Wednesday, November 30, 2011

Love brought to me...


This afternoon some special people came to my house.

I made a Harvest Apple Cake with Caramel Glaze.

They came in one by one.

With them they brought love.

Love that you could touch.

They took the oil, they opened the Word. They breathed out prayers.

Prayers for protection, prayers for healing, prayers for restoration.

Prayers for peace in my home.

Doorposts, touched with oil and drenched in prayers.

Hands reached out - love flowing through fingers.

Surrounded, I was, with their love.

A gift to me, this day, cherished and precious.

Their love, their prayers freely given.

These special people came to my house today.

They are my friends.


Story


Tonight, sonny boy came to take more of his belongings.

There was sadness in the air tangible and palpable.

I sit now in my sorrow, wrapped in no comfort at all.

The story I wished for has ended.

But let me be clear...there is another story, another ending.

Christmas celebrates beginning, Christ born new-born babe; tiny and vulnerable. The world opened ahead of Him. He worked, He laughed, He grieved. Everywhere He went He touched lives.

Then the story ended. The Crucifixion, agonizing and deadly. “Father, Father, why have you forsaken me?” This cry ripped from untold anguish, infinite suffering.

Hope died, was buried deep behind leaden rock.

Three black days passed, the earth was torn, darkness reigned - powerful and strong: but not strong enough.

Hope leapt from earth buried, Resurrection! Life lives again - pulses, vibrates, breathes eternal.

This is the Story that opens all other stories. All the other stories that have died violent death, all other stories, characters forsaken, all other stories where hope is obliterated – this Story brings resurrection.

This Story sings Hope. This Story, I grant you, mysterious, often incomprehensible, endings sometimes even indecipherable on this side of the eternal curtain. The Great Story-teller weaves my story - the story that will actually never end. The story that goes on and on. A good story has conflict, suspense, often tragedy, and the good story has a resolution. And Christ the Greatest Story-teller of all
tells my story. He whispers ~ `Be still and know that I am God.` `I am the Alpha and the Omega, the Beginning and the End.`

So, although tonight my sorrow, my story, wraps me all complete in darkness, there is comfort after all.

There is the Resurrection.



Tuesday, November 29, 2011

Rain of the Soul


Rain washes the earth. Comes down in a deluge, sluicing the earth with wet, cold fragrance. Fragrance of the fall. The end of summer now long gone. Fall, with it's frigid rain, a precursor of snow that may fall any time between now and spring's warmth.

I wish the rain could wash me - as storm fall of rain washes out a road firmly paved...wash away the pain, anguish, and confusion. Freeze-cold this emotional overload. This winter come early, no spring in sight. No warmth of summer's memory.

Could golden dappled sunlight melt the cares away, send them to oblivion? Could skies - bright hues of azure blue, take the blues from my soul?

What comfort is there for these moments; these rainy day moments - cold and stark? What about warm fires or a friend to sit with, a blanket and a good book, a puppy warm and snugly?

What medicine is there - an antidote for soul-pain?

A wise man once said, “A merry heart, doeth good like a medicine.” How to find merry heart in all this morass of emotion?

It is starts I think with looking up and looking out. Finding the many things that fill my life with gratitude. Thankfulness will be the salve, the healing balm for these moments trouble-filled.

I am thankful though it rages and storms, here I sit – cozy, warm and dry.

I am thankful that tomorrow brings new hope - new starts, new opportunities to find new solutions.

I am thankful that cold days make baking food extra yummy, the aromas, warm and inviting.

I am thankful for forages into the soul that show that hope never dies.

I am thankful for girl-child, who sits cuddled up beside me, love that never stops.

I am thankful for the power of loving touch, the quiet shushing, gentle stroking that brings calm out of panic. I am thankful that I could give this gift to child of mine.

I am thankful for moments squeezed out of busy day that husband brings home to try to help this little one of ours.

This is a good start, the shift in focus. So, I will carry on looking up and looking out. Being thankful.


Piled up

We lie on her bed.  All of us girls.  Leanne, Molly and me.  We snuggle, cuddle, burrow deep.

We are piled together.  It is all about love.  It is all about comfort.

We stay there...wrapped in warm.

We freeze this moment.

Piled up in love and comfort.





P.S. Molly is our puppy.

Monday, November 28, 2011

Sick again

Poor thing.  This sweet daughter who suffers again and again.  Retching, nauseous, bowl hovering over her lap.  Sick Saturday morning and again this morning.

I grow frustrated, impatient with the medical system - we cannot get an appointment with the pediatrician until December 12th.

She is crying - wants relief.  We can only sit quietly beside her, murmur soft words of reassurance and do what we can to make her comfortable.

She has developed more anxiety, now tense with fear of going to school, fear of being sick in front of classmates.  Tenderhearted she is, and sensitive.

Over a month now of this cyclic vomiting.

We too, now, must fight fear.  We try not to let our minds borrow disaster, think catastrophic thoughts. Most likely, it is childhood migraines and these, while physically and emotionally exhausting are treatable.

So we breathe deeply, petition for grace, grace for the day, grace for each moment.

My Mom would often quote this verse to me "...as your day, so shall your strength be."  Deut. 33:25  So, this is what I cling to, for today, for myself, for my daughter, for all of those that I love.

"As your day, so shall your strength be."

Sunday, November 27, 2011

Yorkshire Pudding

Travelling back in time we remember the days of yesteryear.

Sunday dinner at our family home.  Always, after morning church, hymns sung, prayers prayed, sermon listened to.

Then home, to my Mom's delectable Roast beef dinner, with roasted potatoes, carrots and onions and gravy, lots of brown luscious gravy.  Most delicious of all, Yorkshire Pudding - puffed high and golden, crispy on the outside, soft and tasty as you bite into it.   For dessert it was often apple pie or apple crisp.  Like her Mother before my Mom was a great cook.

Today, I made the comfort food of my childhood, that Roast beef dinner, with some variations:  fluffy mashed potatoes, rich and buttery; broccoli and corn, and the piece de resistance, Yorkshire Pudding.  Already the Yorkshire Pudding has become legendary in our home, almost a necessity when making roast beef for dinner.  Our daughter asks, "Mom, are you making Yorkshire"?  When the answer comes back "yes", she smiles with delight.

I think we could actually forgo the rest of the dinner and just eat Yorkshire Pudding with gravy and be completely happy.  I have been known to get up at midnight, sneak downstairs and raid the refrigerator when there are leftovers of Yorkshire.  Somehow the Yorkshire knows my name and calls me, beckoning me from sleep...:)

Oh and I made Apple Pie too.  It was warm, rich, cinnamon y and lovely.

Favourite foods and flavours brings memories sweet and mouth-melting.

Some days are best served with comfort foods of our childhood.  Let the anguish and worries of  life recede to the Netherlands.

Savour only the good, inhale the aromas of happiness, let the flavours roll delightfully on the tongue.

Speak words of kindness to each other, drink the sweetness of good company.

Tomorrow has enough troubles of its own.

Today I will cherish the food and the memories.  Today I will cherish the time that I can spend with the people that are here, now.

Today I will make memories.

Today it will be a Yorkshire Pudding day.


Saturday, November 26, 2011

Haunted

In the morning hours of this day.  I find my thoughts wending their way to my son.  Child of my heart how I ache with the missing.  


Haunted I am by presence gone.  How does one ever get beyond this?  This quiet agony.  The everlasting excising, this hole in my home.


It is as it was, this living grief.  Of one beloved, not gone forever, but gone from home.  This boundary set, this "unnatural leaving."  Not leaving of their own volition to go to school, to get married, or even to get their own place.  But leaving because the home cannot bear the chaos of his addictions.  The hearts left here, scarred.  The heart gone, scarred.  All of us, broken, wounded.


I walk with living wound.  Some days better than others.  But none with wholeness.  


Even good days, it is as if I am having an out of body experience.  I, watching self, going out, meeting people, talking, laughing continuing on, a part of me doing what must be done.  The other part, lying in the dust, brought low, starting blankly into days that seem to stretch elastic, wondering when elastic will break.  When the ping will sting, fling back and hit me in the face.


However...


I do believe, I do.  In the midst of all this and heart sore and haunted heavy, I believe in hope.  I believe hearts can be healed, addictions can be broken & conquered, I believe.  I believe, families can be restored, relationships mended, I believe.  I believe, Mother, Father hearts - breath held - will see coming down that road, prodigal returning, I believe. I believe. I believe.


Oh Lord, haste that day, make it not long be.  Let me be, in meantime, let me be, strong.  Mother this heart of mine.  Cuddle  me, carry me in Your arms.  Do this for me, this day, this day and every day to come.  Help me.  Hold me. Hover over this day.  This is my prayer.  This is my plea.  Hear me. Lord, hear my cry.


Amen.



Thursday, November 24, 2011

Cannot sleep


I am awake. It is the middle of the night. All is dark, quiet.

Yet, sleep, that elusive butterfly, evades, escapes me. It will not land on flower of rest. I toss and turn. My skin itches. My hand aches. My throat is scratchy.

I am frustrated. I get up wander downstairs. What to do? How to find the peace, the sleep, I need so desperately? Warm milk? Euww, doesn't appeal. Is there not a magic elixir? I wish there was.

My eyes burn, exhaustion wants respite, but there is none.

Perhaps if I sit here a while sleep will creep up and crawl over me, closing my eyes, bringing rest and relief.

Oh, please, bring relief, sweet relief - blessed blackness that blots out the thoughts that spin round and round. Rest that relieves the aches and pains my body is bearing in this moment of limbo suspended between night and day.

I just

want

to sleep.

“To sleep,

perchance to dream....”

But gentle dreams only.

Please.



November 25, 2011 3 a.m.

Pain and Grace

It was strange today.  To have such incredible physical pain, and emotional dis - ease.  Then a shift, a release - grace evident and abundant.

I heartily dislike the pain and I am wholly grateful for the grace.  Two skeins of silken thread woven together.

I wonder what the cloth will look like - the shots of silken pain, the strains of grace.


Nov. 24, 2011

To be thankful

Today, I am grateful for the many resources that are out there -  the people, the internet, the web of information  available.

Today, I am grateful for a husband who is willing to sacrifice so that his family can get help.

Today, I am grateful that I had contact with one that I love.

Today, I am grateful for guidance given.

Today, I am grateful for quiet moments for reflection.

Today, I am grateful that tomorrow brings a day that I can practice focusing on faith not on fear.

Today, I am grateful for a warm smile given to me.

Today, I am grateful for warm, buttered popcorn and my heating pad and cozy shawl.

Today, I am grateful for our puppy, whose wagging tail and wriggling body greet me with delight.

Every day, new mercies...


Wednesday, November 23, 2011

The Spoon Theory

Below is the Spoon Theory:  this helps explain to people - friends and family etc. what it is like to have a chronic illness or disease.

I  have a few chronic conditions myself and I found reading this was helpful in my own coping of what was going on in my health and in my circumstances.  I know that others in my family suffer from chronic conditions and my beloved niece is battling cancer so this applies in her case times 10 at least.  I think it is helpful  to others in developing understanding and compassion for the many people who suffer from chronic conditions.


The Spoon Theory

by Christine Miserandino www.butyoudontlooksick.com

My best friend and I were in the diner, talking. As usual, it was very late and we were eating French fries with gravy. Like normal girls our age, we spent a lot of time in the diner while in college, and most of the time we spent talking about boys, music or trivial things, that seemed very important at the time. We never got serious about anything in particular and spent most of our time laughing.
Cartoon image of Christine Miserandino holding a spoon
As I went to take some of my medicine with a snack as I usually did, she watched me with an awkward kind of stare, instead of continuing the conversation. She then asked me out of the blue what it felt like to have Lupus and be sick. I was shocked not only because she asked the random question, but also because I assumed she knew all there was to know about Lupus. She came to doctors with me, she saw me walk with a cane, and throw up in the bathroom. She had seen me cry in pain, what else was there to know?
I started to ramble on about pills, and aches and pains, but she kept pursuing, and didn’t seem satisfied with my answers. I was a little surprised as being my roommate in college and friend for years; I thought she already knew the medical definition of Lupus. Then she looked at me with a face every sick person knows well, the face of pure curiosity about something no one healthy can truly understand. She asked what it felt like, not physically, but what it felt like to be me, to be sick.
As I tried to gain my composure, I glanced around the table for help or guidance, or at least stall for time to think. I was trying to find the right words. How do I answer a question I never was able to answer for myself? How do I explain every detail of every day being effected, and give the emotions a sick person goes through with clarity. I could have given up, cracked a joke like I usually do, and changed the subject, but I remember thinking if I don’t try to explain this, how could I ever expect her to understand. If I can’t explain this to my best friend, how could I explain my world to anyone else? I had to at least try.
At that moment, the spoon theory was born. I quickly grabbed every spoon on the table; hell I grabbed spoons off of the other tables. I looked at her in the eyes and said “Here you go, you have Lupus”. She looked at me slightly confused, as anyone would when they are being handed a bouquet of spoons. The cold metal spoons clanked in my hands, as I grouped them together and shoved them into her hands.
I explained that the difference in being sick and being healthy is having to make choices or to consciously think about things when the rest of the world doesn’t have to. The healthy have the luxury of a life without choices, a gift most people take for granted.
Most people start the day with unlimited amount of possibilities, and energy to do whatever they desire, especially young people. For the most part, they do not need to worry about the effects of their actions. So for my explanation, I used spoons to convey this point. I wanted something for her to actually hold, for me to then take away, since most people who get sick feel a “loss” of a life they once knew. If I was in control of taking away the spoons, then she would know what it feels like to have someone or something else, in this case Lupus, being in control.
She grabbed the spoons with excitement. She didn’t understand what I was doing, but she is always up for a good time, so I guess she thought I was cracking a joke of some kind like I usually do when talking about touchy topics. Little did she know how serious I would become?
I asked her to count her spoons. She asked why, and I explained that when you are healthy you expect to have a never-ending supply of “spoons”. But when you have to now plan your day, you need to know exactly how many “spoons” you are starting with. It doesn’t guarantee that you might not lose some along the way, but at least it helps to know where you are starting. She counted out 12 spoons. She laughed and said she wanted more. I said no, and I knew right away that this little game would work, when she looked disappointed, and we hadn’t even started yet. I’ve wanted more “spoons” for years and haven’t found a way yet to get more, why should she? I also told her to always be conscious of how many she had, and not to drop them because she can never forget she has Lupus.
I asked her to list off the tasks of her day, including the most simple. As, she rattled off daily chores, or just fun things to do; I explained how each one would cost her a spoon. When she jumped right into getting ready for work as her first task of the morning, I cut her off and took away a spoon. I practically jumped down her throat. I said ” No! You don’t just get up. You have to crack open your eyes, and then realize you are late. You didn’t sleep well the night before. You have to crawl out of bed, and then you have to make your self something to eat before you can do anything else, because if you don’t, you can’t take your medicine, and if you don’t take your medicine you might as well give up all your spoons for today and tomorrow too.” I quickly took away a spoon and she realized she hasn’t even gotten dressed yet. Showering cost her spoon, just for washing her hair and shaving her legs. Reaching high and low that early in the morning could actually cost more than one spoon, but I figured I would give her a break; I didn’t want to scare her right away. Getting dressed was worth another spoon. I stopped her and broke down every task to show her how every little detail needs to be thought about. You cannot simply just throw clothes on when you are sick. I explained that I have to see what clothes I can physically put on, if my hands hurt that day buttons are out of the question. If I have bruises that day, I need to wear long sleeves, and if I have a fever I need a sweater to stay warm and so on. If my hair is falling out I need to spend more time to look presentable, and then you need to factor in another 5 minutes for feeling badly that it took you 2 hours to do all this.
I think she was starting to understand when she theoretically didn’t even get to work, and she was left with 6 spoons. I then explained to her that she needed to choose the rest of her day wisely, since when your “spoons” are gone, they are gone. Sometimes you can borrow against tomorrow’s “spoons”, but just think how hard tomorrow will be with less “spoons”. I also needed to explain that a person who is sick always lives with the looming thought that tomorrow may be the day that a cold comes, or an infection, or any number of things that could be very dangerous. So you do not want to run low on “spoons”, because you never know when you truly will need them. I didn’t want to depress her, but I needed to be realistic, and unfortunately being prepared for the worst is part of a real day for me.
We went through the rest of the day, and she slowly learned that skipping lunch would cost her a spoon, as well as standing on a train, or even typing at her computer too long. She was forced to make choices and think about things differently. Hypothetically, she had to choose not to run errands, so that she could eat dinner that night.
When we got to the end of her pretend day, she said she was hungry. I summarized that she had to eat dinner but she only had one spoon left. If she cooked, she wouldn’t have enough energy to clean the pots. If she went out for dinner, she might be too tired to drive home safely. Then I also explained, that I didn’t even bother to add into this game, that she was so nauseous, that cooking was probably out of the question anyway. So she decided to make soup, it was easy. I then said it is only 7pm, you have the rest of the night but maybe end up with one spoon, so you can do something fun, or clean your apartment, or do chores, but you can’t do it all.
I rarely see her emotional, so when I saw her upset I knew maybe I was getting through to her. I didn’t want my friend to be upset, but at the same time I was happy to think finally maybe someone understood me a little bit. She had tears in her eyes and asked quietly “Christine, How do you do it? Do you really do this everyday?” I explained that some days were worse then others; some days I have more spoons then most. But I can never make it go away and I can’t forget about it, I always have to think about it. I handed her a spoon I had been holding in reserve. I said simply, “I have learned to live life with an extra spoon in my pocket, in reserve. You need to always be prepared.”
Its hard, the hardest thing I ever had to learn is to slow down, and not do everything. I fight this to this day. I hate feeling left out, having to choose to stay home, or to not get things done that I want to. I wanted her to feel that frustration. I wanted her to understand, that everything everyone else does comes so easy, but for me it is one hundred little jobs in one. I need to think about the weather, my temperature that day, and the whole day’s plans before I can attack any one given thing. When other people can simply do things, I have to attack it and make a plan like I am strategizing a war. It is in that lifestyle, the difference between being sick and healthy. It is the beautiful ability to not think and just do. I miss that freedom. I miss never having to count “spoons”.
After we were emotional and talked about this for a little while longer, I sensed she was sad. Maybe she finally understood. Maybe she realized that she never could truly and honestly say she understands. But at least now she might not complain so much when I can’t go out for dinner some nights, or when I never seem to make it to her house and she always has to drive to mine. I gave her a hug when we walked out of the diner. I had the one spoon in my hand and I said “Don’t worry. I see this as a blessing. I have been forced to think about everything I do. Do you know how many spoons people waste everyday? I don’t have room for wasted time, or wasted “spoons” and I chose to spend this time with you.”
Ever since this night, I have used the spoon theory to explain my life to many people. In fact, my family and friends refer to spoons all the time. It has been a code word for what I can and cannot do. Once people understand the spoon theory they seem to understand me better, but I also think they live their life a little differently too. I think it isn’t just good for understanding Lupus, but anyone dealing with any disability or illness. Hopefully, they don’t take so much for granted or their life in general. I give a piece of myself, in every sense of the word when I do anything. It has become an inside joke. I have become famous for saying to people jokingly that they should feel special when I spend time with them, because they have one of my “spoons”.
© Christine Miserandino
*We have English, Spanish, French and Hebrew translations of “The Spoon Theory” available.



Dear Child

I awake early this morning. Set my alarm to go off so that I can help, if possible to circumvent the onslaught of nausea that our daughter has been experiencing.

Quietly, I go in, wake her, give her the Gravol, tiptoe out, climb back into to bed and wait. A while later I hear her in the bathroom retching, groaning, crying. I hop out of bed run to her, gently help ride the wave overcoming her. I help her back to bed. "Don't leave me Mommy," she pleads. I crawl into with her, cocoon her in love. We doze, she wakes again, rides another wave. I hold onto her, together we crest the wave and settle back.

Another day, we will get through this, somehow. We will. In the meantime I tenderly hold, this sweet girl of mine and carry on.

Tuesday, November 22, 2011

Tired and Sad

Tired I am and sad.


The days too long. The nights too short.


I miss my boy, hate the disconnection. The space between us.


All I had wished for swept away in this hurricane.


I find it so and too difficult to tolerate this break in relationship.


In reaching out and receiving no response I suffer the torment of what, him punishing me?


I know that this is not the end of story. Yet, I long, pine for – restoration. Not just restoration of this precious wee family, oh if only we could see that!; but even more to see the heart of my beloved son made whole, healed of all its pain.


It is, in fact, “early days” from this latest crisis...but this story started many, many years ago and I grow weary.


To think of what lies behind and of what lies ahead is monumental. To traverse, to climb this mountain seems a feat unattainable.


Baby steps, my counsellor says, baby steps. Neither focus on the past nor the future. Stay here, now. Take one step, just one step, one foot in front of the other and just keep on baby-stepping.


Even one step somehow, feels gargantuan.


On this balancing-beam, my life, I move slowly, carefully, forward.


Just one step.


One baby step.


At a time.


Monday, November 21, 2011

How to help her...

My daughter has been throwing up many, many times a week for about 4 and one half weeks now.

It is, we think, in part due to some stresses in her life. There may also be physical illness. Childhood abdominal migraines. This is a real possibility as migraines are an inherently genetic neurological disease. One that I suffer from to this day as did both my parents before me. Her Dad also suffers from migraines, mostly as a child. The component of anxiety has become more real now. She fears the mornings now because she might be sick. She does not want to appear to be ill to her friends, she definitely hates being sick on the bus and trying to make everything seem fine.

Her many absences make her feel conspicuous, and now avoiding explanations seems to loom heavy on the horizons of her days.

I wish peace for her.

I try to reassure her. Remind her that she is loved, that we are doing everything we possibly
can to get to the bottom of this, covering all our bases. Investigating every angle.

I tell her the things that people have told me: Breathe deeply, in and out, count to four on inhalation and count four upon exhaling, don't fight your feelings, don't judge them...Tell yourself this is just my body doing it's thing and it will pass, it will be O.K. Put your music on at night and listen to the rhythms of quietude.

I lay beside her at bedtime, gently rub her back, whisper soft words - soothing, calming, crooning words.

Love breaks my heart.

What can I do?, only be here for her, this child of mine.

I am glad that this is my full-time job: that I do not have to send her off to a babysitter or daycare pre and post school hours. Yes, I can be here, to shield and assist her, so that she does not have the extra stress of feeling abandoned in the middle of all this fear.

We murmur prayers for mercy and for strength for another day. We do not know what tomorrow may hold, but we know Who holds tomorrow and we learn every day in so many different ways, in so many different circumstances that He who holds tomorrow also holds us in the palms of His hands.

It is not easy, always, to cling to our belief. We say, again and again, "Lord, I believe, help my unbelief." And we have seen so many answers to prayers. Some are flagrant in your face answers, some are shocking and do not seem to be answers at all (these often turn out to be surprisingly amazing in retrospect), some are gentle, but firm noes, and in those "no" times we get to choose. Will we fling a fit, stomp and scream? Or will we lean hard into Him and know with all our hearts that this side of eternity the Incomprehensible One cannot be figured out till we see Him face to face. Then, there is the wait, and this is a tough, and often tortuous answer. Especially for me. In the wait, I fling myself into His throne room and cry out for grace to help in time of need. I get impatient, so impatient and oh ya, sometimes I throw a fit.

For now this child of God, brings her children to that throne room. So very different these two, with yawning needs...Only God can put the pieces of the puzzle of their lives together, only He bridge the chasm of their needs and mine.

So....

I will wait.

Lord, I believe.

Help.

Sunday, November 20, 2011

This day Done

Part way through the day, the despair hovers, settles.


I take deep breath and continue on, lean into the sadness, accept it.


It passes quickly and I am relieved. It has been a better day than I could have imagined.


Night closes in and I am ready, ready to rest, ready to find the soft shelter of bed - anxious to snuggle down into fresh, clean sheets, cuddle deep and quiet.


Sleep is medicine and I will drink it back complete.



Nov. 20, 2011

This Day a Gift

I love this view from my bay window.


The sun twinkles light through slats of blind. The evergreens, they dance in the breeze blown through the day. The silver birch, that lovely gypsy, has played strip tease and now stands barren of her leaves, yet still she sways, gently, seductively.


Sky blue-gray, sun now fades, then breaks through cloud again. It is warm for November. Sweet warmth and comforting.


This day, this calm, for this moment, in all its beauty, in all its mystery, a gift.


I, unwrap it carefully, with delight, thankful for the moments of peace this day, an offering.



For this day, His mercies are new...His faithfulness reaches to the clouds.


Lamentations 3:23

Psalm 36:5



Nov, 20/2011

The Next Days

Once the shock has worn off, the deed now done, I carry on. I am surprised the first couple of days. I am strangely calm, even peaceful.


Saturday comes and the old feelings from years gone by return, this terrible yearning, this missing, this longing for my son.


I am not sure how to process this. This feeling of tears waiting in the wings. The restlessness, the anxiety, the worry. I wonder how he is? I wonder what he is doing?


I remember guidance given. Do not fight the feelings. Do not deny them. Do not judge them. So I attempt to ride it out, surfing the board of surging emotion. I crash through the waves, then right myself. Up and down I go...balance, fall, get up, balance again.


I go up to my room, lie on my bed. I put the relaxation/mindfulness CD on. Pull the blankets up, cover my eyes, breathe deeply, slowly – in and out, in and out. My body is tight, contained, it lets the breathing beat a rhythm, but it is slow to let go, to unwind. Still, I lie there, concentrate on the words- the reassurance, the calm quiet voice. The phrases repeat, the music is soft, leisurely...there is the sound of birds, of water trickling. It is not enough to unwind the tight spring inside of me, but it is a start. Later when I go to bed for the night, I will do this again.


I have no idea how this will all resolve itself. The way ahead is unclear and this is frightening to me.


I like to know where I am going and how I will get there. I feel snail-like, inching forward.


Head-down I sniff the ground...like a puppy, I search for clues that tell what is coming, what to do next.


The fog is thick, mist closing in around me. There appears to be no map. Part of me freezes, wants to stop, wants to go somewhere familiar and not come back to this reality. I blink back the wetness that hovers behind the retina.


The uncertainty is nasty, like bitter medicine.


What is this illusion anyway, that can we control our lives, or that we can affect the outcome of the life of someone else.


Of course we hope for the best...but life has taught this lesson well– there are no guarantees. None.


I think this is what makes me panic. What fills me with dread.


Here faith approaches, it knocks. If I can crack the door, my fear as immense as it may be, will not overshadow me. If I can let that sliver of light pierce darkness, maybe, just, maybe, I can take the next step.


I need a hand to hold, someone to help force the door open. Someone to walk alongside of me. Because right now it feels too much to do alone.


I am reminded again, that He has promised to never leave me alone, never abandon me, never forsake me.


It is His presence that casts the shadow. The shadow of the Almighty blinds the future, for whatever it may hold cannot be borne ahead of time.


Grace, it comes, only moment by moment, step by step, breath by breath.


I grasp His hand, hang onto the hem of His garment.


Side by side, He walks this road with me. He will face the fear with me. Love me through fear thick as cement. He has promised, perfect love casts out fear. Love jackhammers, earthquakes fear open so another day can faced.


This is the only way I can go on.


Nov. 19, 2011

Death lives...

There is a house. It is bright, open, beautiful.


Then the storm comes. The windows are closed. Shutters drawn. The house closes. It is dark.


I go up to bed. Climb in, lay head down on ice pack, blankets pulled to chin, eyes covered...I bury myself deep, six feet under.


The worms crawl, maggots eat, flies buzz.


Death lives.


Nov.16, 2011


Night

How does one bear the unbearable? Fight the despair smothering breath?


What happens to the anger full and fuming?


My request, to wait, to get help before action was taken - this request, ignored, and if not ignored overridden.


What happens now to relationship? Mother to son. Son to mother. Husband to wife. Wife to husband.


How to find sunshine in this raven night?


How to throw off the weight of leaden blanket?


Exhaustion, massive and ponderous blights my day.


This relentless grief rips my soul. Shredded I am, only pieces left scattered.


Somehow, to carry on wounded by glass sharpened.


No easy answers. Just step by step.


Nov. 16/2011

Retreat

Advance, retreat.


Now, it feels like retreat. Everything, other activities, feel too much. Too much, much too much effort.


So for a while I'm going inward. Backing away. Staying away.


I'll see what tomorrow brings.


Now it is off to bed...


Is there respite in sleep. I do not know. I can only wait and see.


Nov 15/11

Sorrow

The sorrow claws at the back of my throat.


The tears cloak my eyes.


Though the sun is shining through the window and warming my back, my heart is dark and sad.


Ocean deep, oil mined, gushing from the depths of my soul this melancholy stains the blue of the water of my life with the slick black velvet of gloom.


I can find no relief.


I cry out - lift me, lift me up... hold me oh hold me till this night of my life passes into day. And oh, when, oh when, will the day come again. How long before we see light – white and pure?


Isn't it the cruelest thing to rob a child from its mother? Child -young or old how can a mother bear this terrible loss, this tearing of her heart?


If this is surrender then surrender is a wound that rips a soul in two.

If grain of wheat must fall into the ground and die then death is all I have.


Where is the resurrection? Where is the hope? The hope eternal. The hope that never stops singing at all. Where oh, life, where are you?


Why must I watch the crushing of all I hold dear be ground, powder so fine it gets into my eyes, my nose, grits my teeth.


I feel the panic rising, rushing over me. It is too much!


Please God, too much...stop, stop.


Bring that peace like a river because the sorrows are sea billows rolling and I am drowning!!!


I go down, come up gasping. Jesus, Help, oh, help. How can I bear this devastation?


Grace...that amazing grace...bring that grace to me...reach your Almighty hand before I go down into the depths and never return.


Help me, help me, please.

Letting go...

I am weary. Deeply so. The back of my eyes burn, shed and not shed, the tears there fallen and waiting to fall.


How can so much grief come from this well. Never worn dry. Never stopped up. Shadow - this grief follows me. In grief, I feel alone.


I get up in day, go through the motions. Do the things that are absolutely necessary. Go places, continue in the small groups, the studies, care for my home. I laugh, I talk, I carry on. Yet, a part of me has detached. This part processes, constantly processes. How can I do this thing. This separation. This ending.


The pain of it pulls me down, down, down. I am, also, angry. It angers me that every one agrees, that they think this thing must be, should be done.


My hands clutch, heart to self. How to rip out my heart. How to leave it there, beating on the ground.


I know I must open hands, must give this gift – give this child. I must let him go. Some days I see myself arms reaching out, screaming in panic. The world crusted hard shell, hard shell, steel around his heart. Unreachable by reason. He - locked in his own pain. Crushing it, or attempting to by picking up the bricks of habits that bash him repeatedly, leaving him wounded more, life just draining, draining away.


I cannot choose child from child. Somehow, I must. The one cannot suffer the deeds of the other.


All of us now, dis eased, broken. Husband, wife, child, child. The symmetry of family wildly out of whack.


Time and again, I have laid my Isaac on the altar. Time and again, I take him back. This I must do no longer.


Each time I, utterly sincere, lay my Isaac down. I look, search, for the ram. God will provide. He has promised.


In the abyss that is now my heart, I know the possibility. There are no guarantees. Death could come, through his own choice or through some other tragedy torn from headlines.


When I let him go, I free him, to bear his life. The life he has chosen. His choices, mine repudiated. He chooses his very own life.


When I let him go, I free him, to face God. To find his Creator. To accept or reject Him.


When I let him go, I free him, to hit bottom. I, cushion no more. Soft pillow to fall, removed.


When I let him go, I free him, to face reality. Home, that sheltered, even enabled. Home, no longer here.


I supplicate in anguish, agony, wailing, keening for mercy, for God to find this son. I, Hagar, now let this Ishmael go, lost in the desert. I am reminded, He, my God, is called ``El Roi``, the God who sees.

He the Alpha, the Omega. He knows, He sees, the beginning and the ending. He is the Great Shepherd, who leaves the ninety and nine and goes searching, searching for that one lost lamb.


Surely, the Shepherd of my soul and of his will find this lost and wounded lamb, lift him in His arms and bring him home. Home where he belongs, where ever, and when ever that will be....


He is who is Faithful, will do it - for He is not willing that any should perish but that all should come to repentance.


1 Thess. 5:24

2 Pet. 3:9



Forgiveness


Forgiveness, the big, little word.


One word. One word to freedom. One word to release. One word to break out of bitterness.


One word to let go of the pain, lance the wound. One word to bleed out all the darkness in the soul.


One word to unchain the prisoner. One word to unlock the shuttered windows. One word to bring white in the black of night.


Only one word.


Forgiveness, the big, little word.


Nov. 12,2011


Disconnect

Lately I have been feeling disconnected. Only a few friends. Lonely. Unloved.


It is not a pleasant feeling.


I have always made friends easily, but have also had a few experiences where friendship has been the knife that has cut me, wounded me deeply. So, now only of late, I do not rush in, I do not reach out.


And my life lately has been chaotic, full of tension. It is a time of examining my life, my relationships and my soul.


A lot of work. Hard slugging. Peeling away the layers and finding the self that has been buried there for sometime. The person, who has left some things untended, unfinished - even perhaps unrealized. Discovery is made and this self must face these discoveries. This self must begin the work that brings healing, change, wholeness.


The affect is far reaching and involves decisions that are heart-wrenching. Soul smouldering. Grief rendering.


And to do this alone. Although, strictly speaking this is not true. I have shared, do share my life, my challenges, my anguish- openly, freely with friends, with husband, with small group, but here, there seems to be some disconnect again. A look of standing back, of wondering. This could be my imagination, my over-sensitivity to the almighty, “what are people thinking of me.:” But it exists for me so I must find some way to sift it, flour through the sifter; softer may thoughts come through, the thoughts, gentler, kinder to myself and by extension to others.


The counsellor becomes the safe place. The place to emote, to vent, to rend the truth from the lie. The place to find a beginning for all that must be begun again. No judgement here she says. In her I find mercy and a firm pointing to freedom, to a God who really does love me, infinitely, completely, adoringly.

Before God, with the counsellor's help, I wrestle the demons of enmeshment, of

co-dependence. I pry apart the connections that are unhealthy, cloying, smothering.


Ah, maybe this is why I am feeling all this disconnection. Maybe, in taking away the unhealthy connections I am unsure where the true and good connections really are? Maybe this is where this deep aching loneliness comes from. From ties that bind me to people and things that I should not be bound to.


I know intellectually, that true companionship, true relationship comes from God and Him alone. But this is frightening, terrifying really. To have true connection with God and Him alone, to depend totally and completely upon Him - this is territory that is newly mapped for me. I have known all of my life that He has been there with me, for me. But to have Him make me complete? Here is where I stumble, fall face first into the dust and gravel, feel the bite of dirt in my teeth.


He has not in reality left me without friends, husband, or family. However, He has moved me into a place where these cannot be my security, my sole connections.


How I find my footing on this new ground, I am not sure? But of this I am sure...the journey has begun, and now I must search for the love that is found in freedom, not gripped and tightly held in fists fighting separation. Hands must open, hold up gifts of family, friendship - palms up and out.


A verse, long known, yet given fresh tonight, brings gentle, fulsome, encircling love to me...His love-speak to me, “Behold I have engraved you on the palms of My hands.” Isaiah 49:16 ESV. In His hands I am tightly held. Secure. Connected. Always, eternally loved. While I must lightly hold the gifts He has given me, He will never, ever let me go...never leave me or forsake me. I am held - tenderly, strongly, in His Almighty, Everlasting Arms.


Nov. 10, 2011


Night Pain

The middle of the night. I am deep in the harbour of sleep. Pain crashes through the barriers, attacks, awakens me. I moan soft in the dark, toss and turn, reach down and turn on the heating pad. The warmth, sweet warmth offers no respite, no relief. I am drenched in the wave of pain. Drowning in its grip. It is merciless and I recoil from it.


I pull my legs up to my chest, furl into myself. It does not help. I press pillow between my legs to cushion the blow of pain relentlessly twisting my insides. I roll over to my stomach, go into Child's Pose, here too, no lifting, no fading of pain.


I gasp out to husband the pain I am in. Sleepily, lovingly, he mutters words, I'm so sorry he says. The words are kind and I wish words could eradicate this agony. But they cannot.


Hours pass, sleep has fled. I am utterly wretched. Eventually, thankfully, the pain crests, rolls away, its sharpness no longer pressing into me. I rest awhile.


When I awake to day I am exhausted, worn. This day is to me, for me, now lost.


I come downstairs, take the dog out, eat something. Daughter comes down. We greet the day. Yet, I am too tired, too pain-wracked to engage.


I wander upstairs, crawl, weary-like back into my bed. This place that offered no refuge last night, this softness, this warmth I retreat to, burrow deep, drift away.


Day wends it way. It darkens early. We put the clocks back last night. It is Sunday and it feels strange. No worship. No words. No friends to hug. No stories to listen to. Yet, this is my day. Another day will come and I will again “do” the day.


Oldest child, son, sleeps the day. For him the night is day. This saddens me.


Husband and daughter pass the day together, play together, their bond strengthens today. And this heartens me.


Another Sunday, we will together go, worship, sing, pray. Really, this we can do every day. Sleep-swept or rest-risen. We can worship.


I think back the day just passed in this quiet as now I write.


Every day, God-given. Whether sun-soaked or rain-drenched. Whether pain-filled, and empty of activity. Whether, busy and productive.


Every. Single. Day. God. Gives.


Every. Day. He Gives Grace....


Every. Single. Day.




Nov 6 ,2011


Soul Brave

I have been reading Ann Voskamp. Her book – One Thousand Gifts; her blog – A Holy Experience. I am awed, inspired, intimidated, even ashamed.


Her challenge to journal, be “soul brave” awakens me yet again, as had my nieces words a while back quoting Henri Nowen and his challenge to share our stories.


The worth of my story. This I had of late questioned. The tremendous excavation of soul and spirit I have been undergoing. This would, and does, and will, require bravery. To share words.


Honest words. Words, balloon-swollen with vulnerability, bursting with pain. Splashed even with joy. Words revealing - me...imperfect me, hurting me, insecure me, hidden me. Real me. Not the sometime put together person I show the world. But the person - struggling, striving, yearning.


The person – learning, growing, suffering. The person, weak, afraid, strong. The person – open, closed, wanting to give self – to world...


I would show my heart. The heart that longs to love and love well. The heart that wants to love God and my family, and beyond family, my fellow-man.


The roller coaster ups and the downs. The ins and the outs. The serene and the shattered.


l begin again. My story.


Nov 7,2011