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.

Holiday Happiness - Happiness Project-better late than......

I am late in writing this because we have been on vacation...

Now THIS is happiness...the sun, the sea, the ones I love (well some of them anyways), a perfect setting, delectably delicious food. No cooking for me or any other home-type responsibilities...what a lovely break.

I am not complaining, I enjoy being who I am (for the most part), and my life work, taking care of family and home and connecting with the community through my responsibilities at church are all things that are a good fit for me.

But I am loving this break. And this vacation is such a departure from the ones we usually take that it is pure delight.

We are sitting in the sun, reading our books. Zipping around the lake on the seadoo wind blowing in our hair. Paddling in the paddle boat with my little girl. Slicing through the water, feeling the cool refreshment lapping around our skin like gentle caresses. I don't have to think AT ALL about meals, or laundry or the packing and unpacking everything from linens, to food, to clothing, to medicines, etc., etc., etc.... We brought only clothes and swimsuits, just what we need to play in and we are fun, fun, fun.

I learned on day one that attitude is everything...the weather started out a bit iffy...but with gratefulness in mind and a determination to enjoy my holiday, it was like the attitude translated into the weather and everything became the loveliness I had wished for.

So, sometimes happiness just is...everything is the way we dreamed it would be.

I know that there will be storms ahead, that perfection is really just a myth, but for today, I am enjoying the bliss of now...and I am very...happy.

Happiness Project - What happened today...

I was planning on writing about another stair on the rung of my happiness ladder, but something has happened today. So, I am going to tell you about it and what I learned from it.

This morning I was in bed, the fog of sleep surrounding me, the light gently pouring in through the blinds, I was just barely on the cusp of wakefulness when I heard the phone ringing. It was still early, but there was an urgency in me when I heard the ring. I jumped out of bed ran down the stairs to grab the phone before it stopped. I got it.

On the phone his voice thick with gruffness was my son. He was calling from the hospital he said. He had been jumped and beaten up and had been in the hospital all night. Could I pick him up??? He was in the Oshawa Hospital. I tried to question him, did he know where exactly he was in the hospital so I would know where to get him? He didn't know, or seem to be clear at all, muffled curses streamed from his mouth. I said of course I would come. I was strangely calm.

I ran upstairs to quickly dress and wake up hubby to tell him I was going to the hospital. I also called some of my friends, for support and for their prayers.

I went to the hospital. They didn't have any record of him being there. They checked two more hospitals in the area, no one by my son's name. No John Doe's of his age or description. A coldness gripped my heart. I fought back the panic.

I went outside to make some calls on my cell. I called hubby, asked him to call the Scarborough hospitals. I called my son's girlfriend's house where he is presently staying. I am on their not favorite list now, so they did not pick up - but I left a message relaying the situation and desperately begging them to call me back it they had any information at all. A minute or so later his girlfriend's mother called me. She said they had had a message from my ex-husband that my son was in Toronto Western Hospital, I thanked her and called my hubby to call them and confirm that that was indeed where he was. And he was there. Not too long after that my son called, wondering where I was...I think he must have been concussed and confused when he called me the first time. I assured him I would come and get him.

I called my girlfriend and made arrangements for our daughter. I didn't know what condition our son would be in and didn't want her to be upset any more than she already would be knowing that he had been hurt. Thank God for my friends.

Hubby would come with me downtown, to drive in what is such unfamiliar territory and for moral support now that we had our daughter taken care of.

Another call from my son. It was taking a lot of time for us to get there and he is impatient. But you see they had closed down the express lanes and we had to detour south and pick up the Don Valley Parkway from another route.

He told me what had happened...he had gone to a club, left the club, more than rather worse for the wear. Taken a cab but realized that he did not have enough money, so the cabby made him get out of the cab. Being more than a little intoxicated he didn't see it coming - he was grabbed thrown done on the sidewalk, kicked in the face and robbed. He remembers little of that, only waking up people around him, he doesn't remember how he got to the hospital. I listen murmuring sounds of muted horror. I hate this. This is not the first time he has been beaten up. I am locked in a tunnel of calm, maybe even shock. Soon enough, we turn the corner and with him still on the phone, I tell him we are there. Hubby waits in front of the hospital, I get out and look for him. I see him and call his name. He comes towards me. His lips are badly swollen and cut, his nose is broken and bruised. We walk together to the van quietly talking.

He is safe. He is in one piece. He is alive. For this I am thankful. For this I am glad.

He makes light of the situation. "I'm only young once," he says. But at what cost is he expending this youth? This time rich with opportunity, with gifts of personality, strength of will, determination. All, I think, wasted. All his choices. For this I grieve; intensely and completely. Canyon deep, ocean wide....nothing contains this sorrow.

And yet I am able to step back. Play Pollyanna's game. I am glad that he is once again, safe, another narrow miss I think, but still it could have been much, much worse. I am glad that he has the gift of another day, another chance. I am glad we had some time together, in the van, he from the backseat, reaching over and occasionally rubbing my head, seeing that I am upset and trying to comfort me. I reaching back and patting him, reassuring him of my love. I am glad that he called me, that we connected.

I am deeply tired and sad. Yet what I have learned is that the pain we feel when we are hit by hard times is part of the happiness as a whole. We watch the suffering of those we love, whether by their own foolishness, or by life's cruel strokes, and we enter into their pain. It becomes our own. Yet we know that we cannot let the pain swallow us. If we do we too are
lost adrift on the sea. Rudderless, with no purpose. Yet purpose surely exists. There is tomorrow. A fresh new day. Full of wonders. Full of sunshine, and yes, full of storms.

I breathe in fully. My life is a gift. God-given. Each moment counted in tears and in laughter. I lift my voice in gratitude. I am here and tomorrow brings new mercies. I believe this with all of my heart. There are people to laugh with, people who willingly will also weep with me. There are people to love. Barriers to be broken down. Prayers waiting breathlessly to be answered.

There is most of all - hope.

And hope opens the door to happiness.

My Happiness Project -Sunday report - Pollyanna and me...

This week I experimented with gratefulness.

Each day I searched through my mind and the events of the day and worked on coming up with 5 things to be grateful/thankful for.

It was an exercise that taught me something. You can find things to be grateful for even if you've had a rotten day. It all depends on your focus.

Really, it was much like the renowned Pollyanna's glad game. Pollyanna is of course, the fictional character from Eleanor H. Porter's books. She is the child of missionaries who had been taught by her father to play the Glad Game, in which one goes about "finding something to be glad about in every situation." He had started the game with her when in a missionary barrel all that there was for her was a pair of crutches. There were no toys, no dolls, yet her father instructed her to "be glad" that she didn't need the crutches and so turned the potentially sad turn of events into something positive. This became a lifelong lesson that Pollyanna practiced and also taught those around her the value of looking for the proverbial "silver lining in every cloud."

Pollyanna has been mocked by many...but really, her outlook is a gift we all could use. It doesn't mean ignoring or denying the negative or awful things in our lives, it simply is resetting our focus and finding the good that can be found if we will indeed look for it. As Pollyanna's author said, "When you look for the bad in mankind (or in your life/or your situation- my words ) expecting to find it, you surely will!"

Will you be a bee or a vulture? Bees buzz around looking for the beautiful flowers, getting the pollen to carry so more beauty can be spread. Vultures fly around, circling in the air looking for the death and decay. Both the bee and the vulture find what they are looking for. So it is with me...it's all in my perspective.

What will I choose?

I think from this week's experiment with gratitude, I'll keep up with my own version of Pollyanna's glad game. I will choose to look for the things I can be grateful for...

It follows then, that I will be, well, happier.

Calling all Pollyanna's...

Join me.

Yesterday's Thankful list

1) O.K. you can never be too thankful for more beautiful days!!! Sunshine - ah, you gotta love it...and it's warm too...personally, I'm less fond of cold bright days...

2) Visit with MIL who then babysat for us.

3) A date with my hubby!!! Out to a movie, Knight and Day, great movie btw, then out for a bite to Mr. Greek.

4) For my husband who actually initiated this date!!!

5) Sitting out on the deck with hubby just chatting and drinking tea in the morning.

What I'm thankful for today...

1) Another glorious day, filled with sunshine, warmth and good times.

2) A refreshing, invigorating swim, splashing and playing in the water with my hubby, daughter and her friend.

3) My friend's generosity in allowing us to swim in their pool, which is in a beautiful backyard, full of mature trees, flowers of many variety and color. Lovely!

4) Homemade shortcake with fresh Ontario strawberries, loaded with whipped cream...oh yeah...yumilious...(I do enjoy baking and eating too!!! ;) ).

5) Watching the inspiring movie Invictus...go, rent it, it's thought provoking and it's real life...wow...

Symbols for My Life

A few days ago Gretchen Rubin of the Happiness Project sent an e-mail to subscribers and asked about symbols. Apparently, Buddists have 9 symbols and Gretchen decided she would come up with her own. She asked us what symbols we would choose for our lives.

I was intrigued by this question and turned the thought over and over in mind. Here are the symbols I thought of for my life -

1) Books - they represent imagination, learning, pleasure and delight.

2) Teddy bears - for me, they are connotative of comfort, gentleness and affection.

3) Water - it is life-giving, renewing, energizing and refreshing.

4) Roots - home, steadfastness, nourishment, stability and security.

5) Triangle - deep connections with - God, my family, and my friends.

6) Pen - flow of creativity, an expression of life.

7) Trees - flexibility, withstand most of the time the winds of life, bend but usually do not break, strength as they grow.

8) Doors - opportunities, options, alternatives, can open up or close out.

9) The Book (Bible) - beliefs, an anchor, a test to measure life.

If you had to pick some symbols for your life what would they be???

Canada Day -Yesterday

Yesterday was Canada Day.

A day to celebrate our country, our freedom, the beauty that surrounds us.

1) I'm thankful to live in Canada, to be able to express myself, my thoughts, my feelings, my beliefs without fear of reprisal.

2) I'm thankful for friends to celebrate with, to enjoy great food, good conversation, and the warmth of laughter and connection.

3) I'm thankful for parties! The get togethers. The fun shared and multiplied. This may seem the same as number two, but maybe I'm just doubly thankful...

4) I enjoyed the fireworks, sitting in the park surrounded by my hubby, little girl, her little friend and our friends; watching the cascades of colors like waterfalls from the skies, the music reverberating as the colors explode around us.

5) Finally, I'm thankful for the rest that comes when I get home full of a day rich with flavours of every kind, climb into to bed, curl up and float away in my dreams.

Today's List

1) I enjoyed the first day of summer holidays with my daughter.

2) I am feeling better today.

3) I'm thankful for our jaunt to the library to prowl through the stacks and bring home new books/treasures to discover.

4) I enjoyed reading one of my library books and made some popcorn to munch on while reading.

5) I am thankful for a quiet evening.

6) I enjoyed my relaxing yoga workout this evening.

I'm Thankful

1) I'm thankful for a beautiful day, sun shining, blue skies.

2) I'm grateful for a comfortable bed to rest on while I'm in the throes of a nasty headache.

3) I'm thankful for people who care about how I'm feeling today.

4) I'm grateful for ice-packs to put on my throbbing temples.

5) I'm thankful that tomorrow is another day, one that I'm hoping will be pain free.

Gratitude Week...or finding 5 things to be thankful for...

As a part of my happiness project each day for the next week I will post things 5 things I am grateful or thankful for that happened that day...

So - today's list -

1)I am grateful that even though I felt really unwell and yucky today, I still did 5 miles, my yoga, three loads of laundry and made dinner!

2) I am thankful that my husband bought the gift cards for the teachers as I was unable to get out of the house...thanks, my love!

3) My daughter got over her extreme (and we're talking crying, hysteria and weeping, wailing and moaning) nerves and was able to perform part of her tap dance in her class. Way to go sweet girl!

4) I am thankful for flushing toilets on each floor of the house..."nuff said."

5) I am so grateful for a wonderful, and long overdue conversation with a very dear friend!

Happiness Project...

I love the feeling of accomplishment, it makes me feel happy.

So, all my life I've known the importance of exercise...it's good for your body, good for your soul, good for your spirit.

It activates the endorphins in your brain. It's that feel good chemical that gets fired up when you crank up the work-out.

Why then, didn't I do it??? The optimism of youth? Laziness? Couldn't care less? Lack of discipline? Probably, at different times, all or any of the above...but now I've aged...oooh scary thought.

My dearest Dad died of heart disease. My brother had a heart attack at the age of 48. There is heart disease in aunts and uncles of mine. However, none of this had ever made a difference.

I would exercise every now and then, very sporadicly, go like crazy and then give up. But over the past few months I've been watching my friends. One of them works full-time outside of the home, she gets up at 5 a.m. to exercise before she goes to work! For some reason, after talking to her, something kicked in, I was suddenly motivated. Another friend, a stay at homer like myself has been consistently exercising for a couple of years, and this too, motivated me.

Gretchen Rubin, in her Manifesto of Happiness says that "the body matters." I think this is true. As women, we are particularly prone to self-criticism when it come to our physical bodies. Our culture as a whole is brutally cruel. We are constantly bombarded with female "perfection," and Hollywood gives us glaring examples of how that perfectionism is portrayed. We see fake boobs, faces lifted almost beyond recognition, bodies thin and often emaciated. Magazine covers boast beautiful faces, no wrinkles or lines, perfect skin, perfect hair. It's tough to be a woman.

And then, there are women like you and me. We are not perfect. We see our lines and our imperfections. We struggle with weight issues, or whether what we have is "big" enough or "small" enough. The funny thing is history tells us different stories, there was a time when thin was not "in." Even today, in some countries, generous, full figures are the "it" shapes.

So, I think that happiness comes when we, finally, accept the body we're in, when we come to fully appreciate our individual uniqueness. When the glow we have comes from the beauty that shines within through all our seeming imperfections.

In that acceptance, also comes the recognition that my body is a gift. In it I live and move and have my being. My body also houses my spirit, it is the eternal part of me; through it I love my family, work at the things I love, affect change in and around my world. In caring for my body, I care for myself, for my family, for my world.

I think perhaps, that this (along with watching my friends) is what pushed me to begin to exercise and to become consistent doing it. I want to be here, for my family, for my children, my friends. I want to be healthier, to feel fully alive. I want to rid myself of the blues that sometimes hang over me like a dark, threatening cloud. I want to have energy, verve and joy in everyday living. I think I can do this better when I am fit.

So, as of July 1, I will have been exercising for a full 6 months, at least 4-6 times a week! This is an enormous accomplishment. I feel much better, I enjoy (most days) getting up, putting on that work-out garb and doing my thing.

Revel in your body, rejoice in it, exercise it, move it; get up, walk, jump, hop, dance, skip. Be happy.

This is your life, lived in your body; live it to the fullest!

Fame

Yesterday, I took my iced coffee out onto the deck to sit with hubby.

In a hushed voice he told me that two doors down our neighbor who happens to be a drummer was being filmed/interviewed in his backyard.

Like a curious voyeur I peeked over our BBQ and peered through the curtain of our flowered hanging baskets. I called our daughter out and she too spied on our neighbor, watching the process with delight. She struck a pose in case somehow she would get in the picture and be on T.V. We laughed with her, smiling at her antics.

From time to time we would stand up and look over and report to one another about what was going on. We watched our famous neighbor kicking back in his chair, gesticulating, imitating drumming motions, then talking with his hands.

It's hard to decipher what fame has given him other than notoriety. His marriage has ended in divorce and his son is rather wild right now. But that could be any of us and often is.

Upon reflection I decided my life is good even with its attending heartaches. I have no need for fame. I've suffered the same blows as my neighbor, first marriage ending in divorce, a son on the wild side.

That's it I think - there are the common realities that we all experience regardless of who we are. I want to be satisfied with my life, even happy. If I constantly compare myself to "the Jones", I only end up with a nagging dissatisfaction or a raging greed to better my circumstances, so there is no contentment. And contentment, I think is a good thing, whoever, and wherever I am.

20/20 My Happiness Project

This past week I lost my voice (I contracted laryngitis) and it was a thought-provoking experience. Usually, when I am not speaking to someone, it is, I'm sad to say because I am angry, or ticked off. Or perhaps I've been hurt by someone so I retreat into a cave of silence, build walls of distance as thick as concrete and as seemingly impenetrable.

But this forced quiet brought me a curious sense of peace. It taught me the value of quietude.

I was happy, reflective.

I could not engage in any conflict that took place between my husband and daughter. I had to remain an observer, somewhat detached from the intense emotion of the moment, the energy pulsating around me did not draw me in.

Certainly, I missed the laughter, the joking, the day to day discourse normally shared with my family. I missed talking with my friends. I found I had to "save up," like money collecting in the bank, the things that I wanted to pass on or the events that had happened.

But the quiet gave me the time to let my thoughts come together with clarity, to sort through issues that had been been pressing in on me. Piling my thoughts like laundry, separating the dark, somber thoughts from the contrasting white ones, loading the gentle softer colors into different baskets, giving each thought a context, a place. This is the gift of quiet.

My sister-in-law once gave me a framed picture of a photograph that she had taken. It is of a treed path, sunshine casting lights on that path as it goes into the distance. It is tranquil, inviting, and filled with mystery. Perhaps, you hear the song-bird, or the trees rustling in the wind. You feel the cool of the covered path and the warmth caressing you as you walk through the rays of sunshine. This is happiness of quiet.

Then there is the quiet happiness of being. Together. Sitting together reading, engrossed in a good book, the spider web of words weaving tales of history, intrigue, tragedy, love, mystery or romance. Being outside on our deck side by side drinking a homemade iced coffee; soaking up the sights, sounds and smells of our neighborhood. Watching the creamy clouds skittering across the blues of the skies. Hearing the trees in wind, seeing them swaying gently to a music all of their own. Inhaling the sweet fragrance of our lilac trees. Listening to lawns being mowed, fresh smells the grass newly cut. Curling up in our family room, watching old movies or old TV series that we've collected, laughing or crying or being caught up in the stories being told. Eating popcorn, richly buttered, warm and lightly salted, these are moments of quiet happiness indeed.

The happiness of quiet is in the dark velvet blanket of the sky with glittering, twinkling stars. It is knowing in the quietness that there is surely Someone bigger than me, that the Heavens though sometimes also silent, have answers and that the questions that are constellations of doubt will one day be swept away by the look of absolute Love.

In quietness we learn to listen, really listen. We learn to hear what isn't being said.

I am enthralled by all I have to learn, to discover...it makes me, happy.

Shhh....listen with me to all that the quiet has to teach us about happiness.

Sunday - My Happiness Project

I went downtown this past Monday, a trip to Yorkville with my girlfriend. This adventure made me, by the way, happy...

As we were meandering through the shops we saw all manner of fun "stuff" and in a paper store we found cocktail napkins with sayings that made us giggle and guffaw. I found one napkin set and exclaimed to my friend "Look at this, have you got paper?, a pen???? I have to write this down for my blog on happiness." The cocktail napkin quoted Ben Franklin as saying "Wine is proof God loves us and want us to be happy." Well, I hooted over that one!

Happiness that day was drunk with the wine of the sunshine, of the conversation, of the laughter, and even of the serious moments, of the deep connection with my very dear friend.

It was a good day, a day to be remembered, and treasured. A day of happiness to packed in my trunk of memories to be brought out and reveled over on a darker day.

As I sit here mulling this over, I am thinking that perhaps that is part of the secret of happiness. Perhaps, happiness is a beautiful necklace, stored in a box of some kind, that has been beaded one by one with beautiful jewels, exquisite jewels, placed ever so lovingly on the necklace of my life, to brought out and enjoyed.

The pearls of happiness strung on my necklace have come from irritating, seemingly unending circumstances that I had thought I could not bear, but upon retrospect have brought the happiness of knowing that I am perhaps a wiser and gentler person because of those very irritations.

The diamonds of happiness on my necklace are the perplexing, crushing loads that have brought me great and deep despair, but yet have yielded I hope, the sparkle of compassion and kindness to others.

The aquamarines on my necklace blue with the delight of happiness I feel when I swimming, splashing, and laughing with the ones I love. The feeling of rolling over onto my back and gazing into the magnificent azure of the sky dotted with fluffy clouds imitating anything your imagination can conjure up.

The green of emeralds. Solid, enduring, life-giving friendships. Each one unique, and precious; some come and gone, some grown stronger, forged through immense pain and great euphoria never to fade as a distant memory.

The incredible deep blue of sapphires. My tears, rivers, oceans of them...wept for myself, my children, my family, my friends, and the world. Didn't a great Book once say that those that sow in tears will reap in joy! Tears are jewels of both our sorrow and our happiness embedded into our very beings.

The murky quiet beauty of an opal. White with glints of pink and blue almost pearl-like but more colorful than that. The opal is the mystery in my life, the not knowing, the whys, and the hard, granite questions. The glints of color, the pinks and the blues and the zig-zag of gold weaving patterns through the opal - is the happiness of knowing that I don't really, really have to know the whys and wherefores after all, and that I can live with happiness in the midst of mysteries. I may not always like the mystery, but I can be happy nevertheless.

The ruby, blood red and brilliant.
Family. My heart and soul are poured into these so very dear to me. They bring me the most spectacular happiness and the most devastating grief. This is a jewel I would never be without, no matter what the attending sorrow. The joys, the connections, the bonds; these have stretched over time, distance and circumstance of every kind. Almost wordless are the feelings I have for my family. In my family I find love, deep and strong. In my family I find meaning, laughter, and pure joy. There are at times fierce anger and moments of conflict so quake-deep it seems beyond repair, yet repair it does. This jewel glitters on my necklace most brightly I think.

So I think I'll end here...hang this necklace on my neck, not tuck it away....remind myself of all the jewels of happiness that I have.

I am a rich woman.

What about you?

Sunday Challenge for 20/20 - My Happiness Project

I am on a journey. A journey to happiness.

So, let the challenge begin!

Happiness can be mine...oh yes, it can...

But how to start???

Well, I did go out and purchase the book "The Happiness Project" by Gretchen Rubin as she is the one who got me thinking "happy" in the first place. And I have pondered and thought and pondered and thought some more.

To begin with, I will post a quote from Gretchen's "Happiness Toolbox" (found on her website), called the "Happiness Manifesto." These points will be things that I will be considering as I craft my days around the thoughts of happiness.

"A Happiness Manifesto

• To be happy, you need to consider feeling good, feeling bad, and feeling right, in an atmosphere of growth.
• One of the best ways to make yourself happy is to make other people happy; One of the best ways to make other people happy is to be happy yourself.
• The days are long, but the years are short.
• You're not happy unless you think you're happy.
• Your body matters.
• Happiness is other people.
• Think about yourself so you can forget yourself.
• "It is easy to be heavy: hard to be light."—G. K. Chesterton
• What's fun for other people may not be fun for you, and vice versa.
• Best is good, better is best.
• Outer order contributes to inner calm.
• Happiness comes not from having more, not from having less, but from wanting what you have.
• You can choose what you do, but you can't choose what you like to do.
• "There is no duty we so much underrate as the duty of being happy." —Robert Louis Stevenson
• You manage what you measure."

Interesting thoughts, eh??? (Ah, I'm so Canadian, eh, and incidentally that makes me "happy"...hee, hee...) I am blessed to enjoy the privileges we have in this country.

This week, I thought about my attitude, the way I see the world from day to day. I asked myself this question, "On what am I focusing my thoughts?" "Am I thinking happy thoughts, good thoughts, pleasant thoughts, uplifting thoughts...or is my FOCUS negative???"

I cannot and will not be in denial, pretend that everything is wonderful if it is not. I will not play that kind of game. However, it is in my power to shift my thoughts away from the things that bring me down. It is also in my power, to express those things (the sad, heart-rending, soul-bending things) so that I can be free to breathe in and to partake in the happiness that is there waiting for me to enjoy. Things of which I am often not even aware.

My beloved sister had sent me, years ago, some pages from a treasure, a little book called "Telling Secrets" by Frederich Buechner. He addresses this lack of awareness: "Consider...those dwarves in C.S. Lewis's The Last Battle. They are huddled togehter in what they think is a cramped, dark, stable where, like the dungeon of the Little Ease, there is hardly any room to move or breathe. The truth of it, you will remember, is that they are not in any such place at all. Instead they are in the midst of an endless green meadow where the sun is shining and the sky is blue. Aslan himself stands there offering them refreshments and freedom from their self-imprisonment, the great golden Lion who moves through Lewis's fairytale the way the fierce power of God moves through our world of Cowardly Lions - to be called "Dear heart" by whom is an everlasting blessing... But the dwarves see none of this. About all they can is is each other.

Now transform that scene. It is not Lewis's dwarves who are gathered together. It is people very much like you and me."

As Gretchen says, in her Manifesto - "you are not happy unless you think you are happy."

So this week, I gathered my wandering thoughts, as dogs nipping at the heels of horses running wild. I corralled those thoughts and turned them to happiness. I do not want to be one of those dwarves who cannot see the beauty right in front of them. And it made a difference, it really did... There were far more moments and far more hours where there was the light, delightful feeling of happiness. Because I thought I was happy I felt happy...

There are, still, of course, concerns and burdens. But in the midst of all that worries me, freaks me out, causes me to grieve deeply and completely, light is breaking through.

Let me share another quote by Buechner that has been so helpful...

"This...was a rule that I had no less devastatingly laid down for myself, and it was this: that I had no right to be happy unless the people I loved - especially my children - were happy too. I have come to believe that is not true. (Me here: this was a riveting insight and one that after years of having these pages sent to me I can finally begin to believe...) I believe instead that we all of us have not only the right to be happy no matter what but also a kind of scared commission to be happy - in the sense of being free to breathe and to move, in the sense of being able to bless our own lives, even the sad times of our own lives, because through all our times we can learn and grow, and through all our times, if we keep our ears open, God speaks to us his saving word....I have come to believe that to be happy inside ourselves - to be less and less as the years go by in the dungeon the the Little Ease and more and more in still chapel where beyond all understanding there is peace - is in the long run the the best we can do both for ourselves and for the people closet to us."

!!! Did you catch that last phrase!??!!
Being happy is a gift I give myself and I can give it to those I love.

So join me on this journey.

This journey of happiness.

Life is like a Bowl of Mangoes

Mangoes are juicy, sweet, rich and firm. You bite into them and immediately you are transported.

There is pleasure, delight, you can feel the warmth of the sun.

If you cut into one too soon though, it is sour, bitter; you want to spit it right out and never taste it again.

Life is like a bowl of mangoes, sometimes sweet and rich, sometimes bitter and sour.

But when it's good, it's good.

Just like life, good or bitter.

Just like mangoes.