Category Archives: Moving on

Warm weather means one thing to me …

convertible top down!  OK, maybe two things, at least once my sister’s pool is operational, that is.

There is nothing like driving along with the convertible top down and the music loud to ease every care from my mind.  A balm to my spirit, it is.  And I love it.  Every minute of it.

I don’t mind that I get crazy looks as I gaze toward the sky and clouds as I’m driving along.  They bring me comfort and ease and I feel as though I am one with them.  Who doesn’t, I ask, want to be one with the sky?

One with the clouds?  One with the birds?  One with the stars?  One with the moon?

The music varies widely and can go from Ozzy Osbourne one minute to Bach the next to Styx the next to Wagner the next.  There is no rhyme nor reason, only joy; pure unbridled, joy.

Today, the temperature reached 92° and I was in my own personal Heaven.  The sun beat down, warm on my skin and in my eyes.

I was sun-kissed and it was awesome.

I spend way too much of my time thinking of things, places and people that I aught not be thinking about and my convertible time empties my mind.  It sets me free in a way that I cannot explain.

I am myself.  My thoughts are my own and if the tears fall, they are my own as well.  I still think of things and of people, but they are are freer, more beautiful, somehow.

Open and wonderful, without guilt, without compromise.  Simply mine.

I am me.  I am a Sagittarius.  I wish, I want, I will things into being and then, when they don’t suit me, I may mourn for them, but ultimately, let them go.

On these occasions, I am nothing more than a petal spiraling in the wind, wishing wishes and floating, as though weightless, above the earth.

The hay grass dancing.

The lightning bugs flickering.

I am a part of nature and it is spectacular.

Life.

The ultimate roller coaster with the ups and downs, unexpected and exhilarating,with its realistic to the point of detriment, dreams.

And I, from this moment forward, plan to enjoy the ride.  And, when the dreams, sometimes plain, oft times erotic and breathtaking, filled with music, come, I plan to enjoy them, too.

I will embrace them and become part of them, immersing myself in them.

I will thrive in the dreams that I dream and know that I, after all, am still me, with my hopes, longing  and desires.

Human.

Still me, always me, and relishing that which comes int0 my mind.

I intend to waste none of this magnificent existence, whether real or imagined, dreams or reality.

I’ve wasted too much time, already.

Beemer, a sweet Great Pyrenees, shows his Hollywood

I haven’t been manic in months …

so I suppose I am due.  It has been a peacefully wonderful time in which my mind has been moving at a pace that is within the realm that is called, by the rational world, normal.  Unprecedented would be the word that comes to mind to describe the amount of time that has passed since the last episode.  I knew, however, that it couldn’t last forever.  It never does.  And curiously, I am glad to have my old friend back, at least for a time.

That doesn’t mean that in a few days I won’t be wishing for silence and a functionality that I can live with, but I have (and I can’t believe I am saying this) missed the wild and random thoughts that roll though my brain like an out-of-control revolving door.  Since I started art class, however, I have been in a state of normalcy.  It is foreign to me, this normal thought process, and it took a couple of weeks to realize that I could control what entered into my brain pan.  I am certain, as I have been certain of little else, that my friends haven’t missed the random, rambling, incoherent and often off the wall messages that they usually receive when I am on overdrive.

I was, I must say, somewhat surprised that a complete meltdown did not occur last weekend after taking my nieces to Chuck E. Cheese.  There are few things that have everything conducive to a manic attack as the flashing lights, loud, repetitive sounds and cacophony of smells and voices to induce a full blown manic attack.  I was rather perplexed that it did not trigger an episode;  perplexed, and yet grateful as there was much to do during the limited hours of that particular weekend.

In my experience, which unfortunately, is vast, sudden, unexpected change seems to be the biggest catalyst.  While I have gone through many changes in the past few months, I say again that an art class that I began in February has had an amazing impact on the ability to focus and thwart manic swings.  My art teacher, an enigma unto himself and a genius in his own right, has had more of an impact than he could ever know, on my officiousness to harness my thoughts into interpretive ideas.  Art has, without doubt, changed the way my mind works.

But as anything else in life, it has it’s limits and eventually, the substance that makes me who I am will become evident.  I have spent many months thriving on the racing thoughts and have learned to cope with what most people would find overwhelming and unbearable.  The things that seem intrusive to others, I thrive on.

There is nothing wrong with being different from everyone else.  As time passes, I realize that being the “odd person out” is more of an attribute than a handicap.  Imagine, for a moment, a world where everyone was exactly the same.  It would be a slow and arduous form of torture.  I can’t even fathom a world with people just like me.  I am certain that, were that true, we would brain ourselves with a hammer within a week’s time.

I knew yesterday, when I caved and began listen to Billy Joel’s “Always A Woman” that times, according to Bob,  they were a changin’.  I had refrained for a long time from the over and over and over, et al, replaying of that particular song and the moment that I made a conscious decision to play it was like admitting that I was warped.  It has been on repeat now for the past 36 hours.  It isn’t that it is my favorite song of all time, but that seems to have little relevance.

I suppose, more than anything else, I am talking to the millions of others who face themselves on a regular basis and run, screaming, in the other direction.  We are who we are.  We live as we live.  We think as we think.  We cope as we cope.  There is nothing, inherently, wrong with us.  We are who we are and if the world cannot handle us as we are, then the insecurity lies within the world, not within ourselves.  I am me.  The music I dance  to is mine.  Regrets are useless as nothing that has passed can be changed.  I am comfortable in my own skin, even when my skin seems odd.

Love me or hate me, I am who I am and irregardless of others’ opinions of me, will continue to march to the drum that my God plays for me.  I am not ashamed of who I was for without my past, my future would be irrelevant.

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Romans 12:2 ~ And be not conformed to this world: but be ye transformed by the renewing of your mind, that ye may prove what is that good, and acceptable, and perfect, will of God.

I am just as at home everywhere …

as I am in only one place.  As I look over the past several years and think of the places I’ve visited, it occurs to me that the short stay I had in those various cities and towns, in the air and on the roads simply wasn’t enough.  I needed more time.  Weeks.  Months.  Not just days.  There were things I didn’t have time to experience, time I wasn’t able to spend wandering around in and absorbing that which, although unfamiliar, was as familiar to me as my own backyard; people I didn’t get to meet and sit down with.  There was food I didn’t get to taste and sheer beauty, of which, I wasn’t able to become a part.

I suppose such words are those that only one with wanderlust can understand.  Everywhere feels like home, at least for a time.  The people are different but so similar, the air smells different, but is, again, essentially the same.  The roads all lead somewhere, the sun rises, the sun sets, the moon shines, the stars twinkle and even though I haven’t actually seen it yet, I know it is will be beautiful.  There really isn’t anywhere on earth that I can think of that I could lay my head and not, at least for a bit of time, feel at home.

Last night, I started driving for no other reason than to be somewhere other than where I was.  I was driving West.  No radio.  No sound at all except my wheels on the road and the thoughts in my head.  It was very cathartic.  After about one hundred miles, though, instead of continuing on until I came to another ocean, I turned around and headed from whence I had come.  It wasn’t my time to go; not yet.  While my family and friends are perplexed by my consuming need to go, I know in my heart that there will come a time that I will leave them.  It won’t be easy, but it will be necessary if I am to fulfill what has been predestined for me.

That sounds so mystical, but it isn’t.  I have dreamed of it my entire life.  There is nothing mystical about hoping to see a life-long dream fulfilled.  I sometimes feel selfish when I think this way, but I have to remind myself that there will be no one else to live the dreams I dream; no one but myself.  I will follow the will of my Father God where His wind takes me and I will do my very best to honor Him no matter where I lay my head.

There are so many places I want to go; some I’ve already been and want to go back again.  I don’t care, really, if I have a place, other my car, to rest when I get weary.  Where I stay is the least of my concerns; what I see, though, well, now, that’s a different story altogether.  It isn’t that I’m not content where I am, it is simply that there is still so much of creation that I want to see.  No, that isn’t right. If I only wanted to see it, then it would just be a passing thing.  I need to see it.  To feel it. To breathe it.  To taste it.  To touch it.  To stand in it; whatever “it” may be.  And need surpasses want on every level.

I consider the people of the world to be my family and friends.  I don’t think of them in colors, religions or nationalities.  They are just people.  We are not, in our hearts and dreams, dissimilar.  I suppose some of my optimism spills over into what I perceive the world to be, but at the end of the day, I need to know, to learn, to experience.  I want to see for myself and not rely on the eyes of another to mold my perceptions; not live vicariously through the stories that have been told.

There will come a time, if God wills it, that the places of my dreams will become places of my reality.  I can wait, for nothing  truly worth waiting for is time wasted.

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Proverbs 3:6 ~   in all your ways acknowledge Him, and He will make your paths straight.

 

Encouragement …

is the word of the day.  It is no secret to anyone who knows me or anyone who follows my blog that I am a follower of Jesus.  I am thankful beyond words that He saw fit to redeem me, but not everyone I come into contact with on a daily basis can claim the same truth.  That does not make them less worthy of an encouraging word.  Everyone deserves to be encouraged by the people they hold dear and if they have no one who holds them dear, then where can they possibly find the encouragement they need to face another day.  Just because someone does not believe as I do or think as I do or do as I do does not make them any less worthy in the eyes of the Lord.  If I choose, willingly, to withhold my encouragement simply because someone does not follow the path I follow, then I am no better than the worst of humanity.  In fact, because I have been given a heart of encouragement, if I withhold it, I am worse than the worst of humanity.

I have been through some very dark times in my life.  Times when death seemed like the best option for everyone.  I know what it feels like to lie, broken and defeated, at the very bottom of the pool.  If I keep that knowledge to myself, what have I gained but bad memories and haunting imaginings?  It is important to share the things that have hurt me deeply with others who are hurting.  It gives them another rung when they are on the last one on the ladder … another knot at the end of their rope.  To keep that which hurts me inside and not share it with people who are experiencing the same hurts and disappointments that I have faced is selfish and self-serving.  If what I have gone through can help even one person to find their way, then it was worth it.  Maybe, at the time, it didn’t seem like it, but like gold, I have been refined through the trials and fires of my life.  And through the refining, I have gained knowledge and clarity.  If I keep that to myself, then the dark valleys I have passed through will remain only that.  Dark valleys.  But if I share what I have learned, then the darkness I faced becomes a light of hope for someone else who is, even now, in that dark valley.

My cup, even when it seems to be empty, is always half full, and more often than not, overflowing.  I am an optimist.  I always have been.  A dreamer, some would say, who always had my head in the clouds.  I won’t deny that.  I am a dreamer.  I have big dreams, but those dreams have cost me, at times, dearly.  There is nothing wrong with having dreams and hopes, but if those dreams and hopes end within myself, then I have learned  nothing.  I would hate to think that all the tears I have cried and all the prayers I’ve prayed and all the hurt I have harbored have been for nothing.  I have something, as so many others, to offer.  It takes courage to open my heart and hurts to others.  A courage that, at one time in my life, I wasn’t certain I possessed.  But I know it now, just as I know that, as time goes on, there will be more valleys, more fires and more refining.  I’m okay with that, as I know that what I learn, someone else, if I am willing to share it, can find hope in their own darkness by knowing that I have faced that same darkness and came out in the light.  I encourage everyone to encourage someone.  There is  no limit to what we can accomplish if we but offer ourselves as an example to those who are suffering.  I can only hope that I am an encouragement.  If I am not, then I have failed at the most important task I have ever been given.  Encourage one another.  Love another.  Find the good in one another.  Our lives will be richer for it; of that, I am certain.  I know mine is, and for that, I am thankful.

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Sleepless nights …

were made for blogging.  There is just something about being wide awake in the middle of the night that makes me want to write; makes me want to share things that mayhaps I wouldn’t share on a normal day.  I imagine many bloggers have an agenda that they follow religiously.  I have no agenda.  The filter between my brain and mouth fails with distressing regularity and ergo, the often off the wall, “what in the world was she thinking” blog posts become reality.  This night is no different from my life on a daily basis, a life that is filled with inconsistencies, confusions and ethereally beautiful moments.  Therein lies the problem; the differences are  not easily discerned until it is too late to turn back..

I have so many thoughts going through my mind right now that focusing on simply one is nearly impossible.  I am trying ardently to deal with, what I truly believe to be the answer to a prayer that I have been praying about.  The answer was not what I wanted to hear and not the outcome I had hoped for.  Nonetheless, I did ask for an answer and was given one.  So there you have it.  Question asked, answer given.  Whether or not I am pleased with the answer is irrelevant because it is not my will I am working to achieve, but my Father God’s.  He sees the big picture, the whole thing, all of the edges and I am left in the moment I am in at the  particular moment I am in.

That’s the thing about praying.  I ask for guidance and answers and, while I should be leaping with joy when I receive an answer from God, I find that sometimes, despite my best efforts, I question Him.  In this particular instance, I realize that I have been through a very similar scenario four times at this point and all four times, the outcome has been the same.  I am disturbed by this.  Not by God’s infinite wisdom, but that I am so predictable that I would take the same path, though with different beginnings, that lead to the exact same outcome.  One that offers no closure, but simply an abrupt end to what was thought to be a wonderful thing.

Life is confusing at times.  Though it has moments that are so beautiful, it hurts my  heart to look at them, I find that, for the most part, I am looking for answers to questions that have no answers.  It seems that the questions, more often than not, are riddles and I have never been good at riddles.  I threaten, in my  mind, to simply write people off and never try to correspond with them again, and then my conscious click in. There are times when I wish I didn’t have a conscience and could think and do whatever I wanted to whomever I wanted to do it to and not have a moment of guilt over it.  But were I to go there, then Satan would be as happy as a witch in a broom factory.

Throughout my life, I can think of four distinct relationships that have ended without closure.  Without reason or explanation.   Four distinct experiences that have, for reasons unknown, ended the same way.  I am certain that there is a lesson to be learned here, but obviously, I have not yet learned it.  I trust too much, share too much, give too much and then wonder why I am left standing, empty handed and alone, at the end of the day.  One would think that after so many experiences that end the same, there would be a red flag; a warning sign or some other type of blinking light that says “you don’t want to go there again”.  But there isn’t.

I am too trusting, too gullible, to easily manipulated.  I know this, but it doesn’t seem to help me learn from past experiences.  It is difficult, though, when each experience starts differently.  It is impossible to know, at the beginning, how it will end.  It doesn’t make being too trusting, too gullible and too easily manipulated any easier to swallow at the end of the day.  It leads to disappointment, as much in the deceiver as  in myself and adds layers to the wall that has to be rebuilt in order to preserve my sanity.

Friends come and go.  Some are much better at deceiving than others and, as I said earlier, being a gullible sort, I fall for the “we have so much in common”, “we are cut from the same cloth”, “I feel like I’ve known you forever” line.   I think that, in the future, I will be oblivious to this line of thinking.  I don’t like being used and am saddened that I have, once again, been simply a sounding board and ego booster that, once the course has been run, am nothing more than a  blast of wind on a summer day.

I wish I had the answers.  I wish I had the knowledge that is not revealed to me.  I live my life walking on faith and sometimes, the faith is misguided.  That is no-one’s fault but my own.  I am gullible and I do have a seeking heart.  That makes me an easy mark for those who’s only agenda is lifting themselves to a higher level.  I don’t hold it against them as they are doing what they do.  I hold it against myself for enabling them and allowing my thoughts and feelings to feed the fire and come to the realization that they thrive on this enabling and then forget me completely.

It is an humbling experience to learn that, even though I should know better, I still fall into the same traps of wanting to be a part of something important, something beautiful, something exceptional only to realize that I was only a stepping stone.

I want to be angry, but that is not in my nature.  I will cry and I will berate myself for being a fool, but know that, most likely, I will repeat the same cycle over and over again.  The complexity of my heart and mind is, in reality, simply too much for most people to comprehend and so they just pretend that I never existed.

I don’t mind it, overmuch, but with each transparency, I learn that I will likely never learn.  Such is the nature of my life.  But I’m ok with that.  I figure if I walk through a door with my eyes wide open then any surprises that come up are on me for, when I walked thorough the door, I did it willingly.  In my mind, I go to places unknown, with no stresses  or pain; no insecurities or moments of foolishness, but only the beauty of God’s Amazing Grace.  I am blessed even when I feel  more like I’m being punished.  No one can ever punish me as much as I punish myself and as long as I take it, it will continue.  Praying for the strength to break the cycle, even when it hurts.  I am me.  I am Gina.  I am not a doormat.  I will work each day to remind myself of these basic facts.

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When you don’t get to say goodbye …

it leaves a void; a hole that can never be filled, a wound that never quite heals.  No one ever thinks that the last time you see someone will be the last time you see someone.  It doesn’t matter if it is a friend, husband, wife, mother, father, sister, brother, child.  It just doesn’t matter.  We always expect to have the next time.  But sometimes there isn’t one.  Sometimes life takes an unexpected turn that leaves us bewildered and wondering what, if we had  been given the chance, we would have said.  The children who were recently massacred in Newtown, CT is one example, but not the only one.  There are people all over the world who left a beloved person believing that they would see them again only to find that there wasn’t a next time.

I found this out myself, first-hand, a few years ago.  I said goodnight to my husband and the next morning, as I did every day, left him sleeping when I went to work.  I, as every day before, left him a note telling him good morning and that I loved him, but didn’t wake him because there would be plenty of time when I got home for idle chat.  While I was working and running petty, unneeded errands, he left this world and when I got home, ready to share my day with him, he was dead.  There was no next time.  No next moment.  No next day.  I was devastated.  How could something like this happen?  How could there be so many things left unsaid?  So many dreams left unfulfilled?  So many moments that never found their way into the reality of every day life?

It is disheartening to find oneself with so many unanswered questions and unsaid words of love and devotion.  It seems that as time passes, there are even more words that come to mind that, if there had been the chance, I would have said.  We, none of us, have a promise of a single minute other than the one we are currently living in.  I learned a valuable lesson that day.  I learned to say what I was thinking, speak my mind and share my heart with the ones that are important to me.  But as all things, as the world continues to turn and time continues to pass, old habits find a way of re-entering my life.  I find that there are things I want to say, but wait because I am certain that now is not the time.  Or maybe I can’t seem to find the courage to speak that which is in my heart.  Either way, it means that I really didn’t learn anything from my experience and that all the pain and sorrow I suffered was for nothing.

What is it about being human that makes us hold what we feel so close to our vest?  To keep the thoughts and wonderings in our minds, hearts and souls to ourselves because we either feel that we will be misunderstood, ridiculed or simply ignored.  What is it that makes us feel that we are less than we are simply because we doubt our own importance in an ever-changing world?  I don’t want to be that way.  I want the people I love and care about to know that I love and care about them.  I want them to know that I think about them often, sometimes daily and sometimes several times a day.  I want to have the courage to tell people when they have hurt me so that they will know what moves my heart.

Time is fleeting and life is too short, even when there aren’t extenuating circumstances.  I look at my own life and instead of embracing it for what I have learned, I compare it to the lives of those around me.  I belittle my own experiences because in my mind, they are mundane when placed side by side with others.  I make excuses to keep my thoughts to myself and find reasons not to say what I need to say.  But if I don’t say what is in my heart, then if, while I sleep, I die, those words and thoughts will die with me.  The same goes for everyone.  There isn’t always another chance, another day, another moment in time.  Sometimes the last time really is the last time.   I try, sometimes, to remember the last words I said to my husband and I can’t.  I know at some point, I told him I loved him, but did he know just how much?  Did he know how I respected him for his knowledge and contribution to my growth in life and spirit?  Did he know that I needed him?  I can only hope where he is concerned, but in the here and now, with family, friends and loved ones, I have the power to tell them what I need them to know.  The power is mine and mine alone and if I choose to keep the words to myself, then if some unknown event occurs, the power that was mine will become a weakness I will be given no choice but to live with.

Life is short.  Don’t waste a moment.  Don’t miss an opportunity to tell someone you love them, are proud of them, are happy for them, miss them, are praying for them.  Don’t let the sun set on words unsaid for there is no promise that the sun will rise on that life in the morning.

Be well, my dear ones, and give each other the words that only your heart can say.  For tomorrow may not come and then the words will have no place to go.

 

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Standing still as shattered pieces fall …

and cut me over and over is something that I know intimately, but I realized today that though I know it, I only know a little piece of it.  I have tried to imagine, even while I know I cannot fathom such an atrocity;  losing a child.  Then to realize that not only have I lost my child, but that nineteen other children were lost at the same time is immeasurable.  I find that each time I think of such a horror, I burst out in tears for those who are facing that situation even now.  Knowing that the world is mourning my loss would be of little or no consolation when faced with an empty bed in an empty room in an empty house in a now empty life.  Knowing that there were nineteen different families who found themselves in the situation I was in would bring no comfort, only more bafflement, anger and grief.  I think I would find it hard not to be bitter even as I was grateful, that there are parents everywhere holding their children safe this night.  There are no words, no gestures, no deeds of goodwill that can even begin to bring comfort after such a senseless and brutal death of a child.  No human words or gestures, anyway.    Losing a child is losing a child, be it from sickness after months of hope and prayers or because that child is taken by the hands of a madman, a stranger, who decided to gun them down in cold blood for sins that the children had not committed. The little children are innocents and because of it, the battle becomes not one against nature or sickness, but of one against evil.  It doesn’t make the loss any less painful, but it does make it different.

I have spent the better part of the evening trying to wrap my mind around what a relatively small, close-knit community must be feeling at this moment.  I have not succeeded.  Each time I picture in my mind’s eye the tiny bodies lying shot to death, I have to remind myself that I live in a country where young children are not gunned down as they attend kindergarten class.  I tell myself that surely, there has been some mistake and that twenty children were not killed for a reason known only to a madman.  I tell myself that it couldn’t possibly happen where I live and then immediately seek out my nieces and hug them so hard that they complain about it.  I find that I cannot let them go.  They squirm and complain, but letting them out my arms before I have breathed in the scent of them, touched their sweet little lips to mine and stroked their downy hair is not an option, not for a while, not until I am convinced that they are real and safe and accounted for.  Something that twenty families in a small town in Connecticut will never have the opportunity to do again.  The sorrow and pain that I feel is no more than a drop of rain in a writhing ocean compared to theirs and that in itself makes me cry even harder.  I want to help.  I want to console.  I want to encourage.  I want to bring comfort.  But it is not in my power.

I cannot comfort them with words or gestures.  Their lives have been irrevocably changed for the worse.  What likely started as a normal day for these families ended in bone-crushing sorrow and depths of despair that cannot be described within the confines of this blog.  The cries and screams of mothers and fathers will echo down every valley and soar above the highest mountains for days and weeks and years to come.  Such sorrow cannot be contained and even though I did not hear them with my ears, my heart breaks at the sound I know is there and I find myself sobbing, yet again, for what cannot be changed.

I will do the only thing I know to do for them and that is to pray for comfort in a time of sorrow so black and so deep, an abyss that seems to have no way out.  Time, it is said, is a great healer, and from personal experience, I know that to be true … but time has never had to heal me from the loss of a child and I find that while I have compassion and a deep, deep sorrow for the loss, I cannot even begin to comprehend it.

Lifting up, in the name of Jesus, those who will be unable to stand for a long time is the only recourse I have.  But stand they will and fight they will and remember they will.  The road will be difficult and strewn with landmines and  obstacles that will take them backwards more than forwards; at least for  a time.  They will never get over it, may not get past it, but hopefully, can one day, come to terms with it enough to get out of bed in the morning.

This night, as the nation and the world mourns the needless loss of little children, may we join together and pray collectively so that a veil of protection can be woven around the grieving families.  Let us tear our clothing and throw ourselves to the ground to wail for that which threatens to suffocate us.  They have suffered enough for a lifetime.  Let us pray that that they can face it tomorrow, and the day after that and the day after that.

The little children are in the hands of God, but the hands of their parents are empty and their hearts are shattered.  Join me as I pray that they will be able to find some measure of comfort in some aspect of this tragedy and that in time, the memories that hurt them so deeply now will somehow bring them the comfort they seek.  I don’t know what else to do.

soaringhawk

Romans 12:21 Be not overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good.

falling without grace…

there is a wrong way and another wrong way.  Nobody (except maybe stunt people) gets up one morning and says to themselves, “today, i believe I will trip over something ridiculous and break half the bones in my body simply for the fun of it”.  I can’t think of a single normal person who hopes for such maladies.  I’m sure there are others who will be glad to see November end, but I feel that I want it very badly and am anxiously awaiting the stroke of midnight tonight.  While the date on the calendar has little to do with karma, fate, cosmos or other things that have little to do with anything and everything to do with nothing, they can certainly cause an immediate attitude adjustment.

I spend much of my time hiking and simple climbing over rocks and through crevices, sliding down hills and holding myself upright with trees because the trail I am on is too steep to stand otherwise.  I’ve had minor incidents on these rambles, bruises and sprain or two, but it took much more simple, mundane and downright boring ways for me to actually put myself out of commission with injuries.

I have gone my entire life with only two serious falls that caused great distress over breaking things.  The first happened when I was somewhere around the age of ten.  My mother had just bought me these incredibly great bracelets.  They were colorful and at least an inch wide each.  There were three of them and they were great; I could scarcely wait to show them off at school the next day.  As it happened, however, I was walking upright, as humans often do, and just fell over. Tripped over an imaginary line and fell down the patio steps. I skinned my knees and elbows pretty badly, but that was not the worst of the incident.  I broke my bracelets, all of them, and actually cried over them.  The second, which was much more serious, resulted from a slip in the shower and nearly destroyed my ankle. I remember threatening my (now late) husband that if he called the paramedics before I was dressed, it would be himself who needed immediate emergency care.  Thanks to an exceptional Orthopedic surgeon, I can’t even tell that it was ever broken (except when going through a metal detector; that still requires much explanation and often being pulled aside for questioning).

This month, however, the record has been, like my poor body, shattered.  Did I fall while climbing the treacherous trail to the white rocks?  No.  Was it while descending the winding rock steps to my favorite falls?  No.  Did I do it while standing at the edge of a 2,000 foot drop, inches from the edge, just to get the perfect photograph?  No.  Mayhaps by climbing the steep, shaded so usually slick hill to the cabin behind our property.  No, not that either.  I did it first by tripping over my niece’s Basset  Hound and, just as those broken bones and stitches were healing, secondly by tripping over an open dishwasher door.  Not only are these very boring ways to seriously injure oneself, it makes it hard for people who ask what happened to hold in their snickers.

They may as well laugh about it; I do.  The alternative is to have a continuous pity-party and make myself feel worse than I do by reminding myself that, until clearance is given from the current orthopedic surgeon, I am unable to steady my camera with it’s heavy zoom lens with my left arm.  Being the bad patient I am, when the moon was so beautiful the other night, I decided to blow off his recommendations and take some shots of the moon.  As wonderful as the  high of photographing something so magnificent was, the doc was right.  It was excruciating.  But man, oh, man, I did get some great moon and Jupiter shots!  Some pain is just plain worth it.

While my broken nose is healing, my fractured ribs are less slowly trying to  send me over the edge, the chipped kneecap doesn’t squeak quite so much, the progress with my shoulder is much slower.  The feel of that bone moving around makes me sick and when I get sick, my ribs hurt and my collarbone threatens to go on strike and stop doing its part to hold my head where it has been all my life.

I guess the moral of this story of the wrong way and the other wrong way to fall is to just not fall to begin with.  I’m convinced that if I didn’t get as much exercise as I do traipsing around the countryside, strengthening my muscles and bones, it would have been much, much worse.  As it is, three broken and one chipped bone, a busted mouth, a scar worthy of acceptance into the Klingon clan scar directly between my eyes, gashed chin and a separated shoulder joint has been an eye opening experience.  These events tell me that is safer to climb a steep, slippery trail with big rocks and little leverage than it is to walk across my own (flat) driveway or through my own (also flat) house. To cheer myself, I had planned to head to the mountains tomorrow, however, this being the height of hunting season, it would be just my luck (as the streak has already shown itself to be targeting me personally) to have a stray bullet find its way into my skull as I drove along the winding mountain roads.    For those who laugh at the escapades, don’t feel bad.  Laughter is the best way to get through difficult situations and I have no problem poking a bit of fun at myself.  Have had many laughs up to now because looking back, it was pretty funny.  It’s still quite painful, but is beginning to be more funny than painful.  The downside to that; it hurts to laugh.  I find myself impatient to get back to the difficult, dangerous climbs and trail shoots so that I will be, once again, safe and sound.

whiterocks_trailshoot-150whiterocks_trailshoot-104

so many thoughts …

seep through the filters and barriers of my mind tonight.  Part of it is, simply because it is true, brought on by the sudden death of my Uncle.  It is not his passing that I feel so strongly, however, but the emptiness, sorrow, anger, pain and need for understanding that I know, at this moment, my Aunt is feeling.  It is at this point that I want to say to her that everything will be OK (and it will be, but it isn’t now) and that time will heal her wounds (they will, but not yet).  There are so many things that I could say to try to bring comfort where comfort can’t be found.  The comfort comes in the wee hours of the morning when a certain song comes to mind, when the tears start and a after a few hours of mind-numbing, muscle-straining, heart-shattering sobbing, there is just a little more room for healing; a small window of clarity.  One doesn’t need to have lost someone to feel this kind of soul-cleansing sorrow; it can come in many forms.  I, myself, have found myself in this place many times over the years and I can say with certainty, so have some I have known..  No one is immune and no two people deal with it the same way.  Maybe it’s not the loss of a loved one or pet to death or some other tragedy.  Maybe it is the loss of a friend due to a move, the loss of a job after many years of faithful service.  Death isn’t the only thing that can cause us to fall on our face, confused, angry, uncertain; crying out to the only One who can ease the pain and heaviness of the burden we carry.  I think it is safe to say that if someone has one human that they can lay their thoughts on without fear of judgement, admonition or abandonment, then they are, in my mind, rich beyond what they could ever hope to imagine. I find myself rich and even so, it’s not easy pouring out my innermost secrets, failings and fears.  In my minds, they are bigger and more outrageous than anything that anyone has ever heard.  But that is a fallacy.  It is a trick and when it works, it works well; debilitating those of us who fall for its folly.  Don’t be fooled.  Spirit recognizes spirit; don’t be afraid to lean on people you can trust.  Ask yourself this; if the situation were reversed, would you want to be that human?  We all, even those of us who know we’re on a journey to somewhere better than this, need human contact,  That’s how we’re wired; how we’re fearfully and wonderfully made.  Don’t let your sorrow and pain separate you to the point where you become unreachable.  Let someone you trust share the load you carry, whatever the cargo may be.

33 These things I have spoken unto you, that in me ye might have peace. In the world ye shall have tribulation: but be of good cheer; I have overcome the world

A Moment of Truth

Today was a learning experience for me; a day of growth, both emotionally and spiritually.  Everyone has them from time to time, often when they don’t really understand what just happened.  Before a couple of weeks ago, I’m not sure I would have understood what happened.   I have, after all, spent the biggest part of my life up to now battling, and more often than not, losing to, my insecurities.  As a child I hid behind the shelter that my younger, more athletic, attention-seeking sister provided.  She was bigger than life and the focus and attention was always on her, leaving me to bask in obscurity … feverishly hoping that in obscurity I would remain.  But … God has a way of putting me in situations that far, far, far exceed my comfort zone and at a precise moment of His choosing, he gives me a choice; live or die.

My childhood faded to teenager, with even more reasons to be insecure.  The more I tried to fit in, the further out of the loop I became until I felt like a party of one … even in the midst of a crowd.  As my teens rolled into early twenties, it seemed that the insecurity consumed me.  I became a slave to the words of other people, whether they were actually meant for me or not.  Every criticism threatened to cause me to simply collapse into myself, not unlike an exploding star.  I became easy prey for someone to take advantage of.  And they did.  And I did nothing.  I felt so powerless.  I was dying.  I had chosen to die.

I suppose it is apt that this blog contain some remnants of Jim as this, had he lived, would have been our thirteenth anniversary.  I met Jim unexpectedly and the moment I looked into his eyes, I knew something was about to change.  I was so broken when we met, and in my mind, beyond redemption.  I had lost my way, my vision, myself and most importantly, I had lost my faith.  Through the next ten years, he chipped away at the insecurity, pushing me to look inside myself and face demons that haunted me … he damaged the high wall I had built and allowed light to shine into paralyzed places in my heart.  He helped me to find enough of myself to build on.  I realize with certainty that I was stronger when he died than I was on the day I married him; his encouragement, faith and devotion instrumental in coming to that realization.

Now, back to today … without a bit of insight into why it was such a turning point, the accomplishment would really have meant nothing to anyone but me.  And so it happened … an older man that I came into contact with today was harsh, with a harsh tone and harsh words.  I immediately felt myself closing off at the possibility of a confrontation and began wondering what kind of terrible home life he must have to be this way… but this time, a little voice inside me said “I thought you were going to work on not doing that anymore”.  And, after a momentary feeling of shock at the confidence (a state of being I struggle with) that I had the power to change, I felt a lock slide open.  As though a mist had been lifted, I saw him not as someone with a difficult home life, but only someone who was different than me.  Someone who had a personality diametric to my own and not simply out to hurt my feelings.  I looked at him differently, as a human being with thoughts and imaginings of his own and I no longer felt the need to ball up and cry.  I smiled at him and conversed regularly in the face of his demonstrative behavior and he smiled back.  He was not out to get me, didn’t hate me and had no idea that he had the power to hurt me; he was just an old man being all he knew to be.  And I didn’t internalize it this time.  The insecurity that sometimes threatens to suffocate me took a serious hit.

There will be many who read this that will have no understanding of such emotions as insecurity and the lack of confidence that is evident here; those of you who are self-assured and confident and have been since the beginning.  There are some, though, and those are the ones I write to, that will.  I found out today that I do have the power to control my emotions to some extent by searching for what I didn’t see before.  The humanness of us all.  What an intoxicating feeling to know that there is still more to learn about myself and,  gloriously exciting, how anxious I am to learn it.  I am thankful, as always, to a loving God who shows me what I need to know to be useful in the places He intends to send me.  I wait with bated breath to see what comes next …

Isaiah 42:3 ~ A bruised reed shall He not break, and the smoking flax shall he not quench: he shall bring forth judgment to truth