Sea of Tranquility

I nudge my scrawny, 10-year-old body between two spruce trees, avoiding the prickles and dead twigs protruding from the bottom, and I pause.  I see a carpet of green grass, ringed completely by evergreens so thick that it is difficult to see past, and tricky to navigate on foot.  I allow the safety of this place, its beauty and quietness, to seep into my tired spirit.

My brother had shown this place to me a few years previous.  He called it the "Sea of Tranquility" - named after the same place on the moon - a flat place which was ringed in, protected.  I had visited here several times since.  

I pad silently into the circle.  The summer breeze plays 'in and out the window' between my bare, scabbed knees, war scars from learning to ride a bike.  There is just enough breeze to keep the mosquitoes away.  The sun soaks heat and restoration into my skin.  Here, the only sounds are the distant chirping of a cricket, the buzz of a couple of grasshoppers singing to each other, and the occasional bird chirping from one of the trees.  So peaceful.  So different.  

I lie down on my back, and lift my thoughts above.  The clouds are playing slow-motion tag, and I watch the birds swooping to catch flies on the fly, above me. My tense muscles start to unclench.  My soul drinks Creation in, like a desert traveler coming upon a natural spring.  Yet in the back of my mind I tell myself, "Mustn't stay here long.  She'll wonder ... and then I'll be in for it."  

The uncut grass blades tickle the backs of my legs.  I rub my calves together to take the prickling feeling away.  Slowly, the miracle of Nature soothes my thoughts, salves my troubles, and gives me just a little more strength.  The mental straitjacket loosens enough for me to catch a breath of the divine.  I allow myself to feel the caress of comfort.  I am not aware that I have begun to smile until a few minutes later, when I catch myself doing it. I close my eyes.

I hear a dog bark; it jolts me from my reverie.  I don't know how long I've been here, but my stomach lurches suddenly in panic.  Not because of the dog; I know all the dogs and they like me.  Not like her.  

I roll over onto one elbow and tuck my knees under me, rocking back onto my feet again.  I take one last look around and fill my lungs with freedom, enough to last me until the next time.  As I breathe out, my spirit says "Thank You," and my heart is resigned to what awaits me.  I tighten the straps around my heart once again, and squeeze past the trees, heading back the way I came.

Different and same

I just saw a video this morning that I must share.  It's about five and a half minutes long and it is about a young man named Ryan Pittman.

His story is so powerful that it stands alone.  A lot of people have tried to get across what everybody needs to know.  Ryan succeeded.  He has given hope and inspiration to so many people.



I know he inspired me.

Bumpity-bump

I have a vivid memory from when I was six years old.  It's a happy memory.  

My grandfather lived down a long mud lane.  He drove a twelve-year-old Chevy truck built in the early 1950s with those bouncy-jouncy shocks that allowed passage over a dirt road but were pretty hard on the occupants.  He smelled like pipe tobacco and all the outdoors.  I loved him with everything I knew how to love with.  He never spoke a harsh word to me.  He was a short man - spry - and generous.  

This memory I have is brief.  It was of a day when my mother and I had been visiting him and Grammie at their house for the morning. I'd spent the morning exploring the property, going down to the edge of the lake, heading back up to the barn, visiting with the cows, hearing the grunts from the pigsty, trying to spy the kittens in the loft. And of course, sitting in Grammie's kitchen listening to her talk about the memories she had of my dad growing up, of adventures he had.  

Grampa offered to drive us back home after lunch, well over a mile if we were to walk, and the footing would have been difficult on that lane.  

We accepted.  

And here starts that memory so vivid I can almost smell the dust off the dashboard, mixed with the other smells I'll describe here. It's one of my earliest memories, so it's full of images, feelings.  Very potent.

Source (via Google Images):
http://www.classic-car-history.com/1947-1955-chevy-truck.htm

He got behind the wheel, and I sat in the middle between him and my mother.  

I loved riding in his truck.  It was so much fun!  Up and down, over the ruts and rills we would go, dangerously close to the edge on both sides of the lane. The ditch went down about fifteen feet on a sharp grade on both sides, so it was important to stay away from the edge.  Yet strangely, I was never afraid of him straying too close to the edge.  I only knew I was with Grampa, and he was driving us home, and that's where we'd end up. I felt safe when I was with him. It wasn't something I was consciously aware of, it just WAS.

Bounce, bounce, bounce...  He navigated the quarter-mile-long lane with calmness and aplomb, confidence and quietness.  I was enjoying the ride, being jounced around almost like a rag doll as we headed toward the main road.  And then I said what I always said, "Here we go again, bumpity-bump in Grampa's truck!"  And he laughed - but not in a shaming way.  His laughter said, "I'm enjoying my granddaughter SO much!"  He knew how to make me feel so important.  He knew neat things like that.  He knew lots of things my other relatives didn't seem to care about.  Like how to feed cows and pigs. That was cool.   


I don't remember getting back home, I just remember that little snippet of bouncing and enjoying the ride over that mud lane with all its ruts and rocks.

A little over a year later, Grampa would die in hospital of internal injuries, after his tractor wheel slipped off the edge of that narrow lane and rolled over and over on its way to the bottom of the ditch.  It truly was a dangerous passageway.  At seven years old, dragged to the scene in a panic by my mother after she received a phone call, I struggled to understand how come the ambulance was there, what had happened to Grampa, why they wouldn't let us near, how come he wasn't climbing up the side of the ditch by himself.  It all seemed so surreal, and totally disconnected from that care-free memory from over a year previous.  

I found myself just recently thinking about that ride with Grampa in his truck, how safe and protected I felt - and pondering in my adult mind how that at any moment we could all have plummeted to injury or death down into that same ditch.  

I guess it's because I'm covering some pretty rough territory lately and it feels rather scary.  And I suppose that it's God's way of telling me, "Trust Me.  I've got the wheel and I know the way.  It's going to be bumpy, too. But that's okay, I'm here.  And I'll NEVER leave you.  I will get you safely home."

The imaginary family

Grief comes in stages and waves.  Everyone goes through it in their own way.  And you can grieve a loss even if the person hasn't died ... or left you.  And it doesn't even have to be a person.  

I once had an imaginary family.  It was one I created - in my childhood - a coping mechanism to escape from the unpleasant realities of growing up in an abusive atmosphere.  I deluded myself into believing that I grew up in a Christian home, that I was fortunate, that my abuser really did love me, that I deserved the beatings and the constant criticism and that really, it was a happy, closely-knit family.  

Like I said...imaginary.  

The first wave of grief happened almost ten years ago.  Details don't matter - it was just my wake-up call to the fact that the family I had created never existed. With that realization - came a short period of denial (not long because the truth was undeniable) ... and then shock.  I went into an emotional tailspin.  I reverted back to the mentality I had when I was fifteen - and what I was then wasn't ... uh, shall we say ... appropriate.  I scared myself with my own behavior.  Afraid I might lose my ministry, I sought counseling - but got one of those "cookie-cutter" people who are more interested in statistics, pressing charges, and following the social worker manual than in listening to what I needed.  I told the counselor in my first session: "I don't want justice.  I want to be free."  I finished my minimum mandatory EAP sessions with that person and left, never to return.

Then the anger hit: white-hot rage. I cut off all ties with my family of origin, couldn't even talk on the phone with them without spitting nails.  For a good eight months I was livid as I started to review memory after memory.  The outrage was incredible.  Fortunately, I discovered the ministry of Joyce Meyer - and was able to work through about half of the rage and come to a place where I was willing to forgive.  At that point I was able to know a little peace.  My life started to make sense again, away from that family, whom I finally saw without the rose-colored glasses of denial.  But not quite enough grace to forgive.  Not yet. 

That was 2004.  In November of 2004 there was a crisis in the extended family that thrust me back into contact with them again.  I reverted within six months to feeling oppressed, criticized, abused all over again.  I gave up hope that it would ever get better.  Somehow, I was holding on to the idea that if I was just good enough, brave enough, honest enough, strong enough - they would see what they had done to me and change.  I was wrong.  

Four years later, on another front, I was ready to ask for help.  And I got it!!  This time, I got an amazing counselor and started to heal from the inside out.  It took about six months to a year in some areas - but there was progress.  I was able to come to a place of forgiveness.  I was even able to feel some compassion for my chief abuser.  Which, by the way, in NO WAY makes the abuse "all right."  Forgiveness isn't like that. (And that in itself was a revelation to me.)

For the first time in my life, I actually experienced acceptance from a whole community of people ... and happiness within me.  And freedom from the burden of holding on to so many of the negative messages I was raised with, lies I believed about myself, mind-sets I was indoctrinated with.  It was HUGE.  I was ... amazed.  It was so freeing, so many lights came on that I felt compelled to write a book about the process.  And I did!  my e-book was published on Smashwords on September 25, 2011. I named this blog after it. 

And I thought - silly me - that my family of origin would be happy for me.  

One person was.  I will give that person that much.  The rest - as I have come to find out because they discussed this behind my back - judged me and condemned me for telling the story of my journey - from December 2008 onward to my entering the world of recovery from the chains of the past. In doing so, I happened to mention once or twice in the book, that I had been abused as a child. This was the bone of contention for my family of origin. When given the chance, they said nothing to my face, so I assumed they were okay with me publishing! But I had forgotten what their natural way of dealing with things was: nicey-nice to my face and venomous behind my back. Some even accused me of lying, of making it all up.  Not directly - to be sure (because that's all part of the dysfunction) - but I did find out about it.  The feeling of being unaccepted, of being (how shall I put it best?) crucified by my own mother and extended family - was almost as unbearable as the first.  The main way to describe this feeling is "betrayal" followed by "frustration (also known as, "If they'd only ____") - and most recently, "profound sadness."

This second major wave of grief hit right after Christmas 2011, during a visit that opened my eyes to truths I didn't want to face - as dedicated to truth as I have been, there were some things I was both shocked and disappointed to learn.  I could call this wave of grief a lot of things but I think I can best sum it up by calling it "The goodbye wave."  

There is something so final about that word. Goodbye.  I read a poster once that said, "The only thing that's harder than letting go is moving on." That was the crossroads I have been facing the last few months.

I really had to finally accept that these people bore no resemblance to my fantasy / imaginary family - that my self-created idyllic group of people never existed and that these people ... the real people who would have ruined my life if God hadn't stepped in and rescued me ... would NEVER change, showed no desire to change, even insisted (and still do) that they did nothing wrong.  I knew that if I stayed around them, they would destroy what little bit of healing I had been able to enjoy, and that it was unhealthy for me to continue to expose myself to their extreme dysfunction.  My recovery from those chains took me too long and it was too hard a journey to have it stolen from me, eroded away foot by foot until there was nothing left.  

I'm still in the middle of that wave, riding it hard through all the stages of grief all over again.  It's difficult.  But I'll live through it ... and with better tools to be able to handle it.  And in the end, I'll be healthier for it.

Forgiving me

Last October (2011), in a post called Forgiveness Frees, in which I talked about forgiving others, I said I might talk some time about forgiving the self.  

When I was going through my initial journey of self-discovery, in the portion where I was writing down the names of all those people that had hurt me - and what they did to hurt me - I thought I'd exhausted the list when that little Voice inside said, "You forgot someone."  Asking whom He meant, the response came - ever so quietly and gently, " ....... you."  

Yes.  Yes I had done so much to hurt myself - ignoring myself, hating myself, talking trash about (and to) myself, and much more.  It was hard to write it all down and see it all on paper.  Yet it was one of the most useful exercises I had ever done to come to a knowledge of myself.  And yes, I had to come to a place of forgiveness for the person who had done all these things: me.  

Weird, huh.  

It was a process which began with realizing that damage had been done - and that it was wrong!  To allow myself to get angry at that - legitimately.  To look at all the areas that those wrong things had affected.  There were a LOT.  And then to realize that I couldn't make up for the past ... and regret and remorse could only go so far.  So at that point, I could let myself off the hook.  That - my friends - is forgiveness.  Forgiveness doesn't make what was wrong, "okay."  It isn't carte blanche for the abuse to keep on happening, either.  But it is a process that begins with a decision to become willing to forgive, and ends (after a whole pile of stuff in between) with another decision to not punish the person for whatever that wrong thing was.  (For more information see the post I referred to, above - I put a link to it.) 


Anyway, I did eventually get to that point of being able to decide not to punish myself for hurting me.

From Ten Quick Ways to Get Happy,
http://lifestyle.aol.co.uk/2011/11/15/watching-
too-much-tv-makes-older-women-depressed/

And ... to make restitution to myself (wow that still sounds weird) ... I started to treat myself differently.  I'd stop myself from putting me down (either in the mirror or in public - well, the mirror part still needs a bit more work).  I'd make a little bit of time to do something I wanted to do, rather than putting everyone else's needs ahead of mine ALL of the time.  

Slowly I found little ways to say to myself, "I'm worth being nice to."  One of the things I started doing was smiling at myself in the mirror when I saw me "in there" in the morning.  Even if only briefly! (Guess what ... people look better when they smile! even if they have no teeth!)  Something that simple - and it felt so awkward at first - helped lay the groundwork for getting to know myself ... and starting to like myself.  To encourage myself.  To take care of myself. To accept myself.

It's a funny thing about forgiving yourself, hard as that is sometimes.  It's not optional, because it's a gateway to having healthy relationships with other people.  Lots of folks try to have healthy relationships with others but if they can't stand themselves, the relationships they have will be superficial at best, and totally dysfunctional at the worst.  I can say this because this is how I lived my life for decades.  (And then I wondered why emotionally healthy people didn't want to have anything to do with me... Du-uh!)  It's like I had this built-in 'abuse magnet.'  With rare exceptions, I ended up attracting people as friends who wanted to either control me or fix me.  This wasn't good for me - or for them.  

When I learned to forgive - not only others but myself - the magnet slowly reversed its polarity.  Instead of attracting abusers, or being attracted TO fixers, I started being repelled by them - and if they got close, it didn't take long for me to repel them (okay, sometimes I had to tell them to go away, because they didn't get it the first, or twentieth, time.)  And I started being attracted to - and attracting - those who are accepting, confident without being cocky, honest with themselves and others, and sincere.  

I can barely believe it - if you'd have asked me four years ago if this was possible, I would have said no.  But it's true.  Forgiveness really DOES free.

Distance - not speed

I was talking to a buddy of mine just in the last couple of days about his desire to do a bit more walking.  He was berating himself - because he has arthritis - for not being able to hoof along like he used to.  That's when I imparted some of the knowledge I have learned on the subject:  "In walking, it's not how fast you go, it's how far you go."  True.  (Hm, maybe that's the reason people start jogging, to go farther in less time.  But it's hard on the knees!  I think my friend is better off walking...)  

Source: (from Google Images) is
http://www.southwaterfront.com/health_and_wellness/winter-healthy-talk-walk/

For those of us who are unable to jog (heck, I am lucky if I can waddle!) the trick to walking is making the time to go as far as you can comfortably go.  Every step is about three feet (well, for shorter people like me, that's two feet).  So walking a mile, whether it takes ten minutes or thirty, still uses up the same amount of calories.  And as long as the heart gets elevated up to a certain percent above normal (which can be accomplished by swinging the arms when you walk instead of walking faster) then it will do just as much good.  

It's the same with developing and maintaining a relationship with God and with oneself (and eventually with others, as the first two get more healthy).  The magic wand, the divine Zap ... very rarely happens.  Usually it's slow and steady - and if you look at today compared to yesterday, it would be easy to get discouraged simply by virtue of the fact that you haven't covered that much distance since yesterday.  Compare it to a year ago, or two, or three years - and there you have your measuring stick.  

It's a journey of millimeters, day by day, hour by hour, sometimes even minute by minute.  You hardly know a change is happening - but it happens nonetheless. One step at a time.  Sometimes the last thing you want to do is take another step.  But it's the next right thing - and somehow the strength is there because felt or not, God is right there empowering you.  And when you get to a place where you can rest a bit - and THEN look back - the distance from the starting point is absolutely amazing.  

And it leads to the next step, this time with a smidge more confidence. And then the next.  

God is very near.

Looking for Yes

One of the techniques I learned when my children were small was a little concept known as "looking for yes."  

When I was growing up, I'd ask whether I could have this thing, do that thing, go that place.  Sometimes the answer was yes.  Most times - it was no.  Just a flat no.  No other options, nothing. If I didn't like it - and said so - well, let's just say the results weren't pleasant.

When my own children were small, I knew that the task ahead was daunting at best.  Children are pretty much BORN saying, "I want."  (What else do you think "Waaaaah"means?)  I was fortunate to find the help of a tremendous group of women who taught me that it was okay to trust my baby's signals and respond to them.  Through them, I was led to a book that became a bible of sorts for child-rearing:  How to talk so kids will listen and listen so kids will talk - by Adele Faber and Elaine Mazlish. (Wow, I just checked and it's still available online!) -  They provided a LOT of techniques, and one of those was looking for yes. 

Source (via Google Images):
http://piecesofcontentment.blogspot.ca/2011/10/simple-joys.html

The idea was that even if you must say no to your child, you provide him with a choice or an option of what he or she CAN do instead.  Example: "No, we can't go to the corner store but we can either put on a video or do some painting." I found when I used that choice, I didn't frustrate my kids nearly as much.  They were happier more often.  They could make a choice and feel like I was not "against" them. Instead of "I can't," they learned to say to themselves, "I can."

I have used this technique as they have grown older and for the most part, it still works, amazingly. And just lately - I've begun to use it on myself to start to deal with my tendency to see the glass half-empty and to criticize before listening.  Example: No, I can't control what this person thinks, believes, does or says.  But I can listen to some music and feed my soul, or I can go do some housework (I RARELY opt for this unless I'm really angry), or I can write my feelings down and work through them, and then let go.  

Looking for Yes is working, even though I KNOW I'm using the technique on myself! It opens my mind a bit more to the idea that I am accepted and loved by my Creator.  As I do, I find I am happier, too.

Accepting criticism

In the last few weeks, some of the work we do has been under review.  The tricky part about reviewing something that people have been doing for a long time is that it's pretty easy to get up in arms about being subjected to some constructive criticism. Since our "widgets" are documents that are going to end-user clients, and I take great pride in my work ... when someone questions my wording or grammar or even my logic, I have a tendency to get a little 'put out.'  Most of my errors have been typographical, the odd preposition not used the correct way, that sort of thing.  But today there was a document with some major errors in logic and in content. Ouch.

Source (via Google Images):
http://www.oilogosphere.com/blog/report-card

At first I tried to argue it, to say, "This is why I said that."  That didn't go very far.  So I went into "roll-with-the-punches" mode.  And while that was happening, the person took that opportunity to give me a lesson in what should have been the basics for me.  I was not impressed - and still less impressed with myself AND the whole reason for the review in the first place.  But I held my tongue.  

I did ask for some suggestions from a co-worker regarding one of the points that was raised.  And I got some helpful hints, which I plan to use.

One of the things I appreciated about the reviewer's talk with me was that it was made clear to me that this didn't need to be fixed today.  "Set it aside until tomorrow.  Then make the changes and when it's done, bring it back to me." It kind of surprised me - that this person would be that gentle with me.  That extra time, and the person's kind attitude, gave me the time I needed to decompress.  It's amazing how a little time and space can give me some perspective.  And help me to let go.  So here I am letting go ... again!! (grin)

Nobody likes to be told that something they thought they knew how to do was wrong all along.  But... better to know and be able to take steps to correct it, rather than continue to do it wrong!  And now I know how to produce a better widget.  The quality of my work will improve.  And that is a good thing.

This far - no further

Lately I've been struggling with boundaries.  

Not so much with where they are - I am slowly getting a comfort level there - but how to set them .... and how to enforce them .... is the thing that's been occupying my attention the last few weeks.  

I know I have to set these boundaries, and the hardest ones to set are those that must be put up for the first time with people (especially members of one's family-of-origin, be they natural or extended) who not only don't have ANY boundaries of their own, it seems to be part of their religion to cross over others' borders too - and stomp all over the tulips while they're there.  So (this is a given) I know for certain that they won't understand. I used to think exactly as they do now.  I know that they will wonder just what the big deal is.  And that they'll judge me - and tell everyone they know how cruel and ungrateful I'm being, to get them to judge me too, so their own treatment of me seems justified.  I KNOW this. Yet I am feeling compelled to tell them why I'm setting that boundary, how disappointed I am that they wouldn't have had the good sense to know not to "go there".  How wrong their crossing it is.  How much it hurts.  And yes, a large part of me wants to stick it right back to them.


I can't lie about it.  But it doesn't make their trespassing on my emotional property any less wrong.  And here I sit.  And I question.  And I pray.  And I wonder.  

Image "Businesswoman Asking To Stop"
courtesy of imagerymajestic at
www.freedigitalphotos.net

How much should I tell them?  How do I tell them?  Do I tell them ANYTHING?  I write stuff so ... should I write to them?  Hmmm... any of the rare times I've ever written to someone before about something similar - it wasn't pretty.  The fangs and claws came out - on both sides.  It was pretty ugly.  I hesitate before doing that again.  

Maybe I should just be quiet and not "go there" myself.  Say nothing, but refuse to play that game - and then when they ask about it ... keep it not only simple, but short.   Yet there's this big, empty ... whatever... out there which begs, no, demands to be addressed.  The call of that thing is so strong, perhaps irresistible.  Or is it really "out there"??  Maybe it's actually "in here" - maybe it's just my own desire for self-justification.  Or maybe, as people in the recovery circles I hang around in say, it's "the codependent crazies."  That desire to gain the upper hand, to change the other person's behavior - even though I know for sure it won't - and will probably make it worse...!  

One of the things I learned in a course many years ago just popped into my head.  The course was on decision-making - and I remember the instructor saying, "The decision to do nothing is still a viable decision.  Sometimes a problem needs to just stew for a while - as uncomfortable as that is - and come to its own conclusion." 

That is the only option for me right now that has any semblance of peace attached to it.  Everything else is rife with turmoil.  So - once again I turn the whole situation - and myself - over to God, asking Him to relieve me of the bondage of self-will run riot, and to make me an example of what happens in a heart totally in love with Him.    

Hide and Seek

One of the things about this new life of healing and recovery is that as it progresses, there are fewer and fewer places to hide.  The lifestyle of rigorous honesty, of living in God's searchlight, is such that it pervades  Every. Single. Thing.  Every facet of my existence is open to scrutiny, and can be an occasion for God to put His finger on something that needs to happen in my life, some way I need to grow, some new fear or challenge that needs to be conquered.  And ONLY by His presence and power in my life - because I tried to do it on my own ... and failed - over and over again.  

Image via Google - source:
http://hearts-for-him.blogspot.ca/2011/12/hide-and-seek.html

As He frees me more and more of the shackles of my own self-deceptions and hindrances to intimacy with Him, (and I am far from having arrived!!) I tend to notice things more easily than I used to.  

I notice when I'm being manipulated, for example.  I notice it when people lie - even for reasons they may think are good - and it bothers me because ... well, because in this new way of living, I've learned that lying - even if my motives are good - ALWAYS leads to heartache.  So does manipulation.  And taking people on guilt trips.  All things I was VERY good at.  

I hid there for years. It was a safe place ... at least I thought it was.  It was also a very lonely place. I was so secure in "being right" that I pushed away everyone in my life that cared about me.  Nobody wanted to be around me - and those who had to be, tolerated me at best.  Hiding in my fortress of control - whether I exercised that control through playing the victim card or through intimidating my children with all my religious clap-trap - kept me from being happy.

This road I've been traveling for the last three years has brought me much farther out into the open than I ever was comfortable with, and the transition is ... well, uncomfortable!  Yet, I'm more easily able to seek those things which will be beneficial to me because I've come to be a bit more at ease inside my own skin.  The changes in me - and that is the key word : "IN" me - are slowly making changes automatically in my words, my relationships, my behavior.  I don't have to grunt and groan and strain to make them happen. They just DO.  

And instead of this uneasy and squirming, foreboding feeling when talking to God, like I was being called to the principal's office or something, I am more free to seek Him out and just spend time with Him.  No agendas.  No prayer list.  No chapter-a-day stuff.  Just me and Him.  The conversation takes place whether I'm aware of it or not.  Sometimes I'll just muse (seemingly to myself...) "Hm.  It would be really nice if this (fill in the blank) happened."  And when it does, I find myself pleasantly surprised - suddenly it comes to me that I spoke about it ... and God heard me. "Wow - thanks God!  That was pretty cool!"   

It's kind of an assumption that I have come to make that He's always with me, whether I'm conscious of it or not.  So I don't need to hide anymore.  The game of hide and seek has been turned on its ear and gone back to the way it was before the "rules" took over.  

Oh come on, I'm sure you get it.  You know how it is, you've seen it happen when a child who is too young to understand the rules of hide-and-seek "ruins" it for the older ones by jumping out and shouting "Here I am!"  The pure joy of being found is obvious to the toddler.  That's where I am starting to live now, spiritually (in other words, in relationship with God) as well as in other areas.  I have skulked around in the darkness and in the corners - bound up by the 'rules' -  long enough to know that even making it to 'home base' (like, for example, being right or winning an argument) brings only temporary satisfaction - and always at someone else's expense.  And the 'hiding' - the fear of being found out, of being exposed - that is so not healthy.  

So, as much as I know how ... here I am.

Ring of Power

I've been struggling the past while with control issues... mostly attempts of others to control me - but also the feeling of powerlessness, frustration, and anger that results within me when others try to manipulate or control me or someone I care about.  

Most frustrating is the knowledge that as much as I want it to happen, the growth and the freedom that has happened within me (as limited as it might be) is not something I can impart or impose on anyone else.  Each person has to come to his or her own personal "bottom" and really WANT to be free, before that kind of change can occur.  

Source (via Google Images):
http://shirleytwofeathers.blogspot.com/2011/12/its-not-my-fault.html

I find great symbolism in the story of Frodo and the One Ring.  It was forged by Sauron - whose name, in one of the fictitious Middle Earth languages, means "terrible."  He  created it so as to control all other domains of influence. Some refer to it as "the Ring of Power." 

It's the Self.


It's all about control.

The quest to control others, to control outcomes, to use any means necessary to bend people and circumstances to our will ... this is its seductive grip.  Some people live their whole lives enslaved by it.  Frodo, in LOTR (Lord of the Rings) falls into possession of the Ring and is given the quest to take it to a specific spot and destroy it, to break Sauron's evil power.  He is warned that the Ring is seductive, that it will try to gain control over him and get him to wear it, so that he will be compelled to take it back to its evil and ruthless creator.  During the entire trilogy, Frodo battles with his own insides as this powerful call becomes stronger and stronger, the closer he gets to the fires of Orodruin - its forging-place and therefore the only place it can be destroyed. The Ring has already driven poor Smeagol (a.k.a. Gollum) insane: his only desire is to touch his "precious", to own its power once again.  

The call is that strong. Some - like Gollum - never escape it.  Even Frodo - with his fellowship helping him through the entire journey - comes to the brink of yielding to its pull on his soul at the end of his quest.  

Tolkien's classic tale is what one of my favorite authors, John Eldredge, would call "mythic" - in that it tells the age-old story of humankind and teaches three lessons:  
(1) We are born into a war, an epic struggle between good and evil which rages, unseen, all around us, 
(2) Things are not what they appear, and 
(3) Each of us has a key role to play - whether for good or for evil.  

The path of freedom may take us through many dangers, some of our own making, and some ... not.  

Which brings me to my struggle of late.  The relentless whisper of Self calls to me and tries to seduce me into seizing control by any means necessary.  If not overt in nature, it will use the attempts of others who have believed its lies and who have become enslaved to it, in order to distract me from my quest to be free of its bondage in my life. These others see nothing wrong with their pursuit of power, of control.  Even lies (which include lies of omission) are justified.  The deception is fierce and the stakes are high.  The Self will try to delude me into thinking I am helping these other people by playing along with them, by associating with them and coming alongside of them in their own poison prison. What that does is that it infects me with their malaise.  It does not help them; it hinders me.  The Self (that Ring of Power) will try to convince me - failing the compromise route - that it is my job to confront and expose the error of their choices.  All this does is embroil me in the same slavish soup in which they themselves are cooking. They must travel their own road.  I cannot travel it for them.

The only way for me is to heed the Quest.  To pay attention to my own journey, not to theirs.  To accept that their path is their path, and mine is mine.  I cannot add the call of their Self to the call of my Self.  It would be too much for me and I would fail.  

I can only put one foot in front of the other, and remember why I am here.

Smothered

I spent a considerable amount of time on the phone recently with someone whose mother is getting on in years and is showing signs of Alzheimer's.  In the normal course of events, this might be seen as a way to give back - to care for the person who cared for you.  But this situation was different.

This woman had - out of a misplaced definition of what "love" is - abused her children: physically, verbally, and emotionally.  None of them (including this person to whom I was speaking) wanted to have anything to do with her.  Yet her church buddies all considered her to be a saint, and condemned her children right along with her as she called her kids down to the lowest - quite often within earshot of the very ones she was criticizing. 

Image from:
http://pdresources.wordpress.com/tag/online-courses/

All the resentments that this woman felt toward her child started surfacing and becoming blatant, about five years ago.  Every cruel thing she ever did and said to her "baby" was multiplied a hundred-fold as she lost more and more of her inhibitions, and her short-term memories at the same time.  "I don't know what to do," her child told me.  "I'm not well.  I have a heart condition and this stress is killing me. There's never an end to it - she's constantly tearing me down, never has anything good to say about me. Or any of her other children ... at least the ones that lived."  

Ouch.  I know this woman, and have known her for a very long time.  And I know that what this person was telling me was true... I'd seen it happen.  Her idea of mothering started with the letter S.  Smothering.  She wouldn't let any of her kids do anything for themselves; she didn't believe they were capable of doing it as well as she could.  She found fault with anything they did to surprise her. She wouldn't let her kids work out their own problems between themselves - she had to take over and forbid confrontation of any kind. She was the only one allowed to get angry.  And when she got angry - she beat them.  Hard, fast and continuously.  Over and over again.  She threw the most twisted guilt trips afterward, saying look what they did, that they bruised her hand when she had to "spank" them.  How sick is that!

And now she is losing her autonomy and railing against it - and against anyone who reminds her that she is more and more alone.  It's so tragic.  All because she just would NOT let go, she would NOT let her kids grow up and be independent.  So afraid that she would be abandoned, she ended up creating the very thing she was so afraid of.  Yet she sleeps the sleep of the just, secure in her knowledge that she "did the right thing." And she garners the support of those who have no idea what she is really like, as they stroke her ego and say, "There, there dear - nobody could have done more for those ungrateful children of yours than you did..."

How very, very sad.  
Please.  Please look for the signs of abuse ... and confront it.  You'll be doing the children a favour.

Surrounded

I tried to disappear as the taunts came at me from all angles - a difficult task as I was also trying to go up the stairs of the school bus as quickly as I could. It happened every day after school - some rich kid would start picking on some aspect of my appearance that highlighted how poor I was.

The bus ride was hellish - both to and from school.  The classes weren't so bad; the teacher was in charge and we were not allowed to talk to each other.  But on the bus, in between classes, before and after school ... they were torture.  I felt like I could be ambushed at any moment.  I could never let my guard down.  My best bet was to hunker down and not talk to anyone and I just MIGHT not get targeted ... today.  

And it didn't stop when I got home.  Relatives visiting - a new horror every time - encompassed by know-it-all cousins, and having my faults proclaimed by my parents and me ridiculed in front of their parents - their parents would soon join in the "fun" with nobody stopping them. I'd start to get angry - or sad - and they'd just laugh at me.

I was surrounded.  And not in a good way.  

I thought of that tonight after I got home from being in quite the opposite atmosphere.  I was in a room this evening with several other people who have done nothing other than accept me for who and what I was, at the very moment that I was that person / thing (without an agenda to fix me!) People who never tried to change me or to manipulate me, who have never ridiculed me, who have always loved me, unconditionally.  Who have been to me (as I have been to them on occasion) what one of our number called, "God with skin on."

Source (via Google Images):
http://silencetherocks.com/2011/04/19/true-forgiveness/

When one celebrates, we all celebrate with him or her.  When one suffers, we all feel the pain.  

The love I experienced at that gathering was like being surrounded by acceptance, by gratitude, wonder, and peace. And it wasn't a church function - but it was a group of people who have come to have a relationship with God, who have come to share their experience with each other, to gain strength and hope from the sharing of it.  

I can't imagine my life without such wondrous friends surrounding me.  It fills me with such a sense of gratitude, of happy bewilderment that such amazing people have embraced me.  I guess being surrounded doesn't have to be such a bad thing after all; it all depends on the company you keep.

Faith is ...

"Just believe, just have faith."  So often these words slip from between our lips.  But what do they mean?  Are they platitudes or are they real?  And if they're real, how do they work? what do they look like in practical terms?  

I believe that faith is paradoxical.  It is most active when it insists upon being passive, and it is most impotent when it insists on frantically acting ... because after all, we can't just stand there; we have to DO something!  

Of course by passive I don't mean lazy.  I mean that there is a desire, a deep desire to let God be God and not to hinder His work.  There is a determination to trust when there may seem to be nothing there to justify that trust.  

Source (via Google Images):
http://www.revelife.com/757008876/father-and-son-lessons-in-trust/

Faith is falling. (By falling I don't mean into temptation!)  It's that moment when you know that you can't save yourself from falling flat on your face if you pursue His presence ... and there's nothing there that you can see ... and you fall anyway, let yourself go, knowing in your deepest heart that He'll catch you. 

Faith - if you can feel it emotionally - is very comforting.  Millions of people are comforted by believing that God is with them and sensing His presence.  But it's also frightening.  Believing, trusting, having faith - takes a lot of courage!!  Or is that desperation??  Especially when the emotion just isn't there, when the heavens seem like a giant quonset hut roof, words echoing back and making a big noise... signifying nothing.  When prayer seems to go unanswered.  When the circumstances are oppressive.  

It's those times when - as one songwriter wrote - "believing becomes my victory."  When all strength is gone, and there is nothing left, faith is content to rest - to relinquish all that is not conducive to the spirit-life within and to simply focus, moment-by-moment, on that which is good, pure, praise-worthy, and virtuous.  To shove aside all that detracts from that determination and to lean against His shoulder, to relax into the loving care of God - and let Him carry you.