health problems, including an anyerism on his aorta and diabetes. I am trying to not think about the horrific things that could lead to his demise, but try to take cue from the happiness and patience that he seems to have acquired since my mother's passing. But getting that phone call in the middle of the night to tell you that a loved one is dead is something that I will never get over.
Before my son had his psychotic break back in January, I finally had a glimmer of happiness. Before, I had always been waiting on the other shoe to drop, so I had some discernment that usually revolved past experience that the bottom would drop out. One day, I recalled feeling that my life was finally slowing down and that every day did not seem as though I were in crisis mode. Those who have always live in a tornado alley of crisis sometimes do not know how to function outside of the tumultuous and constant upheaval. Life was feeling comfortable and my cynicism and skepticism were beginning to pull back every so slightly and slowly. I was in uncharted territory, and began to enjoy coming home to putting up my feet and watching a movie with my kids. And even though the bottom did drop out, I am still here and we are still moving forward. It is the unpacking of all of the things that have never been fully addressed that keeps the sadness with me at this time. Coming and going, I know that in time, this will hopefully pass. I wish I had money for therapy and all of those things that make the process move more transitionally and smoothly, but for now, I will just have to continue to write as my catharsis and take as much love and advice from those who care about me as a substitute.
Even though the past six months have been some of the hardest in my life, with the most significant episodes being my son's diagnosis with schizo-effective disorder and my mother dying unexpectedly, I am still focusing on the light at the end of the tunnel. I have been in worse places without supportive people who loved and cared for my well-being. Many of the good friends that I have now did not even know me in those times where I thought that I would have never made it through. I intentionally kept people from my life and from access to my love and heart because it had been abused and broken. Alone, I have endured and made decisions and the fact that I do have others who show concern and want me to have happiness and contentment is worth more to me than words can say. The truth is, however, that God is the driving force behind my life. The trials and tribulations that I endure are the result of my decisions that have put me in a position where I can learn something that I am supposed to know.
I am certain that my difficulties in life have given me the most profound knowledge and understanding. I see people who live lives that revolve things, status, looks, money, cars, and what the world thinks of them. My mother was one of these people. She looked for gratification from others and what others thought of her. She was the life of the party and took care of others because it made her look pious. I have tried to no longer look for fulfillment in such things, as they are untruths told by the world to those who do not know of a God who can bear all.
I have never had my nails done or my hair dyed in a salon. I try to live as much as possible from a view of practicality and scholarship, investing in the knowledge that no person could ever take from me. I have lost every extrinsic object that I have owned at one time or another and pull myself back up from the abyss and move on. Things are just things and I am still learning to part with objects that do not have meaning. Relationships and humility are the true treasures where I choose to invest my time and effort these days. Trust is a hard thing when it has been broken by every person who has supposed to trustworthy with life's most intimate details. I have been the ridicule of many and have built up a callus that will take years to whittle away, but I am not giving up hope that my life is worth something important and my purpose is not a small one. This, perhaps is one of the hardest things for me to let go, the walls that I have built to keep others at bay. Because while it keeps others from penetrating my wall as a protection mechanism, it also keeps the love that can be shared with others out. Learning to let people into my life is terrifying and gratifying, yet necessary for me to move forward.
I feel too deeply and powerfully for my purpose to be one without meaning. However, I no longer care what people think of me. I would be lying if I didn't say that it doesn't sting a bit when people judge me by what I look like or make jokes regarding my appearance, but I move on and let it flow over my shoulders, looking for the truth in my existence. I try to not get caught up in the pettiness of drama and scorn, as it does not serve a purpose in moving on (which is one reason that I avoid my ex-husband..lol). You cannot change people. You cannot save people. You cannot be Christ for other people. You can only live your life and hope that by the end of it, you served as an example and your influence is what has left the most profound mark and evidence of life. Right now, writing, humor and photography are those things for me.
Yesterday, I was greatly troubled by my mother's passing and dealing with her baggage. I now realize that those were her bags to carry, not mine. I cannot put her insecurities and sadness onto my shoulders. I do not have to maintain relationships with people who do not love and respect me, even if they are related to me. And I do not have to accept a life that is less than what God's purpose if for me. A very wise woman reminded me today that I may not have been able to choose my family and where I came from, but I do get to choose where I go from here.
Monday, October 14, 2013
Sunday, October 13, 2013
My Mother is Dead...
She died almost five months ago and I cannot find resolution in my heart or mind. On Mother's Day, I sent her half a dozen of chocolate covered strawberries in the mail. She called me on Monday to thank me. She died on Friday. The last time I saw her was back in March on her birthday when we took her out for dinner. A quick cell phone picture and a strawberry plant that kept blooming long after she died, were all that was left of that day.
I'm fairly certain that she overdosed herself, but am not sure whether it was intentional, accidental or a mixture of both, however, still a selfish act of a selfish person. I am angry, hurt, and disgusted that a person who was my mother didn't realize the path of destruction that she left behind. The death certificate says that she died of natural causes, but there was so much there and no autopsy to get a definitive answer. She was cremated and now resides in a small black box that holds her ashes.
We were left behind, having to pick up all of the pieces of a shattered life with shards of broken promises and dreams that never seemed to fit together. The different levels of importance seemed to be attached to those things or people who held her in high esteem or recognized her, but not for the value of having done something for helping someone else, but the good personal feelings that she got from being recognized or patted on the back. She held on to everything that meant nothing and let everything go of that and those who had the greatest significance; an act of defiance or desperation that I will never comprehend. While I stand back and want the love was given to strangers so freely, I never seem to find it from her in my own life. She haphazardly shoved it away, picking and choosing the best of it all and leaving the rest behind like the pieces in a box of chocolates that didn't have the right filling that you get on Valentine's Day.
Pawing my way back through the stages of 61 years, I am so torn because I see the lives of these separate people that were mutually exclusively all her. At some a some point, these all converged and the one who came out on top was the one that seemed to see me as a hindrance. The more that I learn of her childhood, I understand why she ended up the person that she was, and am even more confounded that the strength that I saw in her from time to time was not used for a greater vehicle to a bigger life. I do know that a big life does not mean that one has to move to find greatness, cure cancer, split the atom, or create a famous work of art. I also know that many people who have chosen to live small lives, are often very happy and contented. But a life that is spent inside of a house everyday being a voyeur instead of a participant seems like the antithesis of a life well-lived. It is not my place to stand in judgement of my mother as that is God's right, but I sometimes feel is my right because of the tumultuous relationship that we had. However, I am on a journey of trying to understand the circumstances that led us to this path. I don't know if I will ever have peace without this understanding and closure. But I will go on and know that I have lived a different life, not in spite of her, but because I wanted to not be like her. Even typing this acknowledgement brings me deeper sadness.
I believe in a God that is just and good while having explicit expectation for us in our lives. He is a selfish god, as He has the right to be. While knowing all of this, I too know that there is a lesson to be learned, gleaned, and a resolve to be inherited through these iron sharpening iron times that must be personally experienced. I am perplexed or am trying too hard to allow this to happen in the due time in which it is supposed to happen. I am an "answers" person; if there is problem that needs to be fixed, you fix it by finding an answer and moving on. Unfortunately, this mindset doesn't apply to real the existential questions of life or dealing with people in general. I have produced an internal fallacy that has deceptively worked in times of crisis of my life (which has mostly been all of it) and now that I finally realize that I was never in control to begin with, there is another type of grief that has to be acknowledged and rectified.
There always has been some type of crisis, conflict, or dilemma that was immediate and life altering in our lives. I never understood how many kids had things so easy and our lives were so hard. I knew that a lot of kids that I went to school with never had the experience of heating their own water in an electric kettle every night to wash up in a sink because of not having running water in a house for over a year. Sneaking out at night in my dad's truck to a fresh water spring to fill 5 gallon buckets of free water to flush a toilet and wash up became a daily occurrence that eventually did not seem out of the ordinary. Not having friends over in the house or letting anyone know that we never had water also became ordinary. In gathering items for a recent yard sale, I couldn't touch the electric kettle. It would be too heavy to lift and would open a wound that I might not be able to close again, so I left it on the shelf to be a relic of the past.
Forgiveness is a place that is supposed to be the paradise that comes after climbing a dastardly and incredibly harsh mountain full of sharp rocks and imminent danger. I know that forgiveness is supposed to be as easy as just saying it out now, but my faith is too bruised to take the easy way out. Right now, I am broken and weakened, but still holding and pressing on to find the lush land of forgiveness. Perhaps, my own sin is in the way of this process, but it's my path to sojourn. The truth lies somewhere in between here and there and it is possible that I may not need to know all of the details to arrive there. For what I am certain is that which every path is chosen, there will be difficulty and grief. Too much has transpired for there not to be. I hope that it is true that what doesn't kill us makes us stronger. My storehouse of strength and endurance is a bit on the short side as of late.
I'm fairly certain that she overdosed herself, but am not sure whether it was intentional, accidental or a mixture of both, however, still a selfish act of a selfish person. I am angry, hurt, and disgusted that a person who was my mother didn't realize the path of destruction that she left behind. The death certificate says that she died of natural causes, but there was so much there and no autopsy to get a definitive answer. She was cremated and now resides in a small black box that holds her ashes.
We were left behind, having to pick up all of the pieces of a shattered life with shards of broken promises and dreams that never seemed to fit together. The different levels of importance seemed to be attached to those things or people who held her in high esteem or recognized her, but not for the value of having done something for helping someone else, but the good personal feelings that she got from being recognized or patted on the back. She held on to everything that meant nothing and let everything go of that and those who had the greatest significance; an act of defiance or desperation that I will never comprehend. While I stand back and want the love was given to strangers so freely, I never seem to find it from her in my own life. She haphazardly shoved it away, picking and choosing the best of it all and leaving the rest behind like the pieces in a box of chocolates that didn't have the right filling that you get on Valentine's Day.
Pawing my way back through the stages of 61 years, I am so torn because I see the lives of these separate people that were mutually exclusively all her. At some a some point, these all converged and the one who came out on top was the one that seemed to see me as a hindrance. The more that I learn of her childhood, I understand why she ended up the person that she was, and am even more confounded that the strength that I saw in her from time to time was not used for a greater vehicle to a bigger life. I do know that a big life does not mean that one has to move to find greatness, cure cancer, split the atom, or create a famous work of art. I also know that many people who have chosen to live small lives, are often very happy and contented. But a life that is spent inside of a house everyday being a voyeur instead of a participant seems like the antithesis of a life well-lived. It is not my place to stand in judgement of my mother as that is God's right, but I sometimes feel is my right because of the tumultuous relationship that we had. However, I am on a journey of trying to understand the circumstances that led us to this path. I don't know if I will ever have peace without this understanding and closure. But I will go on and know that I have lived a different life, not in spite of her, but because I wanted to not be like her. Even typing this acknowledgement brings me deeper sadness.
I believe in a God that is just and good while having explicit expectation for us in our lives. He is a selfish god, as He has the right to be. While knowing all of this, I too know that there is a lesson to be learned, gleaned, and a resolve to be inherited through these iron sharpening iron times that must be personally experienced. I am perplexed or am trying too hard to allow this to happen in the due time in which it is supposed to happen. I am an "answers" person; if there is problem that needs to be fixed, you fix it by finding an answer and moving on. Unfortunately, this mindset doesn't apply to real the existential questions of life or dealing with people in general. I have produced an internal fallacy that has deceptively worked in times of crisis of my life (which has mostly been all of it) and now that I finally realize that I was never in control to begin with, there is another type of grief that has to be acknowledged and rectified.
There always has been some type of crisis, conflict, or dilemma that was immediate and life altering in our lives. I never understood how many kids had things so easy and our lives were so hard. I knew that a lot of kids that I went to school with never had the experience of heating their own water in an electric kettle every night to wash up in a sink because of not having running water in a house for over a year. Sneaking out at night in my dad's truck to a fresh water spring to fill 5 gallon buckets of free water to flush a toilet and wash up became a daily occurrence that eventually did not seem out of the ordinary. Not having friends over in the house or letting anyone know that we never had water also became ordinary. In gathering items for a recent yard sale, I couldn't touch the electric kettle. It would be too heavy to lift and would open a wound that I might not be able to close again, so I left it on the shelf to be a relic of the past.
Forgiveness is a place that is supposed to be the paradise that comes after climbing a dastardly and incredibly harsh mountain full of sharp rocks and imminent danger. I know that forgiveness is supposed to be as easy as just saying it out now, but my faith is too bruised to take the easy way out. Right now, I am broken and weakened, but still holding and pressing on to find the lush land of forgiveness. Perhaps, my own sin is in the way of this process, but it's my path to sojourn. The truth lies somewhere in between here and there and it is possible that I may not need to know all of the details to arrive there. For what I am certain is that which every path is chosen, there will be difficulty and grief. Too much has transpired for there not to be. I hope that it is true that what doesn't kill us makes us stronger. My storehouse of strength and endurance is a bit on the short side as of late.
Tuesday, January 17, 2012
Meandering...
I really despise people who are whiners. Oh poor me, I don't have this, blah blah blah. Today, I feel like screaming to the top of my lungs about how I feel. I normally envision punching people like this in the eye. It is as though Satan has a shiny button that he is apparently allowed to push to shuffle my universe until some days, I cannot breathe without willing myself to consciously take a breath in, then out, then in. In the big picture, the things that have me rattled probably are as inconsequential as the wind on a calm day, but still, today, this is where I lie. What I want is to let it roll off of my back. Oh how I long for duck feathers.
Several years ago, I was in such a deep, dark place, under the ocean with barely any light visible. The air hose was long and I drifted further into the abyss. On good days, when the sun was bright, I could make out its reflection through the water, as my heart and soul became covered in barnacles and sea weed, the sludge that is better off below. Recently, I am so close to the top that I can poke my fingers out, breaking the sea from the underside, remembering what the sun feels like on my skin. My head would re-emerge, gasping in air, real oxygen, inflating my lungs with a hunger for life back on dry land. Last year, I was breaking with the waves, riding them into the shore and wading my way back out of the water. Once, I even touched the dry sand, running my fingers through like a Zen garden of tranquility, but I couldn't hold on to that which blew through my fingers. Recently, and especially today, the undertow is churning and its strength may be more than I can handle. When will be the last time that it completely sucks me under, into oblivion, captive and hopeless to continue fighting something as big as the sea. I am not Daniel, David, or even Nemo.
With so much important work to be done in the world, this is where I am- stuck. Why can't I just move someplace where kids actually want to learn something and the work and gifts that I have are valued. Day in and day out, the ungrateful apathetic shells of materialistic by-products, also know as middle schoolers, suck my enthusiasm for teaching away. My life's work is made into mockery every single day by people who should know better.
The burden of decision plunging deep into my stomach. Do all of my decisions have to be so wrong, so consequential? I want nothing from anyone in this world, but to be free, emancipated. I feel that no matter what I decide, whether it is what to have for dinner or which bill collector to pay, the lashes will just keep striking me on raw skin. I have always been a up by your own bootstraps kind of women, relentless to keep plugging on and away. Has all that has been sacrificed even been worth it to ANYONE? And still, I can't breathe...
The dreams that I had for myself are all but a faint memory, lost to the impulsiveness and youth of a few bad decisions. I just want to find some solitude and contentment. Unfortunately, wherever I run, these thoughts still haunt me. So for now, I am meandering...hoping for something more. It is a selfish notion, filled with none of the contemplative resolve that I usually have an endless supply of, but yet, here I am.
Several years ago, I was in such a deep, dark place, under the ocean with barely any light visible. The air hose was long and I drifted further into the abyss. On good days, when the sun was bright, I could make out its reflection through the water, as my heart and soul became covered in barnacles and sea weed, the sludge that is better off below. Recently, I am so close to the top that I can poke my fingers out, breaking the sea from the underside, remembering what the sun feels like on my skin. My head would re-emerge, gasping in air, real oxygen, inflating my lungs with a hunger for life back on dry land. Last year, I was breaking with the waves, riding them into the shore and wading my way back out of the water. Once, I even touched the dry sand, running my fingers through like a Zen garden of tranquility, but I couldn't hold on to that which blew through my fingers. Recently, and especially today, the undertow is churning and its strength may be more than I can handle. When will be the last time that it completely sucks me under, into oblivion, captive and hopeless to continue fighting something as big as the sea. I am not Daniel, David, or even Nemo.
With so much important work to be done in the world, this is where I am- stuck. Why can't I just move someplace where kids actually want to learn something and the work and gifts that I have are valued. Day in and day out, the ungrateful apathetic shells of materialistic by-products, also know as middle schoolers, suck my enthusiasm for teaching away. My life's work is made into mockery every single day by people who should know better.
The burden of decision plunging deep into my stomach. Do all of my decisions have to be so wrong, so consequential? I want nothing from anyone in this world, but to be free, emancipated. I feel that no matter what I decide, whether it is what to have for dinner or which bill collector to pay, the lashes will just keep striking me on raw skin. I have always been a up by your own bootstraps kind of women, relentless to keep plugging on and away. Has all that has been sacrificed even been worth it to ANYONE? And still, I can't breathe...
The dreams that I had for myself are all but a faint memory, lost to the impulsiveness and youth of a few bad decisions. I just want to find some solitude and contentment. Unfortunately, wherever I run, these thoughts still haunt me. So for now, I am meandering...hoping for something more. It is a selfish notion, filled with none of the contemplative resolve that I usually have an endless supply of, but yet, here I am.
Sunday, January 15, 2012
Contemplation Does Not Always Equate Revelation...
I often deeply contemplate circumstances and choices of this life. I have devoted countless hours and much Catholic-like guilt to the cause. Years of my life that will never be recovered or cherished have been given over to this ridiculous past time. Who made me in charge of carrying the burdens of the world? That weight is supposed to be shifted to the shoulders of Jesus when I decided to follow Him, so why cannot I not give that up? Academically and intellectually, I know the answer to this question, but faith is sometimes leaves me feeling questionable.
I bear so much responsibility when it comes to my children and my job. All of my faults make consequences for others, so therein the difficulty lies in my mind. I cannot think of the last time where a day went by where I was not stressed to the point of exhaustion. Everyday, I am scratching and clawing to make it ten inches and hindsight does not illuminate so short a distance. I teach students who do not care whether they get a education or not and that mentality permeates over to my own children and I am unable to stop it. This baffles me to no end. In a world where so many have so little, these kids gripe and moan about what they do not have and why do they have to learn something and why are things too hard and why do you make us do all of this work. Where's a work ethic? Where's intrinsic motivation and drive to be something better? Where is value in the way that you treat your possessions that you worked hard to attain? Where is the impudence and outrage for the disparity in the world- disparity that would disappear if the church grew a backbone and left the pews from time to time? Somewhere in the past 20 years, the entire world and goals for life became disposable and the church was sucked right in. And along every step of those years, cynicism has enveloped me in such a darkness that some days I can't even see a hint of the light.
What I wanted for my own children was a life where they could learn and grow in the freedom of the wonder of learning. I wanted them to see two parents who love each other I wanted to read and share with my children, inspiring excitement and passion for commonalities that we shared. Once that was shattered, the fissures started a chain-reaction that can never be repaired. I know that people can put their lives back together, graft in now pieces to fill the holes, but I wonder it I have any of that gumption buried within me at all. I'm so tired of feeling stagnated. But you can do it! You can make that change! I think I have a mute and dumb cheerleader.
I admire the freedom of my homeschool friends whose children get to be carefree in their process and grounded in their ideals. I do get tired of an elitist attitude of many homeschool parents, as though my children are substandard. As a divorced woman with a 5 and 7 year-old, I had no choice but to put my kids in a school system that I did not believe in. A decade later, my kids bear the scars of that experience and I am deeply burdened that I was not able to do better for them. Is that guilt that I need to have? Did God plan this out all along? I am so tired of trying to figure out what I am supposed to do in life, and just wish for a glimmer of happiness. For a couple of years, I behaved badly and the consequences of that is much greater than just taking days off of my life to just have fun. There has to be an answer that is ordained by God and steeped in love and guidance. I am not asking for rainbows and butterflies as I am ok with things being challenging. What I would like if fewer days of melancholy and more of hope.
Dark thoughts swarm my brain. Wonder about what could be and why things happen eat my insides like a wayward swarm of wander-lusted moths inside of a closet full of old lady clothes. Why do kids get cancer and mothers die? Why do husbands leave? Why are missionaries made into martyrs? Why does evil reign while good seems to hide in the shadows? I want my mind to freaking stop and be still, but again, feel powerless to stop it. I want my life to reflect something with hope instead of darkness and sadness. I don't need to be destined for greatness, I just need to experience something great. I dream about packing up my life and moving to a third-world country where kids are starved for education and my gifts were not wasted. I dream of taking my camera on a pilgrimage to places of beauty and majesty to capture things never seen by man though art, love, and passion in people.
I really would like to be finished bearing the sins of my father and am ready to move on to greener pastures. Anybody else have any wisdom? I'm all out.
I bear so much responsibility when it comes to my children and my job. All of my faults make consequences for others, so therein the difficulty lies in my mind. I cannot think of the last time where a day went by where I was not stressed to the point of exhaustion. Everyday, I am scratching and clawing to make it ten inches and hindsight does not illuminate so short a distance. I teach students who do not care whether they get a education or not and that mentality permeates over to my own children and I am unable to stop it. This baffles me to no end. In a world where so many have so little, these kids gripe and moan about what they do not have and why do they have to learn something and why are things too hard and why do you make us do all of this work. Where's a work ethic? Where's intrinsic motivation and drive to be something better? Where is value in the way that you treat your possessions that you worked hard to attain? Where is the impudence and outrage for the disparity in the world- disparity that would disappear if the church grew a backbone and left the pews from time to time? Somewhere in the past 20 years, the entire world and goals for life became disposable and the church was sucked right in. And along every step of those years, cynicism has enveloped me in such a darkness that some days I can't even see a hint of the light.
What I wanted for my own children was a life where they could learn and grow in the freedom of the wonder of learning. I wanted them to see two parents who love each other I wanted to read and share with my children, inspiring excitement and passion for commonalities that we shared. Once that was shattered, the fissures started a chain-reaction that can never be repaired. I know that people can put their lives back together, graft in now pieces to fill the holes, but I wonder it I have any of that gumption buried within me at all. I'm so tired of feeling stagnated. But you can do it! You can make that change! I think I have a mute and dumb cheerleader.
I admire the freedom of my homeschool friends whose children get to be carefree in their process and grounded in their ideals. I do get tired of an elitist attitude of many homeschool parents, as though my children are substandard. As a divorced woman with a 5 and 7 year-old, I had no choice but to put my kids in a school system that I did not believe in. A decade later, my kids bear the scars of that experience and I am deeply burdened that I was not able to do better for them. Is that guilt that I need to have? Did God plan this out all along? I am so tired of trying to figure out what I am supposed to do in life, and just wish for a glimmer of happiness. For a couple of years, I behaved badly and the consequences of that is much greater than just taking days off of my life to just have fun. There has to be an answer that is ordained by God and steeped in love and guidance. I am not asking for rainbows and butterflies as I am ok with things being challenging. What I would like if fewer days of melancholy and more of hope.
Dark thoughts swarm my brain. Wonder about what could be and why things happen eat my insides like a wayward swarm of wander-lusted moths inside of a closet full of old lady clothes. Why do kids get cancer and mothers die? Why do husbands leave? Why are missionaries made into martyrs? Why does evil reign while good seems to hide in the shadows? I want my mind to freaking stop and be still, but again, feel powerless to stop it. I want my life to reflect something with hope instead of darkness and sadness. I don't need to be destined for greatness, I just need to experience something great. I dream about packing up my life and moving to a third-world country where kids are starved for education and my gifts were not wasted. I dream of taking my camera on a pilgrimage to places of beauty and majesty to capture things never seen by man though art, love, and passion in people.
I really would like to be finished bearing the sins of my father and am ready to move on to greener pastures. Anybody else have any wisdom? I'm all out.
Friday, October 14, 2011
State of transitions.......or was that confusion?
Some days, I am so lonely that life seems mostly pointless. When did living a full and amazing life become contingent upon having a man in my life? By now, I have become resigned to the fact that I will probably not ever have a real, healthy relationship with a man who truly loves me for myself. A woman of conviction can learn to accept some things about the transition points of her life and adjust accordingly. Is this something that I am sure about? Absolutely not. However, what I CANNOT consider is a life with a man who doesn't respect and love me at least as much as he does himself and God. This is not an issue that I am willing to bend on. Having so many friends who married out of necessity (as I once did) for a parent for their children, or just for the sake of thinking that it was time to be "married," I have decided that the benefits of this type of union absolutely do not outweigh the negatives.
Hours have passed into days, into weeks, into years, and now a decade. I am divorced and have been for ten years. This is a state of being that I feel has become the prominent source of my identity, like the plastic shrink wrap of my life. I too am a mother and this also has confined me, as my children must have a mother that is respectable. However, their time as children is coming to an end and I will begin a new chapter of my life that focuses on myself instead of everyone else. I have definitely kept myself in a box for the greater good, however, I feel like my life is false and unsatisfying. There is a person in this body and mind who is screaming, pleading to plant un-calloused feet on the ground. Some days, I feel that I may become brave enough to poke my finger through and breathe the air outside, but mostly, I push it to the limit, yet the wrap stays intact.
Hours have passed into days, into weeks, into years, and now a decade. I am divorced and have been for ten years. This is a state of being that I feel has become the prominent source of my identity, like the plastic shrink wrap of my life. I too am a mother and this also has confined me, as my children must have a mother that is respectable. However, their time as children is coming to an end and I will begin a new chapter of my life that focuses on myself instead of everyone else. I have definitely kept myself in a box for the greater good, however, I feel like my life is false and unsatisfying. There is a person in this body and mind who is screaming, pleading to plant un-calloused feet on the ground. Some days, I feel that I may become brave enough to poke my finger through and breathe the air outside, but mostly, I push it to the limit, yet the wrap stays intact.
Wednesday, July 27, 2011
Slowly Seeping Through.........
Often, I am ashamed at how much stock I put into my own misery, having never considered those who are on the front lines everyday being martyrs for Christ. I would like nothing more than to pack up and my life and march headstrong into the jungles of Ecuador like Rachel Saint, and give my entire life serving God. Someday, perhaps that will be a possibility, but I'd rather be a missionary in my own country. Teaching is my gift and I know that I could use this in a powerful way, given the opportunity to work in a unconfined, non-secular school environment. Unfortunately, for now, God is still working out the kinks in my chain and trying to turn me into something that is practical and useful for his glory. Somedays I don't think there is enough grease to get the knots worked out.
I get wrapped up in how flawed and horrible I am, then I realize that the enemy is writing that dialogue in my own mind, especially for an audience of one. How privileged am I that the evil one is pining away on my behalf? Better I realize this now and finally learn to take these thoughts captive than to wallow in loathing and self-pity what life I have left to live.
My life is small, mostly a prison of my own construction, keeping things the way that I like them. Recently, I have decided to sledgehammer the side of my fortress out to let the sunlight in. What also came in were some pretty amazing people that I have been shutting out of my life for a long time. The thought of this really terrifies me, as betrayal is the most prevalent devastation that I have ever endured. It seems worse than a death to my heart because I still have to confront those people from time to time. But a God who gave his son to die in my steed, can convict me that the key to my own sorrows in life is the forgiveness that he gave me when Jesus went to the cross. I have been so unworthy, yet I know that the cross was for me. I hope that I can stay in the shadow of the cross as to not be blinded by all that is outside that protective shield. I also hope that I can determine the best balance to live out the rest of whatever days that I have in his will while doing his work. And perhaps, that balance will allow the things of God to slowly seep through to clothes me in righteousness and grace.
I get wrapped up in how flawed and horrible I am, then I realize that the enemy is writing that dialogue in my own mind, especially for an audience of one. How privileged am I that the evil one is pining away on my behalf? Better I realize this now and finally learn to take these thoughts captive than to wallow in loathing and self-pity what life I have left to live.
My life is small, mostly a prison of my own construction, keeping things the way that I like them. Recently, I have decided to sledgehammer the side of my fortress out to let the sunlight in. What also came in were some pretty amazing people that I have been shutting out of my life for a long time. The thought of this really terrifies me, as betrayal is the most prevalent devastation that I have ever endured. It seems worse than a death to my heart because I still have to confront those people from time to time. But a God who gave his son to die in my steed, can convict me that the key to my own sorrows in life is the forgiveness that he gave me when Jesus went to the cross. I have been so unworthy, yet I know that the cross was for me. I hope that I can stay in the shadow of the cross as to not be blinded by all that is outside that protective shield. I also hope that I can determine the best balance to live out the rest of whatever days that I have in his will while doing his work. And perhaps, that balance will allow the things of God to slowly seep through to clothes me in righteousness and grace.
Monday, April 4, 2011
Discombobulated and nearing the end of the tunnel.
Throughout the entire year, I am busy, working, volunteering, church, kids, etc, etc. The thought had not occurred to me until recently that I keep myself this busy so that I do not have to deal with the things that haunt me every day. If I am invested in everyone else's lives, then I do not have to tune in to my own life. After a decade of this, I may be to the end of my physical, mental, and emotional barrel.
After ten years, I have never dealt with the affects and effects of my divorce. I have packed those wounds with sawdust and let them scab over, while festering and rotting inside. I have covered them with a deep layer of fat armor. If the shell seems intact, then who is to question anything. The problem now is that I cannot seem to keep my head above water. I feel like I am suffocating and letting myself fall, almost to the point of no return. Then, I pop back up, terrified, but powerless to change things from what they are now. This scares the hell out of me because I feel that I cannot change, and that someday soon, it will be too late.
I question if anyone besides my kids would even notice if I were no longer here. I am not planning on killing myself, I just have dreams of going to sleep and never waking up. If I didn't wake up, how long would it be before anyone found me? When the busyness of life disappears and I am left to myself, alone, it is more daunting than I can almost bear. It is no wonder that I have not given myself a free minute for so many years. As my children get to the point of making their way in the world, I have come to a stark realization that I will soon have to find my own way within a new skin, that of a mother of grown children. I feel ill equipped.
I don't feel old enough to have grown children. Mentally, I am still that 18 year old who is deciding what to do with her life, where to go, what dreams to live out, how to find happiness. My life never really began because I left others overun my life, my dreams. I allowed them in to take what they wanted, leaving my heart and life a desolate wasteland. They took my very soul and left me nothing in return. I have been nothing but an animated carcass of a human being, going through the motions, never finding joy and peace, those things that I know God wants for me. For the longest, I lived, hoping that routine could replace love. Sadly, I am finding that not to be true.
I have so much anger, despair, doubt, fear, loathing, disappointment and grief for time lost. As much as it pains me to say, I look at my children with resentment because of the sacrifice of time and a life to raise them that feels lost. I love these kids from the bottom of my heart, and the shame rises up in me like vomit, but I cannot help but to admit that I feel this way. I have had a special needs child who takes everything from me until I am almost nothing. It puts a knot in my throat that never leaves because I feel this way. The root of my despair lies with my ex-husband who still cannot hold a job or be responsible for any part of raising these kids.
A 40 year-old man should be able to have accountability in this world for those whom he helped bring into the world. Why oh why do I always have to be the responsible one? If I weren't the responsible one, what would that look like? Nonetheless, I am here because these kids were brought here by me, chosen by God to be my kids. I count it a blessing that I have been bestowed this honor. I just cannot find the balance for the in-between parts that I seek to help me full contentment and fulfillment. I feel more unworthy than I can ever express in words.
I have raised my children to hopefully have a love for God and a standard for what is acceptable in their own lives. Even if I have trouble feeling it in mine. I have clawed my way to hopefully not be in the category of poverty anymore, because the stigma that comes from that label is not one that I want for my kids.
So why can I not overcome this?
After ten years, I have never dealt with the affects and effects of my divorce. I have packed those wounds with sawdust and let them scab over, while festering and rotting inside. I have covered them with a deep layer of fat armor. If the shell seems intact, then who is to question anything. The problem now is that I cannot seem to keep my head above water. I feel like I am suffocating and letting myself fall, almost to the point of no return. Then, I pop back up, terrified, but powerless to change things from what they are now. This scares the hell out of me because I feel that I cannot change, and that someday soon, it will be too late.
I question if anyone besides my kids would even notice if I were no longer here. I am not planning on killing myself, I just have dreams of going to sleep and never waking up. If I didn't wake up, how long would it be before anyone found me? When the busyness of life disappears and I am left to myself, alone, it is more daunting than I can almost bear. It is no wonder that I have not given myself a free minute for so many years. As my children get to the point of making their way in the world, I have come to a stark realization that I will soon have to find my own way within a new skin, that of a mother of grown children. I feel ill equipped.
I don't feel old enough to have grown children. Mentally, I am still that 18 year old who is deciding what to do with her life, where to go, what dreams to live out, how to find happiness. My life never really began because I left others overun my life, my dreams. I allowed them in to take what they wanted, leaving my heart and life a desolate wasteland. They took my very soul and left me nothing in return. I have been nothing but an animated carcass of a human being, going through the motions, never finding joy and peace, those things that I know God wants for me. For the longest, I lived, hoping that routine could replace love. Sadly, I am finding that not to be true.
I have so much anger, despair, doubt, fear, loathing, disappointment and grief for time lost. As much as it pains me to say, I look at my children with resentment because of the sacrifice of time and a life to raise them that feels lost. I love these kids from the bottom of my heart, and the shame rises up in me like vomit, but I cannot help but to admit that I feel this way. I have had a special needs child who takes everything from me until I am almost nothing. It puts a knot in my throat that never leaves because I feel this way. The root of my despair lies with my ex-husband who still cannot hold a job or be responsible for any part of raising these kids.
A 40 year-old man should be able to have accountability in this world for those whom he helped bring into the world. Why oh why do I always have to be the responsible one? If I weren't the responsible one, what would that look like? Nonetheless, I am here because these kids were brought here by me, chosen by God to be my kids. I count it a blessing that I have been bestowed this honor. I just cannot find the balance for the in-between parts that I seek to help me full contentment and fulfillment. I feel more unworthy than I can ever express in words.
I have raised my children to hopefully have a love for God and a standard for what is acceptable in their own lives. Even if I have trouble feeling it in mine. I have clawed my way to hopefully not be in the category of poverty anymore, because the stigma that comes from that label is not one that I want for my kids.
So why can I not overcome this?
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