Sandwiched

They call it "the sandwich generation."  Adults parenting children and their own parents at the same time.  

The odd part of being a member of this generation is how squeezed you feel.  The kids have their own needs and demands, their own schedules, and who do they count on to provide those needs?  Yep, mom and / or dad.  And the parents of these amazing people start to be less and less able to meet their own needs, and rely more and more heavily on their children.  

If we've been fortunate enough to have had parents who were encouraging, supportive, positive, and loving, caring for them when they're older tends to be less of a drain on us... even though we're dealing with their mortality, our mortality, and the added financial and emotional stress that entails.  

But what if they weren't?  What if they were negative, critical, cruel, and abusive? Then it becomes even harder.  Often such parents, coming face to face with their own aging bodies, become even more negative and abusive (at least verbally) than they were when they made us cower as children, fearing their outbursts of either neediness or rage.  

Those are hard feelings to experience.  Yet in recovery, which is about bringing out all of those feelings, all those experiences, and allowing ourselves to respond to them appropriately and come to a place of forgiveness and freedom, often something totally unexpected happens.

Not only do we experience freedom from the past, we are able to have compassion in the present.  It's really strange... the perspective that getting unwrapped from the graveclothes others have put onto us, gives to us. The power that the critical parent held over us starts to fade, as does our fear of them.  We begin to see them as the helpless ones, the ones who need our help and concern.  We begin to see them as humans rather than demi-gods.  

It doesn't mean that we need to let them walk all over us or manipulate us into being their servants or their counselors.  It means that we can treat them as equals rather than superiors (or inferiors), to give them the courtesy and respect they never gave us.  

I will admit that seeing parents as helpless and dependent on me is so incongruous.  Part of me is tempted to retaliate.  Part of me is tempted to ignore, to abandon them to a fate of loneliness brought on only by themselves being so very bitter and unkind to their children.  But there came a point in my mind and only as a result of this healing process, at which they stopped being the people they were when they were my age and even younger, and became these vulnerable, pitiable human beings. Small.  Powerless.  

A sandwich isn't a sandwich without the middle part.  What's in the middle can play an important role in whether the whole thing is palatable or not. As I grow in relationship with God, and get more and more unwrapped from those hangers-on of past hurts and false beliefs, I become more and more empowered to (so to speak) improve the quality of the sandwich rather than leave a bad taste in anyone's mouth.

Forced to Fit

I hate being "pegged."  That statement that starts, "Well, knowing you..." raises a teeny red flag with me especially if it comes from someone who doesn't know anything about me and only thinks they do because they know me in one context.  

There have been times I have done things just to upset the applecart of someone else's preconceived notion of me.  And there have been things about me that have come to light which have made others who think they know me, absolutely shocked.  Like the time a few years back that I got one of the 3 highest marks in the country for a leadership screening test.  I was "just a clerk."  The other clerks around me were (hee hee) shocked (and yes, that pleased me for some reason).  Some were angry.  Others were jealous.  Still others were happy for me and championed my cause.  It's funny - I could easily tell which ones were which. 

People are multi-faceted.  

You know what's annoying?  the whole concept of "fitting in"!!  Conforming to a set bunch of social rules just because someone - usually an extravert - has deemed that this is the behavior desired and that if you don't like it, you're "weird."  

It's like trying to hammer a square peg into a round hole, the peg is forced to fit, and is irreparably damaged.  Of course nobody thinks of it that way; "fitting in" is paramount.  (My question is always, "WHYYYY?")  If everybody was the same as everybody else, we'd be in a sorry state!  And how unutterably boring would that be??   

The apostle Paul recognized each person's individuality within the church, saying that each person had a part to play, each needed the other - just like members of a physical body need each other.  Just because my sense of humour is not like sister so-and-so's, and just because I am more hesitant to socialize, doesn't make me bad or wrong.  I am a unique and precious creation and was created this way for a reason.  If I become like someone else and sacrifice my own unique talents and gifts, then I've sabotaged my own purpose in the world.  

It's not a hard concept to grasp.  Square holes are hard to find, but they exist.  God created them too; He'll lead me to them. 

Squeaky Clean

I went to see the dental hygienist today.  I see her every 6 months and I always ask for this particular one, because she is more gentle than any hygienist I have ever had...and I've had a few.

Even if I am meticulous about keeping my teeth clean and flossed, I need to go to have my teeth cleaned, looked at from every angle and scraped of caked-on plaque that I can't seem to reach.  I trust this person to do this on a regular basis because not only is my hygienist gentle, she can see exactly where the problem spots are and she will keep at the task until all that extra stuff is gone. She also gives me tips on how to access those problem areas for myself (if I am serious about reducing my time in the chair!!)  And I know that if I forget, or if I'm not as uhhhh, diligent at times - she will faithfully keep on getting what I can't reach.

Part of working a 12-step program is taking a searching and fearless moral inventory of ourselves.  

I've heard people say that a person only needs to take one moral inventory in his or her life and then just maintain on a daily basis afterward.  That might be true, but sometimes I've found that a periodic face-to-face visit with my spiritual hygienist is necessary to get the caked-on spiritual grunge that I can't seem to be able to see.  My own meager efforts to keep in fit spiritual condition are okay, but they fall short; my blind spots creep up on me and I am in need of that big Light in my face and Another's loving scrutiny.  

I am so grateful that the Light of the world also loves me just as I am ... and too much to let me stagnate that way.  It's an ever-changing, ever-increasing-in-intimacy, ever-challenging relationship.

It might be intense at times - but growth into a deeper relationship with Him is why I keep coming back.

There are no words

Sometimes, I'm at a loss for words.

At times it's because I'm so overwhelmed by emotion that the power of speech is short-circuited.  Those are the times of heights of joy or of grief, of wonder or of shock.  Words are impossible.

There are occasions when I disappear and am swallowed up in something far greater than I could ever dream of being or witnessing.  Words are superfluous.  In the face of the grandeur of creation, in the atmosphere of pure worship of the Creator - I've been known to be struck dumb.  No words could make it any better than what it already is.

And other times, it's like I've said all I can say to a person (either someone who is hurting or someone who's hurting me) and there's nothing more to say.  I know that there is probably something I SHOULD say but for the life of me I cannot think of a thing.

Sometimes I struggle with feelings of unearned guilt at being silent in that last situation.  It's not that I am uncomfortable with the absence of noise, it's just that I have a hard time not jumping in and either defending myself or trying to give advice.  Yet I know that people have the right to be who they are, to do what they choose to do, and to bear the consequences of their own decisions.  So the best choice for me is to stay silent.  There are no words that could make it better.  A hug, yes.  And in some cases, walking away is the best response.  But words?  sometimes they just get in the way.

Every Little Thing Counts

I'm carrying on a silent conversation nearly all the time with God.  We talk about everything, and sometimes we even use words.  

A couple of days ago, a Baptist pastor, Pastor Nelms, prayed an opening prayer to 'bless' a Nascar event that was taking place, and his choice of words raised quite a few eyebrows.  Among the words he used were thanks for his "smokin' hot wife" (something I commend him for doing, since far too few men would say they are attracted to their spouse and especially not in public).  But it wasn't limited to that.  He also thanked God for the (insert brand name here) tires, the (insert brand name here) fuel, etc.  I was starting to wonder what god the guy was praying to because it sure sounded like an avid fan's endorsement of all the Nascar sponsors, rather than a prayer.

Photo courtesy of:
http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2011/07/25/
nascar-prayer-pastor-joe-nelms_n_908721.html

There was no question it was heart felt.  

There was no question he was truly thankful.

Yet - how did the watching world see it? 

Well-l, the reaction I've been seeing is one of tee-hees and snickers.  Equating Christians with red-necks who only think about their truck, their dog, and the next left-hand turn (a Nascar reference, for you non-racing folks like me ...) not necessarily in that order.  Religifying absolutely everything.  Even the tires on the race-cars.  

Well, I must say that it was amusing to listen to - and I laughed so very hard the first time I heard it, especially his references to his family and the way he ended the prayer, "In Jesus' name, boogity boogity boogity Amen!!"  I'm just hoping that the world doesn't think that every Christian worships Nascar any more than they would think that every single person who speaks arabic is a terrorist.  Neither is true.

Regardless of how I feel (or don't feel) about Nascar... or about the reaction of the folks who have an opportunity to bask in the stereotypes Christians get (some with good reason!) the incident raises some interesting questions.  One of them is the idea of being able to pray anywhere about anything.  And that, I believe, is where the expression, "Every little thing counts" is important. The apostle Paul said to pray without ceasing.  To always give thanks for all things to God.  (Okay - I guess that would include sexy spouses too....ya-hoo!)

Yes, I pray about parking spaces, people crossing the street, and the next file I pick up at work, as well as the bigger things like the health of the family pets, someone's sickness, a grieving family, and the people impacted by a natural disaster or a tragedy.  

I do it because I believe God hears and I believe He cares.  And when not praying I try to listen; God's voice comes in many ways and through any number of people with whom I interact.  He surprises me sometimes at the variety of ways, the plethora of circumstances through which He gets His message across to me.   If listening is hard, I listen to music or get by myself and read a Good Book, among other things.  

I'm learning not to put Him in a box and say that He only can speak through or use this thing or that thing, this person or that person.  Sometimes I can't see how that could be possible and He ALWAYS surprises me, as I fully expect Him to do with Pastor Nelms.  

He can - and does - use every little thing to speak to me, just as I am learning to speak to Him about every little thing.

Blazing a trail

It's so much harder to do things differently than the way we are accustomed to doing them.  Anyone who has ever quit smoking or drinking knows that the withdrawal period can be excruciating; the person's body craves what it knows.

Recently I have had to refrain from using my right hand, especially for my computer mouse.  Tendinitis, possibly even a mild form of carpal tunnel syndrome, has been plaguing me for weeks and has been getting worse as I use the mouse and spend a lot of time (at work and at home) on the computer.  So, last night I asked one of my kids, who has had to use wrist braces in the past, if she would lend me one of hers.  She agreed and gave me her best one to use.  

I tried to wear it to bed, as it was designed for that use.  However, I found that I couldn't fall asleep wearing it.  Frustrated, I took it off.

But I put it on again this morning before leaving the house.

Thus began one of the most physically frustrating days I've had in a long time.  When I got to work, I put my mouse on the other side of my keyboard.  I used my left hand for all tasks except the shift key and some of the ASCII codes I use at work to make French accents.  Making my right wrist relax and not try to do the tasks even under the brace ... was exhausting.  I was ready for the end of my shift, I can assure you.  When I described that experience to my family I was told that the first day is always the hardest, and that it would get easier over time.  I can only take their word for it.  And they probably are right; I defer to their experience.

It's the same way with learning how to live life instead of how to just survive life.  Survival mechanisms like controlling, fixing, manipulating, letting people walk all over me, and so forth, allowed me to survive life in my growing-up years. Carrying that into my adult life just ended up destroying relationships instead of making my life more secure. When I started to heal from that, I had to unlearn a lot of things (hanging on for dear life) and start doing other things I wasn't used to doing (letting go, for example.) 

It is hard to do things to which I am unaccustomed.  Especially if I've been doing it a certain way all my life.  I am used to acting and reacting a certain way and learning to stop using those emotional muscles and start using the ones that were never developed, is really tiring.  It takes longer.  It's messier a lot of times.  It's so much easier to fall back into old patterns.  Yet I've learned from experience that the old way of doing things produces results that are usually the opposite of the desired result, as well as a whole lot of frustration too.

So even though it was exhausting, even though it was hard, I was determined to let go and stop trying to fix other people or justify myself.  It felt awkward.  It felt like the emotional equivalent of when a hamster stops running in the exercise wheel : spinning out of control, backward.  Everything in me cried out to start running again.  But I'd learned it only ended in heartache. 

As I stopped and stayed stopped, the awkwardness gradually diminished.  Over time the new normal (so to speak) became more and more comfortable, and the old way of doing things became more and more uncomfortable.  I started catching myself doing self-destructive things that in my old life, I had not even been aware I was doing.  Sometimes I even handled a situation the right way instead of freaking out and alienating everyone around me.  And as that happened, I found that those same people started to open their hearts and their arms to me - people I had not dared dream that I would ever be in a good relationship with.   

Left to my own devices I would have run my life to the ground.  But when I turned my will and my life over to God's care, He empowered me, enabled me (in spite of the awkwardness) to blaze a trail instead of staying in a rut.  

Counter it

I got a call on my cell phone last night at a time when I was with my whole family. Since they're the only ones who know my number, I was suspicious but I answered anyway.  I was told by an operator that there was an important message for me and to please hold while they put the party through.  Then I heard a sound I had heard before:  the "shoving off" horn of an ocean liner.  

I hung up.  It was an unwanted message trying to sell me a cruise.  First, I don't do business over the phone where I would have to give my credit card number over the phone lines, and second, water is for washing and drinking, and that is all.  Asking me to go on a cruise is kind of like asking someone with a fear of heights to go skydiving.  Hello....

I get other unwanted messages too sometimes.  Those voices, sometimes in a whisper, sometimes full-throated and nearly deafening, still nag away at me from the inside, based on messages I got and believed when I was a child.  You're not welcome here.  Get out of my face.  What you do isn't good enough.  Why can't you be more like ___?  You're weird.  You'll never amount to anything.  Nobody will ever want to spend time with you.  Those messages - some of which I never even heard verbally but picked up on through non-verbal cues - sometimes won't stop.  They were so much a part of my psyche that I thought that I was thinking those thoughts.  Then when I identified the real voices behind them, I realized that not only were they not mine, they weren't true either.  Yet I'd believed them for such a long time that I didn't know quite how to get rid of them.

Until I was told to counter the messages with other ones that were true.  You are special.  You do have something to offer.  The abuse was NOT your fault.  People can like you just the way you are.  You don't have to bend over backward just so people will spend time with you.  You can be free.  You have unique gifts and talents.  You are already important to so many people.  You do not have to accept criticism or belittlement from anyone.  You don't have to assume responsibility for the bad decisions of other people.  You can let go of the shame.  

These messages, and more, were things I had to tell myself at least once, and more like 4 or 5 times, per DAY at first.  The self I was telling these things to was not my present self but the child-self that still peeked out of the closet wondering if the angry person that was just in there beating her was still angry or if it was safe to come out.  The one who convinced herself that it was safe, only to be criticized, belittled, and mocked over and over again by people who were themselves criticized, belittled and mocked by their parents.  I was so tired of that cycle and I was very motivated to be the generation where it started stopping: to not perpetuate onto future generations the horror and the pain of never knowing what words would set off an emotional land mine.  

When I look back at the way things were before, and compare them to now, I do see a marked difference inside. Yet the condemning voice still comes to me. Frequently.  It creeps in unawares sometimes.  I still need to watch for it, to counter it with truthful affirmations, and I still need to back that up with actions that tell me that I am worth spending time on, that I do have value even if nobody sees it at the moment, that I can be free of the slough of despair, and that I can rise to beauty and victory through truth in the innermost part.

Not all war zones are overseas

A common topic of discussion where I work is the psychiatric disorders that are sometimes associated with military service, especially those caused by horrific sights and events experienced in a theatre of war.  

It's called Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) and basically it's the human defense mechanism that arises from being subject to things that humans were never meant to witness or be a part of: man's inhumanity to man. (And by man I mean humankind).  Only when the person returns from the horrific situation or atmosphere, that defense mechanism can't be shut off.

But other things can cause PTSD, or PTSD-like symptoms.  People who have been abused as children - whether physically, sexually, verbally, emotionally, spiritually or a combination of two or more of these things - are more apt to have these symptoms as adults, even long after their parents have passed away. 

It's like the mind is on "red alert" at all times.

That kind of thinking can help a person survive in the situation he or she is in that is dangerous to him or her (such as abuse).  But the trouble is, once the situation or the danger is over, the alarm bells are still ringing.  The survival mechanisms are still in full cry: suspicion, vigilance to the extreme, an obsession with controlling circumstances, or people, or the level of cleanliness, or of safety from (real or imagined) dangers, and an inability to experience emotion - or an inability to control the flood of emotions... the list goes on. The messages (verbal or non-verbal), the false beliefs and the resentments - some of them deep-seated - that children pick up by being abused, neglected, and/or bullied by their family members carry far into adulthood unless confronted and addressed.  Dealing with these things is something that all too many are too frightened (or too much in denial) to even attempt. 

Many, to escape the pain of the misery inflicted on them and the resulting misery they inflict upon their own children and/or significant others, turn to addictions of various sorts.  These could be mind-altering substances such as alcohol or drugs, or they could be other addictions that harm the body in more subtle ways such as overeating or over-exercising.  I've known various people to be addicted to cleaning their house, to playing video games, to sports, to collecting stuffed animals, to sex, to shopping, to social events - literally anything and everything is a possible addiction / compulsion.  All this to avoid those horrible, intrusive thoughts of not being worth anything, of never measuring up, of being afraid of (fill in the blank), of being angry at (fill in the blank again), of ending up alone and unwanted.  

There are those who think that the past is in the past, that it should not be dredged up. 

I don't agree.   I think of it as having a dead rat in the bottom of your well.  It poisons everything that comes out of the well until you get to the bottom of it and remove the rat, then purify the water.  All the water purifier in the world is not going to get rid of the poison until the rat is gone.

It's hard.  It's messy.  It absolutely sucks when you're going through it.  But the results are difficult to argue with: good relationships with yourself, God, and others, more peace going through a day with no remorse or shame about the past and no anxiety about the future.

Best of all, the war is finally over.

Coming to Believe

A friend of mine is fond of saying, "I finally tendered my resignation as supreme ruler of the universe."  I always laugh because I know that desire to rule it all, and how that just falls apart the more I try to hold it together.  

Coming to believe that only a Power greater than myself can restore me to sanity - that is, a stable state of mind, in healthy relationships with myself, others, and God - is only born out of desperation.  It comes from a deep and abiding knowledge and realization that all efforts to be in charge of my own life end up with me achieving the opposite of what I wanted.  Instead of being respected, loved, and confident, I end up bound by fear and resentment, being feared and maligned either overtly or in secret.  

There's part of an old gospel song that goes like this:  "There's a light at the end of the darkness, so look up when you are down and tryin' to believe - Sometimes we have to be knocked down to make us look upward; I was lookin' up through the bottom when it finally shined on me."  

Coming to believe is a process.  Much is said in Christendom about the actual choice to believe (and this is important as well) but there is a lot that goes into the process of realizing that one needs to believe, that there is something out there to believe, something better, something that will pierce through the madness and restore hope.  Or give hope and peace where there never was any to begin with.  The realization that there is a need, that I am powerless to meet that need in myself or in anyone else, is paramount.

That's when, in desperation, I can begin to accept and come to believe that I need help and that the help I need cannot come from my own efforts (because I remember, I've tried that in several different versions and manifestations, and it does NOT work!!) In this, there comes a growing dissatisfaction with my own management of my life thus far.  At the same time, there is a mounting desire to turn over my life and the seat of my emotions and decisions over to the care of God, who can empower me to live life instead of just surviving life.

For some people this process takes a few seconds.  For some, especially those with baggage surrounding their image of what God is like (based on childhood experiences, usually) it might take much longer.  But Honesty with oneself, Openness to change and Willingness to embrace the process is HOW a spark of faith can come.

Hands off - hands up

A few years ago I walked up to our (then) new youth pastor from behind.  I poked my finger in the centre of his back.  He stopped talking, and automatically raised his hands as if I'd put a gun there.  It was perfect.  Then I put on a New York accent and said in a gruff voice, "Gimme your brains or I'll blow yer money out!"

He couldn't help himself.  He let out a chuckle.  Then he said, "Well, I'm sorry but you're out of luck - I haven't got either!"

I got to thinking about that stance - arms to the side, elbows bent, hands raised at 90 degrees.  It conveys several healthy messages that speak volumes to me as one recovering from the iron-fisted grip of codependency (if you want to read up on it, I have a page on this site that describes the symptoms of this condition).  In no particular order, these healthy messages (learned through a journey of getting to know myself, and God, better) are :

• This is not a situation that I own.  I hold it lightly, and give up my (real or imagined) right to have a hand in its outcome.
  
  
• I allow someone else - whoever caused or is responsible for the situation - to take ownership of it.
   
• I give up.  I do not give up hoping or praying, but I give up trying to meddle, to influence, to manipulate.
  
  
• I become vulnerable and open.  I don't hide who I am, I don't try to protect myself from life. I let it happen, live in today, and embrace God's choice - one day at a time.  I surrender to whatever God has in store for me this day.
  
  
• I am grateful and praise God (hands raised) for all that I can find in this situation that is good, decent, praiseworthy, and honest.  I live my life in gratitude for the good things, and in trust that even in the bad things, He has something to teach me.

This kind of internal stance - taking my hands off, relinquishing control, and raising them in surrender and praise - is one I need to be constantly reminding myself to do because my natural tendency is to grip tighter and tighter - out of a desire to control or out of fear of losing something or someone, or from fear of failing at something.  

I've made a lot of strides in that area, and the extent to which I have learned to let go is the extent of the contentment that I experience.  If my SQ (serenity quotient) is lacking, in most cases it is because I have secretly grabbed onto something that is not mine to hold; the tighter I hold onto it, the more quickly it slips out of my grasp and the more unhappy I am.  The more completely I roll that burden off my shoulders and onto God's, the brighter and more serene every moment becomes.

Something to Prove

The past two years has been a whirlwind journey into self-discovery and there have been many changes in my life as a result: particularly in my relationships with myself, with God, and with others.  Even with all of that, though, there are times when I slip back into old mind-sets and ill-conceived beliefs.   

One thing that tells me that I'm cycling into a pattern of self-destructive behavior is when I catch myself trying to prove something to someone else: either what I think they should do, how dysfunctional they are, how much I was hurt, or even how 'normal' I am.  

It amazes me how many times I slip into that "something to prove" mentality and how it just goes back to the basic things that I struggled with when I was a child - selfish competition with siblings, power struggles to be the favorite of a parent (knowing that there was no way I could be), herculean efforts to impress the  "in crowd" while sacrificing my identity - and how behavior like that lets me know that there is something amiss in the maintenance of my spiritual condition.

I slip back into those patterns more easily when I'm tired - which is another sign for me.  Exhaustion usually means I'm not looking after myself the way I need to. That I haven't set the proper boundaries for myself.  

When my conscious contact with God is in good shape, when I'm living from the inside out, feeling my feelings and letting them identify problem areas in my relationships, life just works better for me.  I fully enjoy those times.  But when I'm tired, or find myself spiraling downward, that's also an experience from which I can benefit if I will stop, take stock, and roll the entire mess into God's lap, knowing that He will make sense of it all, make the crooked places smooth, the valleys high and the mountains level, and my life will - well, for lack of a better expression - get back to (the new) normal: where I'm no longer scrambling to be the best, look the best, do the best. Where I can rest in His love.

That's when I no longer have anything to prove - and can just be peacefully grateful that He loves and accepts me just the way I am.

Let Them Be

Sitting in a fold-up chair yesterday by a tree-line to avoid the wind, hubby and I watched people yesterday for a couple of hours as the sun (or what was left of it) filtered through from behind the trees.  We saw all manner of folks going by and from time to time, would comment to each other about this family or that one, innocuous observations mostly about their interactions with each other.  It's one of our favorite things to do.  At least, with each other.  

As usually happens, we started talking about more spiritual and philosophical things.  One of the things we talked about (a conversation that spilled into this morning) was the tendency we have to define ourselves in terms of other people - either how other people see us, or what we do for them, or how we interact with them.  

We talked about the weighty and unnecessary burden of feeling responsible for the actions and/or attitudes of others, so much so that it is very easy to lose sight of who we are, even.  

I know that feeling.  There was a time when I didn't know who I was because I was so busy trying to fix other people in my life, focusing on what I wanted to see happen in their lives and getting upset because it wasn't happening, or because it wasn't happening fast enough.  

I'd fallen prey to the classic co-dependent trap.  I couldn't let people be who they were.  My whole identity was wrapped up in making people be who I wanted them to be, or in trying my hardest to "help" them.  And not in a good way, or for their benefit, but so that my life would have some semblance of meaning.  

Sometimes I still slip into that old mind-set.  But the journey I am on is led by a Power greater than I - and He is leading me inexorably toward a knowledge of knowing where I end and other people begin - or where other people end and I begin.  What I was really trying to do is to be that Power for other people.  That's not a good thing.  When I try to be God to someone else - they are not able to start their own journey in their version of where I started my own journey: from a place of utter desperation and powerlessness. 

Even after they have begun, I forget sometimes that it's a process - and need to remind myself that it's a messy process and doesn't always go as planned.  Or as quickly as planned.  I need to step back and let them be - to let them discover and grow and mature as God leads them in their path, which doesn't necessarily mirror mine.  In doing so, I cease trying to do God's job for Him and that burden falls off my shoulders and tumbles into the ditch.  

The boundary lines between my own self and other people's selves are starting to come into focus - and as they do, I'm finding it easier and easier to accept myself - and others - the way each of us is, and trust that God will take care of the rest of the way.

Awareness is the Key

Appearances can be deceiving.  People are multi-faceted.  Often there are hidden treasures laying beneath the surface for those who are willing to invest the time it takes to get to know someone.  Even when you think you know someone, and have known them for several years, they can still surprise you with yet another facet.  

But there are times when I assume that I know something about someone and that is set in stone, and I can miss something important, something wonderful, about that person.  And I suspect that it happens to other people when they look at me.  A few times in my life, I have demonstrated a latent ability that others didn't expect from me, and I have seen eyebrows raise in shock.  

Taking a very simple example from the physical world, ... okay - I'm obese.  I know I'm obese.  Yet there are times when I see a passageway toward which I and another person are approaching ... and I honestly think both of us can fit through at the same time.  That's because I still think of myself as this tiny slip of a thing I used to be when I was eight.  I didn't start gaining weight until I was in my 20's and so my natural 'default' body image is one of someone who takes up almost no space.  So when I head into the passageway and the other person waits for me - it's a reminder.  (Oh yeah, crap.  I don't look like that anymore; I can't do those things anymore.) 

The same with my default personality-image.  My self-esteem, my way of thinking about the kind of person I am defaults to that scared, needy, clingy, manipulative complainer all too quickly.  When I act out of that head-space, I feel myself sliding inside, feeling two-dimensional: something just cringes and feels all oily and soiled.  When I become aware, and do a quick inventory of my attitudes, I realize it's because I've gone back into that muck and mire of the old life.  The answer for me is to realize that's what has happened, admit it to myself and to God, ask for His help, and then in faith to stop the mindset and begin to really live life intentionally instead of coasting. 

Sometimes I have no clue where I'm going or what I'm doing.  Okay, most times I don't.  That's when I go back to my newly-discovered (yet ages-old) maxim of "One Day at a Time" and trust that God is doing for me what I can't do for myself.  He sees all the fragmented pieces as a complete whole and someday, He'll let me see it as well.

It's awareness that is the key to living an "intentional" life - a choice-based life, rather than one just run on "auto-pilot."  But it's  trust in something - a Power - greater than ourselves that allows us to turn that key and unlock from a lifetime of coasting in sheer "me-ness." 

Identifying those old self-destructive patterns and their sources is extremely hard; I am not going to sugar-coat it.  The process is far from easy and it takes a lot longer than desired.  Often someone on this road of healing doesn't know the next step, much less what lies around the next bend in the road (if there even is one).  But with perseverance, commitment to being aware of those things and rooting them out ... the way does clear, the thicket thins out, and there is a growing light along the way - plus a surprise that I for one never expected.

Happiness.

Life Lived Well - Adieu

This evening I learned that someone I've known since 1976 passed away in hospital in the wee hours of this morning.  He was 87 years old.

When I first met him, he was just a little older than I am now.  I had a crush on one of his boys - what can I say, he was attractive and I was sixteen! - but he was 20-ish and "too old for me" ;)  and so he introduced me to his younger brother, whom I dated for a little while.  During that time, I got a chance to meet his dad, this wonderful man.  He had such a quick wit and dry humour that I was constantly doing double-takes! 

But it was his heart that touched me most.  I instinctively knew that I could trust him and his lovely wife.  They were the salt of the earth. This man was a living example of a Christian life lived well, doing no harm, doing good, being kind, quietly, unobtrusively.

I'll never forget when I was pregnant with my 2nd child.  It was early in the pregnancy and I had been having morning sickness for a few weeks; I kept getting weaker and weaker, reduced to crackers and water.  This one day I looked at my active 2-year-old, and I didn't have the strength to even change her night-time diaper.  I reached for the phone and the first people I could think to call was this beautiful couple, then in their mid to late 60s, bent over but still willing.  I knew that I could count on them.  They arrived about 20 minutes later.  She busied herself with my 2-year-old and he asked where the vacuum cleaner was.  

Sitting on the sofa, I watched them, and the tears of gratitude were trickling down my face.  I had been totally unaware of how sick I was. Their kindness and my helplessness  made me realize that I needed help, and I went to the emergency ward that afternoon.  They kept me on intravenous fluids for 4 days and on a liquid diet for another day before sending me home.  I had been seriously dehydrated, near organ failure when I got to the E.R.

I believe this man and his wife helped to save my life.

When my husband's father died in 2004, my children kind of "adopted" this godly couple as their honorary grandparents.  Their presence, their constancy, helped our teens through the grieving process; I'll bet they never even knew it. 

We let him and his wife know several times and in several ways how much we appreciated them.  We admired his quick turn of phrase, his quirky sense of humour (he thought in puns and/or in literal terms) and his kindness to any and all who crossed his path.  

There is no doubt in my mind where the real man I grew to love and admire is right now.  I can't help thinking about an old hymn called "My Ain Countree" which says in part (I will use the English translation instead of the Scottish burr), "The hills are flecked with flowers, many-tinted, fresh and gay, the birdies warble blithely, for my Father made them so - but these sights and these sounds will as nothing be to me, when I hear the angels singing in my own country."  

His was a life lived well - to God (à Dieu) - and that's exactly what he's still doing.

Medusa's boy

When I was in grade six, my schoolteacher did a whole unit on Greek mythology. We had a Greek mythology anthology that we studied and we were tested on the various stories we read.  One of my favorites was the story of Perseus.  He was the guy who killed the Medusa, a being so ugly, with snakes for hair, that the sight of her face would turn a person to stone.  Through an amazing set of circumstances Perseus was able to cut the monster's head off while looking only at her reflection in a mirrored shield, and store it in a magic sack which would adjust to the size of whatever was put into it.

The reason I liked the story so much was (beside the obvious killing the monster, which REALLY appealed to me) that when the Medusa's head came off, from her blood sprang two fully-grown creatures.  One was a warrior named Chrysaor, replete with curved sword and shining armour  (of whom we hear nearly nothing afterward) - and the other was a pure white winged horse named Pegasus.  

Like most girls of about 11 years old, I was enamored with horses of any kind, but one with wings -!! 

That Pegasus' mother was the Gorgon Medusa was a picture to me of beauty and majesty rising above the ugliness of family of origin, transcending the chains of "what has always been."  It was a symbol that something good could come from something unspeakably awful.  I spent many an hour thereafter, riding on Pegasus' back in my imagination, escaping - if only in my mind - the ugliness of what I perceived to be my lot in life : born into the lower class, raised in a community that seemed to have no regard for the beauty and intelligence of four-legged beings - nor for the transporting qualities of music or of the written word.  I longed to be free - of what I could not articulate.  But the longing still called me.  And it took shape in flights of fancy on which I rode, as on Pegasus' back I flew away ... above the cares of the everyday, above the taunts of those who said I was crazy - or "mental" as they called it. 

That childhood belief, that hope that Pegasus' story gave to me - the idea that one could be more than one's past - helped me survive those years.  And as I grew older, I wondered if it could ever happen. A large part of me started to die inside as I tried and tried in my own power to be rid of those patterns my childhood had set for me...and failed miserably.  Not until I gave up and admitted that I could not do it, not until I realized that only a power greater than myself could restore me to sanity and then turned my will and my life over to God's care - did I regain that hope. 

As He empowered me to do the next right thing and then the next, over days and days, weeks and weeks, my continually healing spirit heard again the familiar whinny that called me upward as a child.  

This time it was not to escape.  This time it was to celebrate.

Right Rude

Sometimes my new discoveries in recovery take up so much of my attention that I seem to forget about my manners in my growing new sense of confidence and dedication to a lifestyle of rigorous honesty.  Someone asked me the other day, "So, if you're learning to love yourself enough to set boundaries ... you have to be rude to people?"


Hm.  It's worth examination.  

Often, when a person starts setting limits and saying no to people who are used to the old way of interacting with him or her, it is perceived as being rude, or blunt, or even 'hanging onto the past.'  It's hard to explain what finding one's voice for the first time in one's life means to someone who has never stood up for him or herself before.  And yes, sometimes to set boundaries it's necessary to be somewhat forceful - because family members and longtime friends might not 'get it' right off the bat. And it's a never-ending learning process; sometimes I go too far and other times, not far enough.  The results let me know which is which.  If I listen to God instead of going off on a tangent ... I might be able to determine just how much is enough.  Or when to remain silent and be thought a fool.

As a general rule though, there are a lot of myths out there about what kind of behavior is acceptable.  A lot of misconceptions exist surrounding what certain things mean.

Take the common expression, "Forgive and forget."  Some people think that this forgetting is part of forgiving.  Let me assure you from experience (not only from a lifetime of that kind of thinking but more recently from experiencing true forgiveness) that it doesn't necessarily follow.  I can forgive someone for abusing me but it doesn't mean that I will go to that person with arms open and eyes tight shut and place myself in a position to be abused again. That would be insanity!  

Using a more day-to-day example, if someone consistently crosses the same line (let's say, being super-pushy and manipulative) over and over again, that person can be forgiven, yes.  But that same person must also be told what is wrong, and allowed to bear the natural consequences of his or her own actions; if not, he or she might never come to an understanding that the behavior is unacceptable.  Part of that equation is not trusting the person to not repeat the pattern.  

Forgiveness does not equal trust; forgiveness is given ... and trust is earned.  

When I set a boundary to protect myself from future hurt, and say "no more" to that person, he or she WILL perceive it as me "holding a grudge."  It's inevitable. This is a natural reaction from someone who wants to maintain the status quo, to continue having a whipping-boy.  Might doesn't make right; bullies must be stopped.  It's okay to say no.  Looking after oneself is not selfish. This is truth that will counter the myth that to be 'nice' one must also be a 'doormat.'  As one person said to me recently, the only people who need a doormat are those with dirty feet.  

It is possible to do the right thing, and still appear to be rude.

Fun-sucker

In an argument between mother and daughter in the movie "Freaky Friday" (which I highly recommend by the way) the daughter accuses her highly organized,  highly professional (psychologist) mother of being a "fun-sucker" - and when her mother incredulously repeats the word, her daughter says, "Yeah! you suck the fun out of everything!"

I can relate.  I can relate to both.  My parents were homebodies and my mother was what my daughter calls a "Christianazi" - religifying (rationalizing with a religious reason) her decisions not to allow me to do this or that thing.  I remember resenting that.  Yet I ended up doing the same things with my children. 

The truth is that I (and I expect she before me) did not know how to have fun, was not allowed to have fun, and was taught that amusing oneself - or even having free time - was somehow "wrong" or "sinful."  As a result I spent much of my growing-up years feeling like I was alone even though there were people all around me.

I didn't know how to make friends.  As a result, I didn't have any.  

Those who paid attention to me did so to make me the brunt of a cruel joke they could brag about to their friends later on, and they loved it when their actions made me cry - which I invariably did - and then they would point and laugh at me.  (This is a major reason why I absolutely DETEST practical jokes.)  I had a well-developed case of demophobia - fear of crowds.  If in a crowd I had to be apart - and/or close to an exit so that I could beat a hasty retreat in case the cold fingers of panic squeezed my throat and made it impossible to breathe normally.  

So when I started to recover from the hurts of the past, discover the roots of those hurts and deal with my feelings which were "stuck" inside that little girl, and then start to parent her and grow up inside, one of the things that I had to learn how to do was to lighten up and have a little fun.  

You know, it was (and is) really hard to get out of old habits and try new things.  I had to become willing to work on this; and yes, I had to pray for the willingness and to examine my reasons for not wanting to go there in the first place.  My reasons had a lot to do with my own opinion of myself.  So the first step in the process was admitting to myself that I was worth taking time for.  A lot of my reticence to participate in things was the belief that was drilled into me every day of my life until I was 20 and left my birth family (a belief I carried with me until I was well into my 40s) - that I was not good enough the way I was, that nobody would want to spend time with me, that all I was good for was this or that, and nothing else, and why would I even want to be liked - it was so vain of me!  

The antidote to those lies was truth.  That I was good enough.  That people could like me for who I was.  That I had something to contribute.  That I didn't have to change to be what someone else wanted me to be. That I didn't have to fix people's problems for them.  That I could feel what I felt and not have to apologize for having those feelings.  As I spoke truth into the heart of that little girl and she started (over time) to respond and peek out from behind the closet door... I was given opportunities to start to have fun.  I learned what was fun for me and what wasn't.  

And slowly - ever so slowly - my world started to expand.  My circle of friends started to get bigger; at one point I only had a very select few.  There are more now.  I even went to an office "offsite" summer gathering recently that happens every year - I've worked at this particular job since March 2008, so I have had four opportunities to go, and this was the first time I even showed up (before, I would stay at the office and work while the others were out having fun.)  I went; I stayed for the catered meal, participated in one activity before and during the meal - and when my skin started to crawl after the meal was done and people were milling about (the demophobia kicking in - it's a bit better than it was a couple of years ago), I left.  It was a little victory for me.

I'm far from being the life of the party.  But as I have healed inside, I find that I can connect with people better, and socialize for short periods of time without pushing the red button - the one where I am convinced that I am in danger, and I panic, feel suffocated, and have to get out.  I can see it coming and extricate myself graciously now, before becoming overwhelmed.

And I can actually enjoy some of the things I thought i would never enjoy - ever. Bantering with people.  Visiting with someone.  Mingling with folks in the foyer of the church (for short periods only at this point).  Going to a BBQ or a church picnic.  Before, these things were activities to be avoided, endured at best.  Now I can actually enjoy even the simple pleasure of running into a friend at a department store and chatting for a few minutes, making plans to spend more time together later, that kind of thing.

When I think about how things used to be, how isolated I was, how lonely I was sitting around "being right" - it boggles my mind that God has brought me this far ... that I can actually look on my facebook wall and see that I have over 100 friends, that I can walk into a store without dreading it, that I can laugh and mean it, that I can set boundaries without feeling guilty, that people brighten up when they see me coming toward them (wow, what a trip!), and that I am - more often than not - happy. 

It's a miracle. Plain and simple.

Going with the flow

Don't get me wrong.  I like water.  It's pretty to look at.  It's good to drink.  It's useful to wash with.  But there's something about being IN or ON it that gives me the heebie-jeebies.  I've had more than one near-drowning incident in my life - and one is more than enough times to be that near death.  

It's unpredictable.  It goes where it goes, and that is a scary prospect.  If I must be in it (when not washing) I want it to be in a pool and my feet must be able to touch bottom.  If I must be on it, then I prefer it to be in some sort of boat, preferably one with paddles (like a canoe) or a motor.

A few years ago my husband, two children and I went to a waterpark in a neighbouring province.  They had this man-made slow river tube ride and my kids wanted us to go "down the river" as a family, each in his or her own tube: everything was controlled of course, and while my mind told me that it was safe, my insides quivered at the idea of letting something else take me who knows where.  

It was all my family could do to get me to park my rump in one of those tubes and lie back ... I was on edge and couldn't relax and enjoy the ride.  I couldn't seem to trust that I wasn't going to fall in and be overrun by all the other tubes on the "river."  I could hear the shrieks of enjoyment coming from my kids; one of them splashed water in my direction.  I shuddered. 

But something happened about two-thirds of the way around.  We'd been around a couple of corners and the rubber tube beneath me twisted around the curves, spun out of control and bumped up against the edges.  But I was still in one piece.  And that's when I decided that this wasn't going to be horrible.  I became aware of the sensation of the coolness of the water on my feet as they dangled in the stream, and the warmth of the sun on my face and arms.  It was still quite disconcerting to be buffeted around with no more control than just the feeble paddling I could do with my cupped hands... but I experienced something akin to (what's the word?) fun!  This was something I had not expected.

I began to enter into the spirit of the outing and by the time we got to the end of the ride, I was truly enjoying myself.

I was reminded of that ride today when I read these words:

"Relinquish anxiety.  Let it slip away, as you dive into the river of the present moment, the river of your life, your place in the universe.   Stop trying to force the direction.  Try not to swim against the current, unless it is necessary for your survival. If you've been clinging to a branch at the riverside, let go.   Let yourself move forward. Let yourself be moved forward." (from The Language of Letting Go by Melody Beattie, ©1990 Hazelden Foundation)

There are times when it is necessary to go upstream - when setting boundaries, when saying that the way things have been is not the way things shall be from now on.  But the principle of letting life happen, not forcing it, allowing feelings to be what they are and not denying them, accepting circumstances and people for what and who they are - this is a powerful thing.  

And along the way we learn to go with the flow - and enjoy the ride.

Normal - NOT!

"As long as we believe that someone else has the power to make us happy then we are setting ourselves up to be victims"- Robert Burney  

I grew up thinking that my relationships, my upbringing, my siblings, my parents, my relatives... were just like everyone else - or rather, that everyone was like us. That everyone's parents acted like mine did.  That everyone got "wailed."   That everyone went to bed scared to death that they wouldn't wake up in the morning.  That it was all normal. 

It wasn't normal at all.  It was extremely dysfunctional, in fact - so much so that it took a year of therapy for me to even begin to be free of it... and the insidious lies I was told and shown while I was growing up still resurface and need to be put to death with truth. 

I encounter this all the time.  Usually it's from those in my family or my old circle of friends, most of whom are still living in dysfunction.  I heard it again tonight.  I'd told someone that I could not be around them anymore if they were going to be pushy.  And the answer eventually came back... "Everyone's bossy in one way or the other."  

Hm.  

Well, that doesn't sound like an apology; that sounds like an excuse to keep trying to run people's lives and then judge them for resenting it.  It's a red flag to me - perhaps because I used to be all about fixing other people's problems - that some people have this incredible need to be bound up in someone else's life and bully them into doing what they want them to do, justify it in the name of "fun" and then judge those who don't want to toe their line.  They think that by saying that everyone does it, that it makes it acceptable, that it makes it normal.  

The truth is - it's not normal.  By normal I mean healthy; but then again, perhaps it's not normal to think of normal as being healthy  ;)  Oh well - then I will use the word healthy. 

Healthy people don't need to be needed or to be in charge in order to feel happy or worthy or useful.  They don't look down on anybody or put anybody up on a pedestal.  They know what they want and need, and are able to say that in a way that is respectful of others while still holding their ground and looking after themselves.  

And I've noticed something as I go along in my healing process.  Unhealthy people, dysfunctional people, tend to blame the healthy person for setting boundaries.  They call it "holding on to things" (actually, we're letting go of what is not healthy for us) or "being too sensitive." (In reality we're looking after ourselves for the first time and they're just uncomfortable with it.) I'm sure there are other labels.  The bottom line is that they do not want to see or admit to their own dysfunction - and FORGET about changing!

My role in all of this, as a person who's becoming normal (as if one can EVER become fully normal...) is to resist the temptation to justify myself, to just focus on my own recovery ... even if it means receiving and using The Gift of Goodbye.  (click on the bolded link to read my post from last fall...) and not try to fix their problems for them.  

It's not my place to do that.  It's theirs.

Open Up

A friend of mine posted on his facebook wall a video he took of a rare sight: a nest of baby robins.  They felt the vibration of him coming closer - and it activated their "feed me" stance - mouths wide open, bobbing back and forth.  Their eyes weren't even open.  Less than a minute long, the video reminded me of something I had forgotten - not even thought about in a long time.  

Source:   http://www.telegraph.co.uk/earth/earthpicturegalleries/
5213909/Animal-pictures-of-the-week-24-April-2009.html?image=6

"Open your mouth wide, and I will fill it."  (Psalm 81:10)

It's the mental picture of opening up to the source of love, grace, mercy and wisdom in expectation that those needs will be satisfied - that whatever I need will be provided when I need it, if I open myself to the provider of all of those things. And more.  It's a picture of complete trust.  Of vulnerability.  Of hunger.  Of longing.  Of desperation.

The robins instinctively open their mouths in the direction of where the food will come from.  It's just like human babies: when you stroke their cheek, they open their mouths wide and turn their heads in that direction - the "rooting reflex."  It's natural ... they are looking to be fed.  It's extremely linked to survival.  

So with the world of the spirit.  God responds to desperation, to desire, to honesty and trust, to spiritual hunger.  He is the source of fulfillment to those desires that sometimes we can't even name - we just know that we want "more." He put that there within us.  We can fill it with a whole lot of things that will not satisfy in the end, and leave us feeling empty and used. When we finally get to the point of desperation, the invitation is still there.  All we need to do is open up who we are to Him.

GIGO

GIGO  -  Garbage In, Garbage Out.  It's a computer saying, meaning that if you program a computer wrong, all that you get back is wrong.  I used to say this all the time to my kids when they were growing up, referring to the multitude of mindless kids' shows on TV which glorified mediocrity, applauded insolence, and condoned lying.  

Of course I overdid it, but that's another story.  

I was reminded of the principle of GIGO tonight.  I'd been somewhere talking to someone and our circumstances were not going according to plan and we had to wait for someone else.  I felt irritated, insulted by the people who were inconveniencing us when they knew we would be there at a certain time.  I started railing inside at these people, looking for someone to blame, looking to attribute motive to what these folks were doing, rather than take the incident at face value: they were delayed.  In the meantime, someone came in wearing a scented product.  Oh, this was just ducky.  Now a headache on top of it.

Once allowed to continue by this other group, the light blue funk I was in started to deepen in hue, especially since our own time was cut short, and then afterward, someone else assumed that we would do something we had neither the time nor the inclination to do; yet, we found ourselves agreeing to do it.  Then the requester found another person who was willing to do it instead. Instead of feeling grateful, I soon found myself talking about this person to someone else - none too flatteringly - and as I walked away from the whole encounter and got into the car, I felt disappointed, soiled, slimy inside.  Looking at my behavior the previous 2 hours it wasn't hard to see why.  

MY plans had been infringed upon.  MY space had been crowded.  MY position in the scheme of things had been supplanted.

It was all about me.  And then I realized that I'd been feeding garbage to my spirit, allowing it to snarf up a big pile of ego-led nonsense.  No wonder I soon felt like yesterday's trash.  

As we stopped at a local dairy bar for a small treat, we talked about something good, something uplifting.  I could feel my spirit getting lighter, more buoyant.  Finally I could see clearly to know what my problem had been.  As soon as I identified it out loud to my 'sundae date', there was an immediate sense of "rightness" that came over me.  Like Someone inside said, "Yeah....that's it."  And I could let the resentment go and focus on the positive instead of the negative.  As soon as I did, even the headache started to leave, all on its own.  

Well - sort of on its own.  I think it had Help. 

'Kick Me' sign - so long!

I was sharing my story with a friend today.  I likened my existence before God got me to the place where I would actually let Him heal me inside, to living life with a big "kick me" sign on the back of me...one which I never knew existed and just wondered why people kept being compelled to hurt me and then laugh over it.  And even after I knew it was there, I was powerless to remove it, couldn't reach it.

That "kick me" sign would manifest this way, with variations on a general theme. Through the things which happened to me, I grew up with the belief that I was worthless, that I was never going to be good enough to please anyone.  Hence was born the 'kick me' sign. It was a natural sabotage that kicked in.  I didn't understand that the sabotage was a natural magnet I had in me - based on that very belief - that would compel people I admired or wanted as friends to dismiss, belittle, or otherwise abuse me.  And once it started, others jumped on the bandwagon and I was left bewildered, hurt, breathless.  It happened every time. I truly believed that I had only a few friends, that very few people would even bother with me - and those who did, would run away screaming. 

I needed help.  I didn't even know I needed it, but I did. Yet I didn't have the courage or the self-confidence to ask for it.  My whole existence was lived for others.  So God used that and over the years, allowed me to get into a pretty bad predicament - with someone else. When that person's predicament (which was inextricably bound to mine) became desperate, things came to a head. To help him, I reached out (typically of me, to reach for it in an effort to help someone else I loved, never for myself) and someone came alongside me.  That person very gently helped me realize that I was the one in need of help, pointed out where the sign was... and by being alongside me and walking through the healing process with me, reached over and slowly but steadily freed me of that sign.  It took months.  But it happened, slowly but surely.

As it did, my relationships with people changed because - quite frankly - I was changing.  My beliefs about myself, about my place in the world, were shifting.  As they did, those relationships that I was in which were not healthy, ended.  Those that just needed work, were transformed.  Broken ones - they were restored.  And something else started happening.  I was led to people - or were they led to me? - with whom I developed friendships... the most unlikely of friendships for me, ones I never would have dreamed I would have.  For the first time in my life, the people in my life treated me like an equal.  Nobody looked down their noses at me; no one put me on a pedestal and looked up to me.  It was so freeing...

Best of all, I said goodbye to that cursed old 'kick me' sign.

Dominion Day

Happy Dominion Day everyone!

Thanks to Salvatore Vuono for his
photo, "British Flag" at
www.freedigitalphotos.net

I use the old term for 'Canada Day' and yes, I choose the "Union flag" today to honour those Canadians who fought - many of whom died - under this flag.  Every war in which Canada participated (up until the institution of the Canadian flag in the mid-1950s) was fought under the standard of the British flag  -  "for king and country."  So I have a special spot in my heart for the original "red, white, and blue."

On the beaches of Normandy, it was the Union Jack that flew over the masts of the ships which brought wave after wave of Canadian troops, a good many of them to their deaths, to fight the enemy and help to end the war.

It was under the Union flag that my dad signed up just shortly before the Second World War ended.  It came to a close on both fronts as he was getting ready to go to the ship that would have taken him overseas.  

They changed the name of today's holiday from Dominion Day (which it was ever since its inception) only recently to Canada Day.  They said that it was to engender more patriotism - I'm not so sure.  I just think they got tired of having a reminder every year to the biblical principle on which this country was founded: that God would have dominion from sea to sea.  So I call July 1st Dominion Day; it's the way I was raised - even though I was born after the institution of the Canadian maple leaf flag.  

Don't get me wrong.  I'm not anti-Canadian; I'm a Canadian citizen and I love my country.  I am proud of the accomplishments and dedication of Canadians, from the field of science (remember Banting and Best, discoverers of insulin?) to our Canadian troops, past and present, wherever they served - or serve.  

My ancestors, though, were British loyalists who came to the Maritimes in 1789.  There is a long history of loyalism and royalism (if that's a word) in my family.  My father's ancestors were one of the founding families of the village where I grew up.  It's not anything for me to boast about - since I didn't do all those things and face those incredible challenges myself.  But it is part of the legacy that was left for me.  And so - I have a soft spot for the symbol that flew at the top of the flagpole and of the military standards during all those years. 

I choke up when I sing "O Canada."  My heart swells when I see the Canadian flag being raised at an international sports event (such as the Olympics) signifying that our athletes are among the best in the world.  I like it that Canadians are welcomed with open arms when we travel internationally.

I will celebrate the birth of our country today - both as a proud Canadian and a loyal British subject.