Wednesday, November 30, 2011
Love brought to me...
Story
Tuesday, November 29, 2011
Rain of the Soul
Piled up
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
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
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
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
Pain and Grace
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 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
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
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?
Dear Child
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...
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