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.

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...

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.

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.

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.

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.

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

How Many...

How many times can a heart be broken?

Over and over and over again.

Grief

I am overwhelmed with misery. Grief, a vacuum cleaner, is sucking away at me from my toes to mouth. I want to wail, flail and cry and weep.

My niece is desperately ill. Fighting, literally, for her very life.

My son who is "healthy" is sliding deeper and deeper into the pit of alcoholism faster than a seal sliding down slick ice.

I want to turn on him and scream at him at the top of my lungs with all the rage and vitriol in my soul, "what the hell are you doing???????, why oh, why are you flushing your life down the toilet when your cousin is battling for hers???????? I want to throw plates and glasses on the floor, smash them into smithereens!!!!!!!

I hate the fact that she is suffering, that the pain is eating away at her...I HATE it!!!

I can't stand it that I am helpless, that there appears to be absolutely nothing that I can do to halt or affect either situation. Like a two year old I want to throw myself on the floor and kick and scream!!!!! Stop, stop, stop......

My hubby, daughter and I huddled in the kitchen this morning clutching at each other and crying, praying and begging, yes, begging, pleading for mercy for my sweet niece. It is inconceivable to me the pain that my brother and his wife and other daughters must be in if this is how I am feeling....I long, again, to be able to do something for them, anything to help assuage their hurt.

There are things that I do, do, of course, but it does not seem even close to adequate....

When I stop my frenetic fretting, I hear the whisper of God saying to me, "Let me be God to those you love..." but quite frankly right now I want to yell at Him and say, "but You're not doing enough....for God's sake, for Your sake, oh God, oh God, make it better....now...please....."

I do believe that God weeps with us but right now I want Him to do more than that, I want action, the action that I want...I know that I may be terribly shortsighted and that it is awfully arrogant of me to boss the God of the universe around, but today I can't help it....

And I do believe He knows my helpless fury and loves me in it, around it and through it...

I do fiercely cling to hope...both for my niece and for my son...

Hope is the raft that I am floating on in this ocean in the midst of this raging, roaring storm.

It is all that I have.

Too Young

My son's friend, a young man of only 22, was stabbed to death last weekend.

It's past three a.m., sonny boy just home from the viewing. I am downstairs awake and getting an ice pack for my aching head when he comes in.

My son's grief is palpable. The fumes of his anguish fill the room. The liquor of his sorrow oozes from his pores. His morphine, "the drink," does actually very little to sooth him. The pain, a monster that swallows him whole, takes him to a dark place.

As his mother, I stand back, helpless, largely to give him comfort. I murmur soft words, hug him, gently touch his head. I can only point him towards that One who bears our griefs and carries ours sorrows, but he must approach this Man of Sorrows, I cannot take him there.

I think of his friend's mother, and my mind flees in horror from all she must be
feeling.

Reflexively, selfishly, I keen a silent prayer, for my son. Oh Jesus, keep him safe, keep him safe, sweet Jesus, keep him safe.

Each day, I know, is a gift we are given. Sometimes, cruelly, life is snatched and brutally cut short.

Absent of sleep now, I pray long and low for those in my son's friend's family who face this unbearable loss. I pray for mercy, for comfort, for strength, for grace upon grace.

This young man, was too young, just too young to die.

Family Ties

I love my family.

The times we are together something inside me jumps for joy. The ties of love grow and change.

The nieces and nephews, are now mostly married or partnered up, some have children of their own. These "children" (my nieces and nephews) now adults, the ones into whom I've poured my love and have always delighted in...they are sweet and so very special.

My brothers, greying...one thin and tired looking, the other expansive and booming. Yet, both so very loved.

My sister far away from us, (in another province), she leaves a hole in the wholeness of the day. I miss her, pine for her, even. Yet, her distance is a given. The times we have actually together...few and sometimes years apart. Still, the bond between us - unbreakable.

I celebrate these ties, these connections and I am thankful for them.

Happy morning

Some days are blessed with happy laughter, family jokes and the warmth of affection ...this morning we had all of this. And it was precious.

My mind snapshots these moments, freeze frames them in my memory... then stores them.

Later I can take them out gloat over them, and revel in the luxury of this time when we felt that mystical oneness of family.

And so I am thankful.

Shhh...

Hushed, this moment. Quiet this night.

Black falls the curtain, white shines the light. The stars, pin-pricks sparkling. The moon, a saucer bright.

Drink deeply of the softness, breathe in the liquid peace.

Hushed is this moment. Quiet is this night.

Last day

I've been thinking about Sasha our sweet dog, who we had to say goodbye to a couple of weeks ago...and I've been thinking of what is like to know it was her last day with us as a family. How we all gravitated to the living room...each of us quietly doing our own thing...then in turn we would get up and go over to her...lie down beside her...pat her...bury our faces in our fur...whisper words of love and of longing to her. Words, which I'm sure comforted us as much as they comforted her...

These moments were precious, they are memories that we hold up to our hearts like blankets to sooth our souls when we are missing her gentle presence with us.

Then I was thinking, what would it be like if I knew it was my "last day"...or the last day of someone who I loved more than words can ever adequately express.

I was drawn back in time to the week and days just prior to the day my father died. The days before my mother died. How I miss them both...so very, very much. Each experience was so very, different. Dad died from heart troubles, fully cognizant, knowing the who, the why and the what. He had humour, gentle graciousness and he fought death tooth and nail. He would not give up, he would not give in. Even though we told him it was O.K., even though we released to his Heavenly Father's care. He was focussed on the now, and his love and his yearning for his family evident in his last words..."I love you all...tell my grandchildren I love them"... Then at last, failing, he turns towards my Mom, "Con, Con," he cries out. Then he breathes his last. We are heart-stricken, gently touching him, saying our good byes to the shell left, the father we had loved so very, very much. This last touch is powerful, poignant and utterly devastating. It is the final contact with this beloved man, our dad... daddy, daddy, how I miss you...

Mom had dementia, and this was tragic, horrible and pitiful. We lost her over the years by inches...slowly, agonizingly slowly. Her last days were ignoble, she was skeletal, incontinent, barely able to communicate...How we grieved the loss of this busy, productive, loving woman...I think in many ways she left her body before she died. The shell existing long past the essence of who she was had disappeared. Sick in body, that last day, (I had a vicious migraine), and sick at heart I went home to rest for a wee bit. I left Mom with my sister and sister-in-law who oh so gently and sweetly held her: and who murmured soft, loving words to her. Then Mom took her last breaths, and body and soul at last at one, ran into the arms of Jesus. Shortly after that we all gathered around her and again the litany of touch, the deep sorrow of final good byes. So often, so very often my heart cries out for "mom", "I want my mommy," I will say...missing her, her tender touch...her practical hands on help, just missing her...

So, I guess I'm saying if you know, you'll be there...hunkering down for the long haul, being there till the last possible moment. Soaking in whatever is left of that beloved one, turning them over to Jesus, and yes, oh yes, hanging on till you absolutely have to let them go...

And if you don't know??? Then you try with all that is within you to love well, to love now, to live each day intentionally, to keep, if you can, your quarrels short, to forgive as fully and completely as possible, to, as the James Taylor song says, "shower the people you love with love." And to, so very importantly, forgive yourself, on the days when you do none of the above well...Because we just do not know do we? And human beings are supremely the best at self-recrimination (at least I know I am) and death can be so abrupt, so sudden, so cruel and quick. Death seems so very, very final when we forget eternity. Besides eternity feels so very eternal on this side of heaven when you are missing someone you have loved and lost.

So gather your life and put it on like your favourite dress or suit and reach for the people you love - and live and love until that last day comes...

Fractured

Some days are better than others.

Some days it feels like I am splitting apart. Sense and nonsense. Round and round go my thoughts, chasing one another like a dog chasing its tail.

I am trying to retrain my brain...to think, to re-frame my circumstances, my feelings, my identity. It is hard work.

It feels like I am skiing...only I am trying to ski backwards and uphill.

Some days are tortured by insecurity, of not being adequate enough. I beat myself up, either I have not accomplished enough in my practical everyday life or I have not performed the mental gymnastics necessary to change/alter the way I am thinking. This does not help.

What helps, is, actually, thinking different thoughts. It is interior re-programming. The self-talk changes. Feeds on truth. Soaks up cheer. It is faith for the moment. Replace one thought, then the next and so on. It is finding a "mantra" and pressing the play button. It is affirming and life-giving.

It is being aware that wholeness is a lifelong procedure and process. It is allowing myself to fail, and then to begin again the next day. It is knowing the truth. I am loved. I am valued. I am precious to God. I can do and be all things or do nothing at all and be/still have love and value.

It is knowing that struggle and growth, this cocooning metamorphosis is common to humankind. That there is no sense in pretending that I am always "all together." Sometimes it is better to fall apart and then get up tomorrow and start putting the pieces back together. Painstaking as it may be, this is the work.

Fractured, and then healing. Onward I go.

Goodbye is the Hardest Word

This past Wednesday we bid farewell to our sweet and gentle Sasha. She was part collie and part Siberian Husky. She was beautiful in body and in temperament.

We have spent 13 years together. She has given us moments of delight, moments of pure comfort, moments of fun and laughter.

A true companion, playmate for our kids, walking buddy for my hubby. For me, she provided a listening ear, hours of company, a gentle loving presence.

Because she was remarkably pretty, she always drew compliments from people when she would be out on a walk.

Those soulful brown eyes, so sad if we would have to go out and leave her by herself. Yet, also, upon our return, the happy greeting, wagging of tail and kisses for us.

I'll never forget our son's expression, for whom we bought Sasha, the first time he laid eyes on her. The delight, the bliss, the pure unadulterated happiness. Truly, a boy's best friend. Now, 20, the boy, now a man, still passionately connected to this sweet creature. The boy/man weeps tears of loss. Poignant, deep is his sorrow.

Our daughter, has never known life without Sasha's presence. So, she looses too, her "little sister", her furry keeper of childhood secrets. Her tears too, ocean deep.

The chapter turns. This part of the story over.

Sad and final.

New day

Quietly, I sit soaking in the moments of this new day.

The sun pours in my kitchen window, lemon warmth, and bright. The sky a soft haze of blue: wispy, the clouds streak lazily hushing the brilliance of the day.

I take this gift, a moment of peace. Breathe deeply of this solace.

This day stretches out before me, it will unfold like silken material from a bolt of fabric. Unsure, as always of what this day will hold, I am grateful for this time. I reflect with gratitude on all that is rich and good in my life...I hug these thoughts closely.

A new day.

I go forward to greet the possibilities.

Growing Soul

How do you grow a soul???

A flower opening, petal by petal....or is it an onion....layers peeling away, one by one...

What is down there? In there? How do I get to it? Explore it, learn from it, change it?

Do the tears I weep water it?

Do the hurts I feel warp it or do the hurts provide the fuel to warm myself on a cold night?

Can I escape from the violence of emotion enfolding me, chasing me?

Or do I stop, turn full on, and embrace all that haunts me, taunts me.

How do you grow a soul?

Do you examine it? Get the microscope out? Or step back and look at "the big picture."?

Do you dance in the moment and laugh with glee???

How do you put the pieces of puzzle together? Bright sky here. Dark clouds, here. Riotous color of garden, here. Rain shower, here. Piercing warmth of the sun, here.

How do you grow a soul?

Breathe deep of life, face the agony, revel in joy...refuse, however tempting it may sometimes be, to invert, close up, shut down.

How do you grow a soul?

One step. Just one step. At a time.

Begin again.

Your words like acid
burn my skin.

I reel back, breath knocked out,
a balloon pin-pricked.

It is I think the accumulation
of years of anger.

It is also years of hurt,
one brick of scathing words upon another.

Later, you apologize and I
forgive.

Yet still we are two people locked in
their own prisons of pain.

How to move forward?
Release the anguish...

Another day comes
Fresh with possibilities.

Each day filled with choices
that I must make.

Today will I walk toward
you with an open hand?

Heart-wounded, yet so very
full of the deepest love.

I turn to the One,
beaten, scorned, spit upon.

There my example
stands, full of mercy.

I, the one who in my turn
scorned, and spit upon You.

Yet You, always, with arms open,
take me in, wrap in me Love.

How can I then not
do the same?

Beloved, this one who
hurt me.

I choose to love, move
on, move past.

I choose a new beginning,
push through the barriers.

I take you in, I wrap you
in my love, faulty though it is.

And so I carry on,
reaching for you, not turning away.

Broken and bruised
yet always hoping, healing will come.

Attentiveness

I just read the most amazing article.

One of my friends posted it on Facebook. It is called the "Aesthetics of Attentiveness" and it is about a woman who survived a heart attack at 49 years old. She is an art Professor.

Here are the parts that struck me:

"For a year, recovering was Erica’s sole occupation. “Your body doesn’t allow you to do anything,” she explains. “For months I would simply follow the sun through the house and sit in patches of sunlight. I can’t tell you how infrequently in my life I’ve sat in the sun on the porch.”

A woman accustomed to tackling any task presented to her by sheer dint of will, Erica initially resisted such an abrupt stop — attempting to go in to work or to paint. But, she found, “My body let me know on no uncertain terms — as one realizes when one’s pregnant — that there are bodily limitations. I learned the degree to which I needed to listen to my body and how much I had really stopped doing so.” Upon order of her doctor, Erica spent those 12 months paying attention — to her body, to the beauty of life and nature, and to every small, ordinary moment. “It was a process of listening and prayer. I learned that there is no such thing as the mundane, for one thing. I learned how incredibly beautiful every gesture is; to take nothing for granted — no day, no set of eyes — everything is a gift; to trust circumstances that God places you in; and to listen.”

Here Erica pauses in her storytelling. Emotion bubbles to the surface and her vibrant eyes turn glassy as she considers, “It was a year of realizing that we are surrounded at every moment by indescribable beauty, and unfathomable suffering, and profound joy.”

When a colleague gave Erica 30 sheep-skins, she resolved to make parchment from them, filming the process and integrating it into her artmaking. The process of shearing the skins, says Erica is not unlike healing from her heart attack: “It felt like an inward shearing and culling—stripping layers that were unnecessary, in order to become more real.”

This attentiveness, she explains, referencing the philosophers Simone Weil and Iris Murdoch, is the first step in living a moral life. It is essential in honing our ability to hear and see God in daily life — to deepen our prayer and meditation. Being attentive to things outside of ourselves moves us beyond what she calls ‘solipsistic self-preoccupation’. Without paying attention, she says, “we only live on the surface and don’t ever become who we are fully intended to be. We can never be honest or self aware.”"

As a person who has suffered from a chronic illness most of my adult life and has also developed as couple of other health problems, this article was stunningly encouraging to me. For years I had felt bad about being "sick", guilty even, like I was spoiling other people's lives or ruining their good times. This simply is not true. I did not pick the conditions I have and I certainly have sought all kinds of help to control them. But, I have always pushed myself...tried to keep on going, put on an act, or took medication that would enable me at the very least to show up in many of life's moments.

In the past few months, however, I have been paying "attention", respecting and honoring my limitations. Listening to my body. Stopping. Laying down if I have to... and it really has made a difference. There is less actual time lost to these various conditions. I have learned the value of empathy, compassion, quietness. I have learned to be grateful when I am well. I am learning to be happier (on ongoing project), to be content. Like Erica says, "we are surrounded by indescribable beauty, and unfathomable suffering and profound joy."

Also, as a stay at home Mom, I found Erica's word's "there is no such thing as the mundane...how incredibly beautiful every gesture is; to take no thing for granted - no day - no set of eyes - everything is a gift; to trust the circumstances that God places you in; and to listen." - this was so uplifting to me. As a Mom, so much of life seems repetitive, and mundane, yet, indeed, each moment is rich with meaning, and each moment a gift I'm given - to work in, to live in, to celebrate and yes, at times painful and full of suffering.

As Erica says, as we pay attention, we become more "real", more self-aware and more able to be all that we are intended to be, limitations notwithstanding!

So I am thankful today. For this day, with the sun shining, for this day, with its attendant pain, for this day, for all the people who mean so much to me. For this day, because it is gift.

I lift up my cup, I toast my life...

Thank you, God, for all it...for all the joy of loving, for all the pain of suffering, for all the rich lessons I am learning.

Thank you.

P.S.

Here is a link to the entire article I have referenced -

The Aesthetics of Attentiveness | Issue No. 18 - Trinity Western Magazine

www.twu.ca

Part of Happiness...Feel what you feel even if it's not what you want to feel...

So, I am struggling.

I am being bombarded by hormonal torture....flung about on an emotional roller coaster, screamingly down, whipped around the corner and then up, up into the air, then down, down, down...UGH!

My husband thinks (here I'm guessing, but am probably correct) that someone has kidnapped his formerly cheerful wife and replaced her with a Hormonal Hag... This periomenopause, menopause thing is awful!

My struggle is to overcome this and to continue to maintain an attitude of cheerfulness. Shoot, who needs the pressure of "if mama ain't happy ain't nobody happy." I am wishing that others would pitch in and help me out. Someone help. Please.

The relief comes from knowing that part of happiness is to "feel what you feel even if it's not what you want to feel." So, I have to accept this ride I'm taking, hormonal bursts of hell, but goodness gracious, I do not want to drown in this black sea of moodiness.

So, I scrape myself up off of the ground, vent occasionally and verbosely to a good friend, mutter under my breath all sorts of yuckiness and then give myself a good shake and get silly!

Get silly, get silly, ya, ya, ya.

I have discovered that when you get silly, you can get happy or at the very least happier than you were!

So, I burst out in operatic song, do a little dance, shake my bootie and just generally act up...it's great therapy and I highly recommend it.

So, dear husband and sweet daughter, I hope you find it in your heart's to forgive the Hormonal Hag her agonies and go on loving and putting up with me while I try to navigate this ocean of uncertainty. I do love you both immensely and completely and maybe we can all work together to keep our home a "happy one."

It is a circle you know the attitude, adjust it, adjust it, adjust it...round and round we go. Each time we circumvent the circle the more we are able to decide that just for the next moment and the next, and the next, we will choose...to smile and to be....yes, you got it, happy.

Happiness project continued...boundaries...permeability and nit picking night and day...

Well, last Sunday, we had what I have come to call more "adventures."

How I see my life, affects how I react to the situations in my life and thus affects my "happiness quotient."

The day started in the wee hours of the morning, around say 4 a.m., the phone rang. Perhaps by now if you are regular reader of this blog you will know or perhaps guess who that phone call was from??? Yes, it was my sonny boy. He was distressed, he and his girlfriend had broken up. She had apparently broken up with him and he was dislodged in the literal sense of the word. Could I pick him up later in the morning he wondered? I agreed.

I crawled back into bed and began a litany...Oh, God, oh God, oh God...what am I going to do??? What are we going to do??? Do I have to put my son on the streets? Can I realistically offer him sanctuary??? What will hubby think when he wakes up in the morning???? I repeated my litany, a prayer in every sense of the word, oh God, oh God, oh God...help me...help us.

Funnily enough, I eventually fell back to sleep. The phone rang again about 7:30 a.m. I answered and then off I went to pick him up. He was exhausted and very unhappy.

He was greeted enthusiastically by our little girl. Oh how his sister loves him... Hubby was still in bed, perhaps he was digesting this turn of events while he lay there.

In a while the three of us ended up on the deck talking about his situation, his feelings, his circumstances, his conundrum. We gave him our ear...hubby asked some pointed questions which were received with some hostility. Thankfully, hubby realized the state sonny boy was in and backed off with the questions and offered a sounding board and affection. This made me so very glad. We are learning all of us, the delicate art of reading one another, and of responding in a way that builds bridges and not walls.

Step-parenting has been I think for my husband, a bit like walking on jagged glass and only time and developing wisdom has made the path paved with gravel at least and maybe even smooth paving some days and moments. I am immensely proud of my husband and his consistent efforts to be a better person, husband, step-father and dad.

After some more time, it is now only my hubby and myself who sit on the deck. Now the really big question comes. Can we give sonny boy some time to get on his feet I ask hubby, breath held, my motherly heart aching with all the complications of navigating loyalty to my husband and loyalty to my son.

Open-hearted, to my great relief and to my delight he agrees. Carefully, we construct boundaries. This is dangerous ground for both of us, we know the powder-keg that exists within my son's present make-up, his volatility, his changes of mood, the potential chaos that lurks under the surface of my dear son's hurts and how they have played out in the past. We love him desperately, deeply, yet we must not allow our home to become what we have fought long and hard for it to be...a place where there is peace and cooperation.

I saw a picture on one of my niece's blog's recently. It was absolutely adorable. It showed her son peeking out from behind a baby gate and the caption read, "keeping the little man safe." In that moment as I looked at the picture and the notation, it crystallized and formed an incredibly poignant word picture. The baby gate is a boundary for my niece's son and it's purpose is to keep him safe. The baby gate also protects my niece and her husband. With the baby safely within that boundary, they are safe from the dangers that may accost their son and from consequences for both their baby and for themselves. The boundary protects both the child and the parents.

So it is with the boundaries I place in my life and in the lives of my children. They keep us safe. If we feel the need, we can tighten the boundaries, make them more solid. If however, we feel safe and know that or hope/believe there is the possibility for change/growth, we can choose to make the boundaries more permeable.

One day my niece and her husband will not have to have baby gates, they will trust their boy with boundaries that increase as he grows and matures.

So, we presented our son with our list...offered him temporary sanctuary that could possibly, we said, become more permanent if there was compliance and we could all get along. He agreed. They were not easy things we asked, but he is an adult now and they were reasonable.

As the day wound on, he later called his girlfriend and they "made up."

We had suspected this would happen and supported him, still giving him the option to be here if he needed to be.

During the day, there was some bouncing back forth in the decision making process for him but eventually he settled that he would be her and we left it at that.

I was so very, very glad that we were able to offer him an open door, that he could hold that in his heart and remember that always, always, he is loved, he is wanted. Boundaries would have to exist- but we were here, he belongs and it is his choice that he is where he is now.

In the midst of this we get a phone call from our daughter's friend's mother. Her daughter has lice and since my child and hers just had a sleepover at their place a few days earlier we had better do a head check.

Much to our distress, sure enough sweet cheeks, has it. The dreaded lice.

The battle begins, loads and loads and loads and loads of laundry. Vacuuming of beds, and furniture is done. Bags and bags of stuffed animals and extraneous bedding is bagged and sealed to suffocate the little buggers. And the hunt for lice - the nit-picking begins. A tedious, unpleasant, long task takes place, again, again and again.

We buy a special magnifying light. We are not as young as we used to be and our eyesight even with our glasses doesn't provide enough illumination for the task. We purchase a special shampoo. We research the internet and try not only the pesticide route but the natural cures as well. Olive oil, tea tree oil, Avon's skin so soft. Our daughter's head is doused with these solutions and then faithfully, combed out and picked, picked, picked. Nervously, we check each other's head, fingers, eyes and toes crossed hoping that we will not also be afflicted with these pernicious little beasts as well.

It is an exhausting process. We are not pleased by this turn of events, but we determine to look at the whole thing as an adventure. I tease our daughter that she is having her hair done at a spa, we make deliberate efforts to lighten up, to encourage one another when the task gets irksome and believe me, it does. We watch old movies and I Love Lucy so that our attention is diverted during the long nit-picking sessions and so that we can laugh, laugh, laugh.

Don't get me wrong, there has been some weeping and wailing and gnashing of teeth. But, we have decided that we will look for and on the bright side.

We have discovered that happiness is contagious. If one of us is cheerful, sooner or later everyone else in our home becomes happier.

I discovered another word picture as hubby and I were out on the deck drinking our after dinner tea. It had been raining on and off all day and as I looked over to my left, I saw some blue sky and some delicately wispy clouds. "Look at the beautiful sky," I said to my hubby. He was sitting in the other direction and said, "yes, but look at the sky over there." It was darker and more foreboding, the rain was gathering in the clouds. So, what would we do, focus on the beauty of the blue sky pushing the rains away, or focus on the darkness?

That has been our choice all this week.

I am happier when I focus on the good, and more dragged down when I see only the darkness.

So, I am working and at times, it really is work, on shifting my focus, changing my attitude.

I am choosing happiness.

My Happiness Project - Keys I've found to being happy even when you have difficult people in your life...

Well, it's been a couple of weeks since I've posted anything.

We've had vacation and that has been wonderful!

Now we're in the summer swing of things...lazy days, getting up, doing the work-out, heading out to play or to run errands or visit with friends and family...good days for the most part.

During my vacation and the over last few weeks I've been thinking about the difficult people in my life. People that I cannot divorce myself from because they are people whom I care about deeply, intensely and personally. You should probably know that in this discussion I am not referring to my husband as a "difficult" person. We have certainly had our agonizingly rough times and I'm sure we've considered each other difficult at one time or another. We have, however, recognized the value of our love and commitment to each other and with hard work, counseling from time to time, lots of prayer and tips from respected people in our lives, persevered, and are at the present enjoying a relatively smooth relationship.

There are then, certain people whom I find difficult in my life. They are a continuous challenge to me and ceasing to see them at is not an option. So what do I do about them?

In my pondering I've come up with four steps that I have found helpful to me. These steps are really a result of years of trial and error and or counseling, but I think I've finally put together things that are a real and practical help to me. In my search for happiness, I've come to learn that people cannot be relied upon solely for my moment to moment happiness. Certainly, being with friends and family can bring immense satisfaction and pleasure, but then there are other times that well...what I think and what I do directly affects my happiness in relation to how I feel about a particular person or situation.

So here goes...

#1 - Accept the person as they are. It's a big job, but vital. I cannot change that person; nothing I say or do can alter someone else. Any change must ultimately come from the other person's inner motivation to change or some supernatural working of God on that person's life. I need to stop talking, crying, coaxing, wheedling, whining or attempting to manipulate. Period. In acceptance lies peace, an inner letting go. As the saying goes "Let go and let God." And by the way, I'm also trying to give up trying coax, plead, whine and attempt to direct God. The "let God" part is recognizing as C.S. Lewis puts it that God is "not tame." He is Incomprehensible, Sovereign and wholly Mysterious.

#2 - Forgive that person. If you have a difficult person in your life you know what I mean. If they're difficult, it means you've in all likelihood sustained considerable hurt at their hands. I need to release that person from any grudge I hold against them. I've heard it said that bitterness is the poison pill that kills you not the person who hurt you. If I don't forgive, I become bitter...trust me, I know. Bitterness destroys happiness! It destroys me. It sours my outlook on life. It brings depression and gloom. When I forgive someone who has hurt me, I open my heart to the possibility that they may someday change, it leaves me free to love them in a way that liberates me. Forgiveness gives me the power to look ahead and not to fixate on the past. It is important for me to remember that forgiveness does not mean giving the other person the right to continue to inflict pain upon me. I'll address that in my fourth point.

#3 - Change my attitude toward that person. I will determine to cease to let that other person control my days, my happiness, or my ultimate satisfaction with my everyday circumstances. Yes, they may say or do hurtful things, but I can and will choose my reaction to them. I will not give that other person the power to make me feel miserable for longer than it takes me to process their actions. I will be grateful for all the good things and people in my life. I will not let one person kill my joy. I will find things to be "glad" about. I will determine to adjust my thoughts to focus on the positive things in my life and not on the pain. Of course I will grieve, cry, vent when I need to, but I will not "live" there.

#4 - I will set up the appropriate boundaries so that I can maintain physical, emotional, and spiritual safety. This is an extremely important step. A counselor once said to me that we teach other people how to treat us. This was shocking to me but it was sadly true. For example, if get up early to drive my son to work, make him a good breakfast and he throws it out the car window because it wasn't just right and then get up the next morning and make him breakfast again what am I teaching him? I'm teaching him it's O.K. to be rude, ungrateful etc. etc. So, I need to say the next day I'm not making your breakfast today because...then walk away, not engage in any other conversation about it. It's never O.K. for someone to be physically, emotionally, verbally or spiritually abusive to me. I should not tolerate that or accept it as normal. I need to set up boundaries to protect myself from these kinds of interactions. Often we need help doing that. I've gotten help, please if anyone reading this suffers in this way, call a counselor, get some help. In learning to do so my self-respect has grown. I do not need to be any-body's victim. I can set boundaries in place so that I can relate to people who are difficult yet with whom I intend to be in relationship so that I can be safe!

These four steps have helped me recently more than once and I'm sure they will be of help to me again. They are steps that have in fact increased my overall happiness and for that I am grateful.

I have made some incredibly agonizing decisions in my life to ensure my physical, emotional and spiritual well-being. I divorced my first husband. I have had to ask my beloved son to live somewhere else (for reasons so very complicated and complex). I have left a church that was not healthy. I have had to hang up the phone when someone was cursing at me, leave a restaurant just before the dinner arrived, call the police, on and on it goes.

Yet, each time I do these things I become stronger, more sure of who I am called to be. I am woman, loved and valued by God. I have many people in my life who make happiness easy and those who do not. I am, however, determined to be a person who is happy. A person who meets life's challenges head-on. A lover of life and people, someone who inspires others to be the best that they can be. Someone who inspires others to be...happy....even when there are difficult people to deal with.