The White Knight Syndrome

A dear friend was offended by something I did the other day and let me know.  Without going into a whole lot of detail, I crossed a boundary - one I should have known better than to cross - and it hurt my friend.  Within a short time all was forgiven, but I started thinking how easily it is for me to slip back into old patterns of behavior without knowing it, sometimes in the guise of "helping."  

As I thought about an image, a mental picture, that might help me remember to do this less and less, I wondered what would best describe it.  

Google Images are great! I found this at:
http://www.picturesofknights.net/Knight-on-Horse.html

And then a white knight rode across my mind, his horse snorting, his sword drawn to do battle.  

That was it.  It fit perfectly! 

The white knight syndrome.  I've had it for years - and although in recovery from it, sometimes it still does manage to sneak into my psyche.  A syndrome is a set of symptoms that go together and which can't actually be called a disease, yet the symptoms cause distress to the person (and to others), sometimes without the person realizing it's even there.  And the white knight is pretty self-explanatory... 

This is the "Oh my goodness, someone's in distress!  I must SAVE that person!" mentality.  The one that will ignore boundaries and focus solely on the "mission" at hand.  

There are a few things about being a white knight that aren't all that great.  First, you become fixated.  It's hard to see anything except what's directly in front of you and there tends to be only one viewpoint.  Second, your ability to hear well is impaired by the helmet and visor.  So even when your real commander (whom you've likely left in your own dust to rush on ahead) gives you direction or cautions you, you can't hear that still small voice.  Third, while the armour provides protection, it also prevents loved ones from getting close.  There is an "I'm right and everyone else is wrong" that drives people you love in the opposite direction.  Believe me - I know from experience - you end up abandoned and misunderstood by the very people you try to help ... and judged by those observing.  Fourth, it is exhausting, wearing all that armour.  It's an extra weight and extra energy is required to maintain it, to polish it, and to move while wearing it. (Yet the white knight refuses to take it off. It becomes his identity.) The crazy thing about it is that none of it is necessary, which brings me to my final reason.  Lastly, and probably most important, it's not your job to save the world.  It's not your job to rescue the damsels in distress, or the family member or close friend who's throwing his life away.  That is a matter between that person and his or her own conscience - and God.  

Wow.  With the picture of that white knight in my mind ... perhaps I can put away my armour - one day at a time. 

He Loved Me First

"I'm amazed by your strong faith," she told me.  "How much you love God, everyone can see it - what is your secret?"  My daughter's eyes probed mine.  

In the space of two seconds, I saw rapid-fire, vivid images in my memory - the stories of decades compressed into just a few moments.  

My eyes filled with tears.  "It's simple, honey.  He rescued me.  He loved me first, and He met me where I was and rescued me ... from myself."  Then I told her the story of a few of those images I had just seen.  And yes, I fumbled for words sometimes - but she saw my heart and knew I was sharing it with her.

I told her how unhappy, how desperate for love I had been when I was just a few years younger than she.  How I had searched for it in so many different ways and people, and nothing satisfied.  And then (and at this point I couldn't stop my tears from flowing at the memory) I told her how He came to me, and literally saved me from a path that would have led to my death (or worse.)  How He loved me the way I was and filled that empty hole, healed me from the inside out, listened when I needed someone to understand, and let me lean on Him when I didn't have the strength to stand.  There was so much more I wanted to say ... but I'd learned enough in my own recent healing to keep it simple. 

Her eyes misted over as I described my before picture - and she hugged me when I was finished describing my work in progress picture.  "Someday, Mom," she said softly, "I hope I can have the kind of love for God that you have."  

"You will."  I took a deep breath, and wiped the tears from her cheeks.  

"You're already on your way," I thought.

Twiddling my thumbs

"I hate waiting."  - Inigo Montoya, in The Princess Bride 

Two nights ago I uploaded my book to my e-publisher, Smashwords  (link : http://www.smashwords.com/ ) under Non-fiction : Religion.  It's available for download - really and for true, right now, for a tremendous price - $2.99 USD.  

Now I wait for the book's various file formats to undergo review so that it can be marketed to all the different e-book sites like Amazon, Apple, and so forth.  They tell me it takes about a week or so.  

I've never been big on waiting.  Which, I believe, is why I've been asked to do it so much.  Wait in line at traffic lights, wait for word from prospective employers, wait for the phone to ring, wait in line at the bank, wait for ... the list is endless and varied from the mildest annoyances to the major things like saying to yourself, "It's just a matter of time before I'll get the call that ____ has died."  

I'm better at waiting than I used to be.  And I really don't think it's required to LIKE waiting.  But perhaps - just perhaps - if I can let go of my need to control the outcome (like the ludicrous mental image of a passenger in an airplane being so impatient to arrive at the destination that he or she gets out of the plane to push - especially if it's in flight!  o.O) and think instead of something meaningful to do while I'm waiting - perhaps the waiting won't seem so long.  

There may be a secret hidden in all of this.  My uncomfortable relationship with waiting is most likely linked to that obsession - that need I have had all my life - to control the outcome. To fix what's wrong. To influence the final result. To hasten the advent of something pleasant and delay the coming of something I dread.  

In short, to be God.  Strange that after all these millennia, people still want to occupy that position.  Including me, it would appear.  

Once in a while, I am reminded of my own powerlessness over that obsession with other people: whether serving them to my own detriment, or controlling them to theirs (and mine, ultimately). (I think that might apply to waiting for other people to do what they need to do and not trying to rush them .)  Whenever I am, I have recovered enough from the bindings of the past to be able to stop, unhook from that kind of thinking, and consciously and intentionally leave the outcome to God.

Ahhhhh.... I can feel the tension draining from my shoulders and the load tumbling off my back. That's much better.

It's official

It's official.  I am now a published author.

The words look strange to me.  I've been writing ever since I was a teenager ... songs, poetry, journals.   I have been writing on this blog for over a year - yet - now I have not only written a book, but it is now published.

To purchase your own copy, go to:
www.smashwords.com/

The title is the same as the title of this blog; in fact, I started the book and named it, even finished the first draft, before I started this site.  

It's exciting, to be sure.  Yet there is a feeling of incredible vulnerability.  

The experiences God has brought me through have healed me, made me whole and happy, and I have been waiting to share those things with the world; you've seen some of those things on this blog and my book just gives the complete story.  

But ... there is such a feeling of being exposed in this newest step.  It's like this is my own child, borne out of a lot of pain: a vital part of me, my life, my place in the world.  And now it's out there, a struggling, squalling infant ... and the world can be a scary, dangerous, and overwhelming place at times.  

That being said - I would rather launch this new venture with you, my faithful readers, than with any stranger.  So with this in mind, I present to you the fruit of my labour and God's empowerment.  Just to to the link in the artwork above... which, I am proud and pleased to say, was done by a very dear friend of mine.  Lisa Bulman Taylor - thank you so very much.  It's been an absolute pleasure working with you.  

Deep breath.   Onward!

As well as can be expected

I was talking to someone today on the phone and asked her how she was.  And I got the answer I usually get.  "Oh, I'm as well as can be expected, under the circumstances."  Said with a sigh and a "Martha martyr" tone.  

It made me think after I was finished with the conversation.  

Do I do that?  Do I let people believe that my life is a vale of tears when in actual fact it's quite good, I have my health, restored relationships, and so much more than I deserve?  

What's my GQ?  What's my gratitude quotient?  When people talk to me, do they wish I'd finish what I'm saying and feel relieved when I walk away? or do they smile and say to themselves that it was encouraging to have spoken with me?  Do they feel appreciated or used?  do they look back on the conversation with a chuckle or a grimace?  

It's hard to believe but (Canadian) Thanksgiving is only 2 weeks away.  

It's a little odd to me that we would have to be reminded once a year to be grateful for the bounty around us.  Yet here we are.  We are so wrapped up (pun intended) in all our limitations and circumstances we wished were better, that we forget to be grateful for what we have.  

It is my opinion (take it or leave it) that Thanksgiving doesn't happen often enough - not the holiday, just thanksgiving.  Not just thankfulness to God for things but ... thankfulness to each other.  Someone does something we ask him or her to do: "Thank you!" Someone is really nice and goes above and beyond what was expected.  "Thank you!"  It's not - - - I was going to say it's not hard.  But for some of us, it's not easy!!  The mindset is so entrenched that the first thing we look for is what's wrong with this picture, how can it be improved, that we don't see the 99% that IS right with it.  And I guess that's where the statement comes from, "I'm as well as can be expected under the circumstances," with that little martyr tone - the one that says, "Pity me, make me feel good about myself.  Please."  

I used to do that.  I desperately wanted other people to make me feel good about myself.  Because? I didn't feel good about myself, plain and simple.  When I got into recovery and started deepening my relationship with God and establishing a relationship with myself - when I realized that I do have boundaries and so does everyone else - when I started taking inventory and ridding myself of excess baggage... these cravings to be fixed, to be healed, to  be comforted - gradually fell off me.  The things I say now that make people wish I left ten minutes ago... these are mostly habits of decades from which I am slowly weaning myself.  

How's that going?  Some days, it's great.  Other days - well, about as well as can be expected.  (Wink).

Random Observations

Have you ever noticed that :

- When someone gives you a piece of their mind they actually show how little of it they have left? (They must have already given too much of it away...)

- When someone cuts you off in traffic they're likely to have a bumper sticker on their car that either negates or excuses what they just did?  (Example - the bumper sticker that says, "Christians aren't perfect, just forgiven" drives me to distraction!)

- When you get a good night's sleep for the first time in a week, you wake up more tired than all the days that week?

- When someone says about their pet (or random family member, it would appear) "Oh, he's harmless..." it's time to start packing pepper spray?

- When you work a 4-day week, all the work days seem longer? 

- When you go to take care of a bodily function or are in the middle of it (whether eating, going to the washroom, or ....), the phone is more likely to ring?  

- When you are in a hurry, there are more red lights than green? and someone cuts right out in front of you without looking?

- When you wash your vehicle, it usually rains afterward?  

I'm sure there are more, but that ought to slap on your thinking cap.  ;)

Light Enough

At one point today I found myself describing a journey that took me a year or more, summarizing it in the space of 20 minutes.  I got to thinking about that afterward.  The person I used to be and the person I am now are so different in so many ways I can't begin to count them - and if one were to look at that difference one might get overwhelmed by the enormity of the changes.  

Yet ... it's happened in small increments - by millimeters - almost imperceptibly.  I've only had enough light to see where the next step is.  That's all.  It's a walk of total trust borne of desperation, borne of inability to do it myself because I'm traveling blind.  Only God can see the outcome and knows where to lead.

I found this photo of an ancient Hebrew
lamp through Google Images at:
http://www.garstang.us/judaean/index.htm

There is never any more than enough light to see the next step.  Any more than that, and we'd be running off ahead where we've no right to be, where we're not ready for what's out there because we haven't gone through what's in here.  Inside.  The journey is one that takes place from the inside out.  It takes as long as it takes.  It is what it is   -  and it's different for every person.  I can share what my journey looked like, and there are some general guidelines to help someone who wants to go on that journey.  Signposts along the way, so to speak.  But I can't travel it for the person, nor should I try; that person's path might lie on different terrain which is specifically suited to him or her.  

And always - the tiny fire glows and grants just light enough to see - one step at a time.

Taking Care

The last part of the equation to which I referred yesterday (relationships with God, myself, and others) is the "others" part.  

I spent a lot of time in my life looking after other people to my own detriment.  I didn't know what healthy relationships looked like because I never had any to compare with ... and I certainly didn't have a relationship with myself...that would be so selfish ... right?  

Wrong.  

What I discovered is that it is out of abundance, out of a fulness within, that I could then turn and help other people - knowing where to stop and let them bear the consequences of their own actions - without ending up resenting them for robbing time away from me.  It was not without a great deal of trial and error - mostly error - that I came to understand this.  Burnout happens very quickly when the tank is dry.

I found this photo in a great article on burnout:
http://www.stewardshipoflife.org/2010/11/
burnout-a-cry-sis-of-the-spirit/

Everyone needs their tank filled.  It works best when it's filled continually: when the tap is left on! 

Sadly, though, society and even the church tends to focus on the opposite.  We want the end result of helping others but we forget that in order to help someone, we first have to be healthy and loved.  In a consistent atmosphere of being drained, put-upon, and under-appreciated, many people are giving up, walking away from things - or people - they once held dear.  We give too much too soon.  We are encouraged to get out there and DO without realizing or being told that in order to DO we first have to BE - to know who we are and to be comfortable in our own skin, to be able to trust that others will come to their own place of health and wholeness - usually without our help.  

I like what St. Francis of Assisi said - "Preach the gospel at all times.  If necessary, use words."  He meant that living abundantly precedes everything else - the natural outflow of such a life is an attractive example in case someone wants to emulate it!  I can't count the number of times that I've been able to help people in the last year or so after first having my own emotional and relational tank filled.  

If it is true that "hurting people hurt people,"  it is also true that "cared-for people care for people."

Nurturing Me

I read a poster recently which went like this :  

Be yourself - truthfully.  
Accept yourself - gracefully.  
Value yourself - joyfully.  
Forgive yourself - completely.  
Treat yourself - generously.  
Balance yourself - harmoniously.  
Bless yourself - abundantly.  
Trust yourself - confidently.  
Love yourself - wholeheartedly.  
Empower yourself - prayerfully.  
Give yourself - enthusiastically.  
Express yourself - radiantly.  

It is curious how frequently we devalue ourselves, thinking that our self-deprecation shows we are not totally self-absorbed, arrogant and insufferable human beings.  Plus it's been my experience that people who undervalue themselves tend to have a hard time valuing other people... I know - I used to BE one.  Sometimes I still AM one.  

The journey of inner healing can be described a journey of three relationships.  First is a relationship with God; second is a relationship with the self; last and just as important is a relationship with others.  If they are not in that order, the balance is off, and life is off-kilter.  

The relationships need to be nurtured.  It's not enough to make these into tick-boxes and say, "Yep, got that, got that, and got that.  Now what?" - it misses the point entirely.  They aren't badges on a cub scout or a girl guide sash.  

Relationship with God is an ongoing thing.  It requires feeding, nurturing.

So is relationship with the self.  

I found myself thinking earlier today about how I've defined self-nurture in the past and how I see it now.  Before, I used to see self-care or self-nurturing in the most negative or superficial of ways: anything from narcissism to spoiling myself with things that aren't good for me and calling THAT looking out for myself.  

Where does that come from?  I think part of it might come from the culture prevalent after the people who grew up during the Second World War got old enough to have children of their own.  They'd had so little that they vowed that their kids would never have it so hard.  And when they had kids, they made sure there was always more than enough to eat, that they never wanted for anything: toys, clothes, food.  The whole mentality behind that "things equals love" generation was that if you had it and you never had it growing up, it was great to give to your children, just lavish it on them - but it really ended up teaching a good many of us that how much stuff you owned (even if you had to go into debt to get it) was how you measured success; special dinners were how you communicated caring, and how you looked was more important than who you were inside.  

Now, I see self-care a little differently, and it is evolving as I continue on that adventure of healing.  It's developed into an acknowledgement that I am worth looking after - but lately I am starting to question exactly what that self-nurturing looks like.  Platitudes I've told myself to make myself feel better about my life and my choices no longer hold up against this newly-emerging sense of what it means to look after me.  

I think that I'm starting to grow up!  (Horrors!!  How did THAT happen?!?)  A lot of my time in recovery from codependency has been spent like someone who all his or her life had lived in a 6-foot x 8-foot bedroom with no room to move around - suddenly being granted a king-sized bedroom : 25 feet by 25 feet.  That is, running around, flailing my arms, screaming "I'm freeeee!" while I run round and round the bed.  But lately I have been doing some more thinking about what it means to look after myself.  It's surprising me what I'm coming up with that at one time, I would have rejected out of hand with a whole lot of labels that made me feel better about staying where I was, about not rocking the boat, about doing things that to me were (and are) "too hard."  

I don't know where all of this is going or even how to get there.  I do know, though, that in another couple of years (in spite of and perhaps because of all that has already changed in my life) I might not even recognize the person I am today.  I do know that I'm not alone in this journey. And I get the feeling that as scary as change is, someday I'll be able to look back at today and wonder why I never started to grow up sooner.

Purging

I like to watch the show "Hoarders." (A&E)  It makes me feel better about my own clutter... and folks, yes, I am a slob.  There, I have said it in a public forum.  Slobby and proud of it - well - sort of.  

Sometimes my place is even too much for me to take.  Usually it is too much for my hubby to take long before it gets on my radar, but odd times I get the purging bug and go on a rampage.  

Most times it's the prospect of someone coming to visit that does it for me.  So - I begin.  And seeing the difference that my efforts make really does something for me inside. Unfortunately it only occurs occasionally.  Like today - and I allowed myself this break to write about it.... ;)  

But be that as it may ... 

I was thinking (while cleaning - no, my hubby wasn't there to take a picture for posterity, although if he had been, he might have been tempted) about how the process of inner healing is a lot like purging clutter.  

First, there has to be the realization that there is a definite problem, and that it is too much for one person to handle. (I've tried handling my own personal life-experience purging and that just led to me sitting in front of the TV with a bag of chips in one hand and a tub of chip dip in the other.  And oh yes, the bag of chocolate bars on the end-table.)  So the first action step is to ask for help. The only one who could help me (believe me, I've spent my life asking others to fix me - they couldn't either!) was God.  So I asked Him, invited Him in to the mess.  

Then comes the actual process of purging.  Separating things out together - categorizing this and that, like piles of garbage to throw away, good things to put away, nice things I've outgrown to give away.   Being an emotional hoarder (that is, I hang onto past hurts much longer than is necessary to deal with the emotions and let them go) I had to go through every piece of inner garbage of course.  But that's part of the healing process.  And God is so patient.  He allowed me time to rest, to catch my breath - and gently reminded me to keep at it.  

It took a long time.  But eventually I started to see order emerge from the chaos that was my life.  (Gratitude? OH yeah!!)  Once the inner garbage was taken care of, and the good memories put away inside, and the nice things passed along, it was time to clear the path to my outside door (figuratively speaking) - some refer to this as sweeping my side of the street:  the wreckage I had left in my relationships because of my own stuff on the inside, things that spilled out onto others.  Those things I had to put right - and it took some time.  In some cases it's still ongoing.  

Only then, once my own spiritual house was clean and inviting, could I help someone else by sharing my experience.  I could not go to them and clean their house for them.  I just told people how awful my own was - and how I had come to the end of my rope and asked for help, then busied myself going through all that emotional clutter and getting it out, and sweeping my own relational sidewalk.  The process works: it's beautiful to experience and just as beautiful to witness.  I've seen it work in my life and I've been privileged to see it work in the lives of so many other people.

Now ... I know I left that mop and pail somewhere...

Facing fears

I've hated confrontation for as long as I can remember.  I guess it comes from growing up in a home where the cardinal rule was not to make a certain family member mad - or worse, to make that person cry.  (ughh.)  I remember spending my childhood either walking on eggshells or trying to hide from someone's unpredictable wrath because that was dangerous to my health: physical AND emotional.  

So when I started to recover from a lifestyle of doormat-itis and of controlling others through guilt trips and manipulation... avoiding direct confrontation whenever possible ... it was a really difficult step for me to learn how to speak up for myself and inform someone when he or she was doing something that was bothering me - either physically or just that "arrrgh!" that comes from someone's annoying habits that might only bother me personally (anything from tapping a pencil on a desk, to entering into my personal space - extremely closely - to talk to me).  

As I was recovering, it was difficult to know what was a valid complaint and what wasn't.  I had some definite problems with certain behaviors of other people which were causing me physical pain.  Yet I felt as though I couldn't approach them - partly because I hated confrontation so much (okay mostly that) but also because being in their presence was physically painful to me.  I didn't handle those situations well before I started to recover.  I made some pretty awful mistakes, as a matter of fact; I hurt quite a few people.  And when I was first recovering, I didn't know what to do about these situations.  My previous behavior really bothered me... yet I didn't know how to right the wrongs I had done and still communicate my needs to people.  It stumped me for a long time.  

Having had no boundaries for such a long time, it was hard to set them without offending people; I had no practice at all.  And so ... I did the only things I could think of to do.  First, I prayed about it.  Then... I asked for help.

I approached someone at my workplace whose job it is to resolve conflicts.  She and I developed a rapport and we still touch base every 6 months or so.  She listened to me, gave honest feedback, and suggested practical ways to approach people whom I had harmed, to start conversations with them and set my own expectations realistically.  I was grateful for her suggestions.  Today, with the exception of perhaps three of those people, I've been able to make amends to them, and I even enjoy good working relationships (including playful banter) with some of them.  

With some of them, I had to go directly to them and have a fairly difficult and honest conversation - approaching it with an open mind and listening more than speaking.  With others, the direct approach didn't work; I just began (as simplistic as it sounds) to smile at these people when I saw them in the corridor.  One of them has only barely started to smile back.  I still haven't given up on those three remaining people - it might take a while but I am determined to approach each one in a way that fits with his or her particular style of reconciliation. 

It's coming.

Baby steps

I was talking briefly with someone this evening when the phrase, 'baby steps' came out of me.  I was referring to the little-known concept of sequencing: having it all, just not all at once - taking small steps now to build a foundation for use later on.  

Of course that's how life happens, isn't it?  We don't usually get to experience life all at once, but in measured steps.  

Especially when starting a new venture, or learning a new way of living.  It takes time.  Baby steps are best when starting out.  Lots of encouragement too.  Even if nobody else gives it, we can always encourage ourselves, cheer ourselves on.  It's allowed.  

I can be my own worst critic.  I try something new and I make a few mistakes.  "I sucked at it."  No (my future self tells me) - I made mistakes.  And I learned from them.  

It's normal to fall down, to look foolish at first when learning how to navigate new territory.  At one point in my life, and not too long ago at that, I wouldn't try new things or go outside my comfort zone because - well, because it wasn't comfortable.  I was scared.  I couldn't do something perfectly the first time so I didn't try.  And then I hit that point-of-no-return. That line-in-the-sand of desperation.  The "I'm sick of myself" syndrome.  All I knew was that I needed help - and I was finally willing to go to any length to get it.  

And it comes.  Not all at once - but in increments.  Degrees.  

Baby steps.

Sure, there is a lot of falling down.  Sure, I don't live life perfectly.  But that's not the be-all and end-all.  I try again; I do better next time with lessons learned from this time.  Better. Stronger.  Truer.  

And when I turn around occasionally to check my progress, I try really hard not to look at how crooked the steps were or how many times I fell down along the way, but rather ... at how far I've come.

Learning to talk

I've lost my lisp.  

A few weeks ago I had a wisdom tooth pulled that had come in crooked - with the chewing surface facing my cheek.  It had been there for over 20 years, and finally got in the way of flossing - so I opted to have it out.  The procedure was painless!  And it's still in the process of healing  - and will for the next few months while the bone re-grows back in.  

Unknown to me, that wisdom tooth was the reason why I had a very slight, almost imperceptible lisp, a way of forming my S words that was more obvious to me than it was to anyone else.  I'd purse my lips a bit, force my tongue to the roof of my mouth with the tip against the back of my teeth and the S sound would come out and sound perfectly normal.  

But I could hear the lisp.  To me it sounded like "ths" and it was a little annoying.  

Until I got the wisdom tooth out.  

As the hole started to heal, I had to get used to extra space in my mouth - it felt like someone could drive a model train through there at first!  And I noticed that I'd make unexpected noises when sneezing (something like Donald Duck!!)  And sometime during that time, I started (accidentally at first) making a real S sound when I said S words.  It kind of surprised me.  That's when I started noticing that the reason I could pronounce that letter was because I could close my teeth.

Finally.

Since the chewing surface of my wisdom tooth pointed toward my cheek, the rounded portion that is supposed to be next to the tongue was actually sitting up against the chewing surface "V" in the back of my bottom molar. It made it impossible for me to close my mouth completely.  That 1/8 of an inch prevented me from forming the S sound with my teeth and so I looked for other ways to compensate - hence the lisp.  

And now it's gone.  I almost don't sound like me (when I hear myself talk from the inside, where a person listens to him or herself.)  

It isn't without its hazards; sometimes the sounds can come out kind of muffled or whistling, and sometimes my cheek feels like it's flapping in the breeze.  And oddly enough, I find myself speaking the old way more often than not.  I go back to the lisp.  It's more comfortable; it's the voice I hear in my head when I think of me.  Yet - I know I don't need to do it anymore.  If I just take my time and think about how I want to say something, I'll do fine.  

But - and this is the weird part - when I'm not thinking about it, it just comes back.  Even though I don't have a reason to do it anymore.  

I've had to teach myself to slow down and talk the new way.  Right now it's about 50-50... which is better than the 90-10 I was doing at first.  

What it takes is practice.  Slow down and practice.  

It's like that in my recovery too.  I've been freed from a lot of things, a lot of survival mechanisms that aren't necessary anymore: guilting, blaming, manipulating, controlling, to name just a few.  The new patterns of behaving: letting go, living in today, letting people bear the consequences of their own actions, not fixing, not obsessing... these things are new to me and they take practice.  It still feels awkward (not as much as it once did) to live my life this new 24-hours-at-a-time way.  I like my life far better when I do.  And yet - sometimes that old habit of freaking out or being obsessed about something someone is doing or has done, will rise up and show itself in my behavior.  Half the time or perhaps a bit more, I can catch myself doing it the wrong way and just reverse my actions in mid-stream (just as I do when I realize I'm lisping again!) But it still does take work - every day.  Several times a day. 

 "The price of freedom is eternal vigilance."  - Thomas Jefferson.

Un-belief and faith

"... Jesus could not do many miracles there, because of their unbelief."  
(Mt. 13:58)  

The scene in Nazareth at the synagogue (where Jesus read Isaiah 61 and said "This day is this scripture fulfilled in your ears" - and then the people started saying, "What? this is just Joseph's son!!" and then the statement that Jesus couldn't do many miracles there because of their unbelief) has always plagued me as holding more than just the lesson, "If you don't believe, you won't receive."  And of course, "He came to His own and His own received Him not..."  

We think we know what belief looks like.  To some, it's the mental assent or acceptance one gives to a philosophy or a doctrine.  To others, it's a system, a code of conduct.  But for me and for thousands like me, it's throwing one's whole life's weight onto something - or someone.  Building one's whole life on it.  

But what exactly is UNbelief?  After looking at the Matthew passage and studying some of the other more well-known texts concerning faith and doubt, belief and unbelief, and drawing upon what I know from experience, I think I might have stumbled on something.  

First let me say that the unbelief referred to in the story of the man with a son who threw himself in the fire from demonic possession, is not the kind of unbelief I am talking about here.  The man (in saying, "I believe, help my unbelief!") referred to a certain element of doubt, which (if we're truly honest about it) we all have to some degree or another.  It's my contention that it doesn't matter how much or how little faith we have.  The important thing is where we place it.  I'll get back to that thought in a bit.  

To try to figure out what unbelief is (the kind that blocks what God wants to do in a life) I had to go back to an incident that happened during the wanderings of Israel in the desert during that 40 years.  Oversimplification : the people had been bad. To teach them a lesson, God sent poisonous snakes into the camp to bite them - people started dying.  Some cried out to Moses.  Moses asked God what to do.  God told him to make a bronze serpent and put it on a pole and lift it up so that the people could see it if they looked.  All they had to do was look at the serpent and they would live.  Many did, and were cured.  But there were those who didn't.  And they died.  

These people showed the same kind of attitude as the folks in Nazareth did that day.  It's not that they didn't have the faith to believe.  EVERYONE has faith.  Everyone!  It's that they WOULDN'T believe.  They chose to believe what their eyes told them - that the snakes were there, the tooth-holes were there, the poison streaks were creeping up their skin. They refused to believe (call it an overt act of UN-belief or ANTI-belief) that just looking at a bronze snake on a pole would make that situation better.  It's just the same as the people in Nazareth.  They saw this guy that had grown up in their community, they knew him, they knew he was "Joe's boy."  They knew his brothers and sisters, cousins and classmates.  They had seen him working in the carpenter shop beside his dad.  So they said, "Yeah.  Right."  They refused to put their belief in this person's claims that he was the Chosen One.  

And they missed out. Big time.

They had faith up the wazoo.  They did!  They firmly believed that Messiah would come.  They KNEW He would come.  They just didn't - refused to - believe that Jesus was the Messiah.  That this was their time.  That history was being made before their eyes.  

Contrast that with the man to whom I referred earlier.  He didn't have a whole lot of faith.  His faith had been eroded, year after year, prayer after prayer, faith-healer after faith-healer.  Nothing had worked.  His son was still sick.  Not even Jesus' disciples could do anything for him.  He was ready to pack it all in.  And then Jesus shows up.  Desperate, he asks for help.  Again.  In spite of his doubt.  

"Believe," he heard.  That re-opened a very old wound.  He'd been told nearly all of his son's life that the child wasn't delivered of his demons because the father didn't believe enough.  (Isn't that still the message believing people still get when they face this or that incurable illness and it doesn't go away?)   Honestly, making himself vulnerable to the same accusation, he confesses, "I do believe!  help my unbelief!!"  And I find it intriguing that instead of berating the father for his lack of faith, Jesus saw that the man was putting whatever faith he had left ... in HIM.  That was all it took.  All his faith from before had been placed in the faith-healers, in the doctors, even in the disciples.  And now - his faith had found a resting-place.  

And his boy was delivered.  Just ... like ... that.

After Math

One plan, borne of hatred and cruelty.

Two towers, shaken, crumbling.

Three television stations feeding images of real horror to millions. 

Four planes targeting the nerve-centers of the most powerful nation in the world.

Ten years have passed, and still people everywhere in the Western world know exactly where they were and how they heard of the events of September 11, 2001.

Forty people, knowing that the hijackers were headed to Washington, DC, stormed the cockpit and saved the Whitehouse, at the cost of their own lives.

Three hundred forty-three firefighters paid the ultimate price to rescue those trapped in burning buildings.  

Hundreds of police, ambulance, rescue workers, tracking dogs and their handlers, and fire-fighters flocked to New York from other countries to help their neighbors in need.

Some three thousand people lost their lives, many more thousand their family members on that day, ten years ago today.  

We remember them.

The lives of countless millions of people have been affected by the events of those few hours of infamy. The world has never been the same.

We will never be the same.

Fighting Mad

Of the gamut of my emotions, the one I find most terrifying is my anger.  I have one of those powder-keg tempers with a very long fuse.  When I lose it - well, it's not pretty; people get hurt.  Fortunately it doesn't happen often.  Well, at least not as often as it did.  

At one point in my life, my fuse had burned down so many times that I was low on prima-cord and so I skimped on it - and then all it took was the right (or wrong) set of circumstances and I'd be on a 10-second countdown to a mission of total annihilation.  Destroy the other guy at all costs. Have the last word, have that sarcastic, biting "you-brought-this-on-yourself" retort.  Twist it around like I was the victim.  Not very nice, to say the least.  It got so bad that I walked around "fighting mad" all the time.  And it truly felt like I was mad.  Insane, that is.

I found myself thinking about this earlier today.  And then I thought of an obscure memory from my childhood.

We were out picking blueberries.  (I hated picking blueberries, hated raw blueberries, hated the stains I'd get on my knees, my clothes, etc.)  So I was watching anything and everything other than what I was doing - I could pretty well go by feel anyway.  We had a lot of cats when I was growing up.  Two of them were in the field with me.  Now these cats were both males - both un-neutered (before the days of automatic spaying and neutering, who could afford it back then?) These critters tolerated one another; they knew they had to live together but they weren't really comfortable sharing space too closely.  Yet here they were.  We were their people and they were telling us we belonged to them.  (Cats do that; they mark social territory with their presence, which is why your cat will watch you do yard work from a distance).  

The neighbour's dog decided to take a short-cut through the field where we were.  All of a sudden we heard this low moaning sound.  One of the cats had spotted the dog.  My head whipped around; this was going to be interesting.  

The other cat started yowling as well.  They both had their attention firmly fixed on this big dog, about five times bigger than a cat.  Then, as if on signal, the sound changed to what can be more closely described as the roar of a bobcat - as they leapt into the air together, the fur on their backs standing straight up, and frightened that poor dog nearly out of his skin!  He turned tail and ran toward his house, ki-yi'ing as he went, the cats in hot pursuit, still making that wildcat sound, claws unsheathed.  We were hooting and hollering, cheering the cats on.  The dog hi-tailed it out of there and only managed to get away with a few scratches on his hocks.  

But it was what happened next that struck us.  The cats slowed down, stopped chasing the dog.  Still filled with kitty-adrenaline from the encounter (as evidenced from their sticking-straight-up fur), they spotted each other.  The ears went back - the moaning noise started again and ... 

They went at it!  Each tried to beat the tar out of the other!  Fur flew - the bobcat cries came back, and we watched in stunned silence as for the next 30 seconds they fought like - well, like tom-cats!  

Then, just as suddenly as it started, it was over.  The "winner" stayed; the other went back toward the house.  

We all just LOOKED at each other.  Everyone was uncomfortable wth what he or she had just witnessed.  Nobody said a word.  But everyone remembered it.  By suppertime we saw the funny side of it - but in the moment, it sure wasn't funny.  

As I thought about this memory earlier today, it occurred to me that if I am primed for a fight, if I am expecting to be attacked, that feeling is not easy to shut off.  And if I am prevented somehow from defending myself, there could be some residual and unresolved anger seeking an outlet.  That's a very vulnerable - and frightening - position to be in.  Someone could get hurt.  And often it's not the person I'm necessarily angry at or that I feel somehow threatened by; this person might be beyond my power to influence through distance, time, death, social expectations, or whatever.  Someone else - possibly someone close to me - gets the spillover reaction, the leftover fight or flight response that remains while I'm still angry (which makes me more vulnerable, I've discovered).  And the end result is always that I end up getting hurt because the other person retaliates.  

When I'm living in the moment, facing each experience or each encounter as it comes, I can discharge that anger in healthy ways.  When those outlets are cut off, when I let anger build up and hang onto it, or shove it down under the surface ... it ALWAYS resurfaces and in the most distressing of ways.  

How much better to acknowledge and work through the feeling, to talk it over with God, and to remind myself that this too shall pass; there is no need to stay fighting mad.

Such a long way

Sometimes I get discouraged when I think about how far I have yet to go to get to the place of being rid of my defects of character.  In many ways, it seems like three steps forward, two steps back.  Some days it's one step forward, three steps back.  I make mistakes along the way and I pay for those mistakes.  I also (hopefully the first time around) learn from them.  

Sometimes I don't.  Sometimes it takes several times down the same path for me to get the message.  Someone trips one of my triggers - and I'm back into my "don't back me (or anyone I love) into a corner" mode.  The claws and fangs come out just as sharp and dangerous as they were "back in the day."  

And that's when I get discouraged.  I look at the path ahead and it's daunting.  

It appears endless, the road ahead.  At such times, it helps me to stop, to pull over, so to speak, and to look back the way I came to see how far I've come.  How frequently I used to blow up.  How unhappy I was.  How afraid my husband and children were of my temper tantrums, melodramatics, and tear-fests.  How uptight and judgmental, how incredibly narrow-minded I was.  How many deeply held resentments I had.  How they held my life hostage in Victim-land.  How impossible it was (still is) to pull myself out of those obsessive, self-destructive behaviors.  

What helps me most is to concentrate on those behaviors that I keep repeating, lessons I need to learn, re-learn and learn all over gain.  I have stumbled upon a way to keep from getting quite so discouraged as I keep tumbling into the same things.  I look at three things:  duration, intensity, and frequency.

Duration:  My flights of obsession and angst used to take me on emotional rampages that would last weeks, sometimes months.  They don't last so long any more.  Some last minutes; others last hours.  Some last days.  Very few last weeks.  It's not perfect - but it's progress.  

Intensity:  The depths of my rampages used to be such that I would wallow in self-pity, immerse myself in anger, bathe in bitterness.  And in a weird way, I'd enjoy it.  Not so much anymore.  I can't say that I don't do it at all.  But I don't do it as thoroughly or as deeply as I once did - and I don't enjoy it nearly as much.

Frequency:  Not two weeks would go by (in my life before recovery) that I wouldn't have something to complain about, someone to judge (even if it was for judging me!)  It happens occasionally now - but only occasionally.  

Duration, Intensity, Frequency - that's the DIFference between then and now.  

Sure, there is such a long way to go.  But I've come such a long way.

Out of Bounds

Hi.  I'm Judy and I'm a recovering codependent.  

Part of the life of someone who is recovering from codependency is learning where others stop and the self begins, and where the self stops and others begin.  To an active codependent, there IS NO LINE.  Others' feelings and opinions can change the way a codependent feels.  This is because codependents have lost themselves.... lost themselves in other people.  There are those who would say, "Well, what's wrong with that? aren't we supposed to be selfless?  giving?"  

I would say - very cautiously - that in order to be selfless and giving, one first has to have a self to give away.  As a codependent person, I had no idea who I was.  I was a chameleon, changing who I was depending on who I was with.  I gave and gave and gave ... and resented those to whom I gave because they came to expect it, took me for granted.  I considered myself to be generous to a fault and supremely loyal. I marveled that after all I did to help people, they either walked all over me or pushed me away.  The problem was that I was generous and loyal because I needed others and their approval to complete me.  I was addicted to the high regard of others.  This is not selflessness. This is insanity.  

The process is multi-faceted.  However,  in the early stages of my recovery, when I began to realize that there was a distinction between others and myself (big revelation, right?), and that in crossing these boundaries each was not respecting the other, I started to mark out some boundaries for myself for the first time in my life.  In doing this - in combination with other necessary things - I began to heal.  

It is still ongoing.  And it isn't without its challenges and gaffes.  Codependency, like any other addiction, is cunning, baffling, and powerful.  It disguises itself to regain a foothold in the psyche.  It convinces the recovering codependent that he or she is doing the right thing, For example, one of the lessons we must learn in recovery is how to detach, how to let people be who they are and let go of the compulsion to change them.  If I'm not careful, however, I can let this preoccupation with someone else's boundaries quickly turn into a reluctance to set any of my own... and I'm back into letting people walk all over me for fear of them feeling pressured.  I forget that part of letting go is also letting others bear the responsibility for their own actions; if their actions are harming another person (even if that person is me) they need to know that.  When I allow them to take liberties, I lose ground in my recovery.  Resentment builds up in me because my boundaries are being crossed; others are taking advantage (whether intentionally or not) of my own fear of slipping back into codependency and I end up slipping back into codependent behaviors - how ironic!  

It's okay to set boundaries - and it's okay to maintain them.  It's okay to say what I want and need.  Honestly, graciously if possible.  It's okay to say no, to say when someone has crossed a boundary.  It's part of growing up.  I don't need to take anyone on a guilt trip; I do need to tell someone who has gone out of bounds, and tell them where the line is.

Words, words, words

I took my post title today from Shakespeare's Hamlet (Act II, Scene II).  Hamlet implies that words are of little or no consequence. 

I disagree.  Words are incredibly powerful; the wrong ones can kill a thousand times over whereas an assassin can only murder a person once.  By the same token, the right words can heal, encourage, and build bridges where there once were walls, whereas a material gift will soon be forgotten.  I was reminded of the power of words today when I stumbled across a blog post while surfing the Internet.  It tells a story which is all too common - and which is pretty powerful (click here to read it).  

Some of my most precious memories of growing up are of people who took the time to invest in my life with encouraging words.  A schoolteacher who cared enough to give me individual attention.  A Sunday School teacher who never spoke a critical word to me - not even once. A professor who recognized my talents and encouraged them.  I remember these things because I spent most of my growing-up years constantly feeling like I was a nuisance, a waste of skin, a screw-up.... because of the words I heard from most of the adults and authority figures in my life. 

For many years I held onto these poison words and made them my own - I internalized them and held others at bay with my own belief of them.  Then when I realized that they were poison, I spent a significant amount of time in victim-land ... thinking that there was no way that these things could be reversed. It took a lot of years for me to understand something crucial about this.  While there is no way for anyone in my past to undo the damage he or she has done to me, there is something that I can do.  

I can speak words of healing to myself.  When I first started doing that, it felt so fake.  A large part of me didn't believe what I was telling myself, even though it was true.  Over time, though, the good news that I was worth something, that I was loveable, that my contribution was valuable, etc., started to penetrate the shell of words that hardened my own heart against me.  

Before I could speak words of healing, encouragement, and restoration to others, I first had to speak them to myself, to forgive myself, to nurture myself.  When I did, something else happened that I wasn't quite expecting.  

My abuse magnet turned off.  Victims of abuse tend to attract more abusers to victimize them, and my life was a prime example.  But when I started using kind words on myself, that electric magnet built of all the abuse that I had received - and charged by my own self-talk - lost the current that made it so powerful.  Fewer and fewer bullies felt compelled to use me as a target.  The charge (so to speak) reversed polarity, and I began to naturally repel those who would have taken advantage of me before, those who would have used me as their whipping boy.  This liberated me from relationships that were harming my spirit, and it freed me to be able to offer encouragement, kindness and mercy to those who need to hear it.  

And we all need to hear those words.

Tone of Voice

A few weeks ago something happened which hasn't happened in quite a while.  (It used to happen all the time.)  I was talking about something that really bothered me, some sort of behavior that someone else was in the habit of doing - or not doing - I forget now what it was.  I was trying to be nice about it; I thought I was being kind.  

From the bemused looks on my family members' faces I could tell something was up.  "WhAT?" I finally demanded.  One of them pointed across the room behind me.  The dog had tucked her tail between her legs and scurried into her kennel, keeping her head as low as possible.  As if she had done something wrong.  

She'd done nothing wrong.  She knew I was frustrated and she didn't want me to think that she had anything to do with it.  She had read my tone of voice and was afraid of me.  She was going to go someplace safe until the storm had passed!  

Her reaction stopped me in my tracks ... and I was able to detach from the situation that was causing me grief, to find some perspective.  But the experience itself stayed with me - the realization that my dog was afraid to be near me when I was annoyed about something.  

Dogs aren't the only ones who don't like to be around angry or frustrated people.  Most folks just shut down or refuse to respond to someone who is obviously ticked off - whether the one speaking is aware of it or not.  The words themselves might even be meant to heal or to encourage - but the tone is another matter.  The tone of voice says, "You people are stupid."  

Such ranters walk away from the encounter where people have been politely (or uncomfortably) non-responsive and they say to themselves, "Why don't these people get it?"  And they conclude that the people to whom they were speaking must not understand or not care.  It isn't that at all.  The delivery is accusatory, the cadence of speech is driving, and all that is missing is the face being a foot away from the other person's face, and the index finger thumping onto the other person's chest.  Talk about an invasion of someone else's boundaries.

I recognize it because I used to do it ... a LOT.  Not so much anymore.  

By the way, when my dog was in her kennel hiding from me, she refused to come out until I got down to her level and spoke in a different, more relaxed way... and when she was convinced it was safe, she came out and was her usual silly doggie self.

It all comes down to tone of voice (i.e., attitude).  

When I candidly talk about my own struggles to grow up from the stunted person I was not all that long ago, and the struggles I have to live this one-day-at-a-time, rigorously honest lifestyle, when I am aware that without God I am helpless, when I am filled with compassion for people who (like me) are journeying through life, each at his or her own pace and place... that is when the people I might want to help will actually listen to what I have to say.  I've found that accusing, condemning, and ranting (even though I occasionally still do those things) just aren't worth the extra time and effort it takes afterward to convince someone I'm safe to be with.  It's so much better to come down off my pedestal and be myself - just another traveler - and realize that maybe I just might be able to learn from someone else.

Snip

Recently I had to divide and repot my peace lily; it was root-bound.  I got the pots and finally psyched myself up to dividing the root ball into four relatively equal sections, each with its own equivalent section of the plant. 

I knew it would be messy.  I knew that I would most likely lose some of the plant to trauma.  But I knew it was necessary.  

Once the deed was done, I watered the sections thoroughly, each in its own pot, and set myself to watching how the leaves reacted.  Within a day I knew which parts of the plant had 'taken' to the new environment and which hadn't. However, I gave them another day to be sure; after all, I could have been mistaken. In a few rare cases I was - but after that, it became evident from the wilting leaves (while others beside them were not wilting) that there were some portions that were just not salvageable.  And so the scissors came out.  I began to carefully snip the leaves, one by one, at the place where the stems had bent over almost double. 

Snip.  Snip.  As I did, the stems bounced back, and the remainder of the plant took on a much more healthy look overall.  

This evening, I noticed that the spider plant in the dining room window, which until a few weeks ago had nearly a dozen "babies" - had nurtured them for such a long time that it was badly depleted of energy.  Brown leaves were almost as numerous as the green ones.  Tomorrow, in the light of day, I'll be trimming those leaves and allowing the good of the roots to go to the healthy portions of the plant.  It might be a lot smaller when I'm done, but it will be healthier.  

So - I turned my attention to the one above the kitchen sink.  It too had a few babies ... and they were fairly large.  But they'd not yet depleted the mother plant.  So I reached up and pulled the largest baby down to me.  The other babies were attached to this one as well.  I reached up to where it was attached to the mother plant, and severed the umbilical cord.  

Snip.

Immediately, I potted the babies and watered them.  They look wonderful.  Hopeful. Their roots will develop and they will become self-sufficient. The mother will now be able to gain the full benefit of the nutrients coming into it from its own well-established roots.  In time, it will blossom and start to nurture even more little ones.  

As I have been looking after these plants the last few days, I have been unable to stop myself from thinking about how this dividing, separating, wrenching process mirrors my own, teaches me necessary lessons about life, nature, nurturing, letting go, and looking after the self - even if it hurts - in order to be able to have something to give to others.

Source of the photo:
http://home.howstuffworks.com/
how-to-care-for-house-plants7.htm

When I first started my own process, it was extremely difficult to learn how to let go of my tight-fisted, white-knuckled grip on life - especially other people's lives.  In the early stages, I actually had to physically step back from people when I caught myself trying to influence, manipulate or control them - put  my hands in the air in an "I surrender" stance and internally let go of the need to control the situation.  This letting go was uncomfortable for me because I was so not used to it.  

Snip.

But soon I found that I could do it with a bit more ease, that I had a bit more energy than I thought I would have because I wasn't fretting so much about whether others were living their lives "right" or not.  It was no longer my problem.  

Then as I realized that my ability to change myself was non-existent - having tried all my life with the same abysmal results - I made a decision to turn my life over to the care of my Creator.  

Snip.  The deadness started to drop off me. 

I started to see the roots of my self-destructive behavior: past hurts, resentments.  One by one I faced these, worked through the pain I had never allowed myself to feel, and gradually came to a place of forgiveness.

Snip. Snip. Snip.  More deadness fell off.  Every snip took anywhere from days to months, depending on how deep, systematic, or long-lasting the hurt was.

I started to see in myself some patterns of believing and of thinking that had allowed these resentments and self-destructive attitudes to grow.  I developed a growing hatred of these defects of character and asked God to remove them; I had tried to get rid of them on my own but it had never worked.  So I asked Him to do it.  He took me at my word.

Snip.  Less control.  More freedom.  More growth.

In every step I took from that point onward: apologizing to people I had hurt with my own woundedness, maintaining a watchful eye over my reactions to life and to people, deepening my relationship with God, and sharing my story with others - I was empowered more and more by the One from whom I had asked for help.  

And now that God has brought me to the place where (out of a place of fulness) I'm able to help others get a good start on their own recovery, I can remember the lessons learned from my own pruning process to know when it's time to nurture and when it's time to let go (to cut the umbilical cord, so to speak) and watch in wonder as the legacy of healing passes from person to person, one person at a time, one day at a time.

Lowest Common Denominator

Let's say his name is Sam.  You know him; everyone has seen him.  He's the homeless guy who occupies the same corner, travels the same route, has the same line to beg for some change on a cold winter's day.  He might live in a cardboard box.  He might live in a dumpster.  He reeks of unwashed clothes, food residue, and stale sweat. 

Sam doesn't talk about where he's been, how he got to live on the streets.  His main concern is the next muffin, the next cup of coffee, staying warm when the weather is cold, getting out of the biting January wind, staying safe from those who would take advantage of his powerlessness.  Most people avert their eyes from him.  Of those who do stop to talk, a number of them only do so to turn down his requests for change.  He goes into a store to get out of the elements.  The store clerks roll their eyes and if he stays too long, they call the police to escort him out.  Not that he's causing a disturbance.  His presence just makes shoppers uncomfortable.  It's bad for business.  

Photo found at
http://static.photo.net/attachments/
bboard/00E/00Ervf-27534584.jpg

A lot of us don't like to look at Sam or at folks like him - those who've been reduced to the lowest common denominator - human and nothing but human, stripped of all the facades.  I wonder if it's because we might see something of ourselves in him, something that we hide away from in our everyday lives.  Something so unutterably soul-wrenching that it takes our breath away.  An honest, uncluttered representation of need.  

In a way, we are all Sam.  We all need someone to show us a little mercy.  We all need ... pure and simple.  Powerless, vulnerable, curious, lonely, needy people.  There is no call for us to declare ourselves (whether consciously or subconsciously) better than he is.  We all need love.  We all need healing.  

I wonder what would happen if the tables were suddenly turned and we who consider ourselves in the majority - or even in the right - were to suddenly find ourselves in the position of being in the minority, being seen as disposable, and/or having to depend upon others the way Sam is forced to do.  I wonder how much of our self-righteousness and superiority would disappear.  

Perhaps it's enough just to consider what it would feel like to put ourselves in his shoes. I hope so.

On the Cusp

In a discussion with my hubby last night, I told him that I felt like I was at the beginning of a new phase in my life.  I outlined some of the things I mentioned two posts ago - how there are changes happening in my life and I'm not really sure where they will take me.  

I feel as though I am on the cusp of a transformation.  

It's exciting. It's uncomfortable.  It's terrifying.

I like the word "cusp" to describe this feeling because it means "sharp point" - and carries with it the idea of (1) not being able to go back, (2) not being able to see what's next, (3) not being able to stay still (since it's sharp, it's not all that comfortable a place to stay), and (4) requiring a great deal of faith to take the next step into what appears like nothingness.  
 

Photo taken from this website:
http://andrewsidea.wordpress.com/2011/02/04/
indiana-jones-and-the-last-crusade-new-testament-imagery/

Like Indiana Jones did in The Last Crusade.  The defining moment in the film for me is when Indy (having passed two of the three challenges) takes off his hat, clutches it over his heart, takes a deep breath, puts his foot out in mid-air, and takes a step out into what appears to be a deep chasm.  

Talk about a leap of faith.  All Indy had to go on was a dusty old book with some cryptic instructions as to how to safely reach the room in which the Grail was kept.  "Only in the leap from the lion's head will he prove his worth."  

It's hard to escape the symbolism - but I won't go there today ... ;)

It is a scary and somewhat heady feeling, being on the cusp of so many new things all at once; I've noticed that at least in my life, this is what God does.  He lays groundwork for months, sometimes decades.  Then, as He gets closer to putting it all together, there's a feeling of anticipation, of uncertainty.  One step of faith at the right time, and then bang-bang-bang - all of a sudden I'm facing in a totally different direction than the one I thought I'd be facing ... and marveling at how He has caused things to fall into place.  Well, I am pretty sure that very soon, things are going to be at the leap of faith juncture.  I can feel the anticipation, the hesitation, the sense of not knowing how it will all turn out. Before, that feeling would drive me NUTS because I had to have things planned out 5 years in advance - and the "not knowing" (lack of security) was quite maddening.  In the last couple of years though, by means of this process of healing that I've been going through, my faith factor has increased.  As I trust God more, I find I'm better able to let go of my need to control the outcome - even if I AM scared.

I guess I don't need to know what's ahead anymore.  But I'm sure glad He does.