Heavy on the wisdom

"GOD grant me the 

SERENITY to accept the things I cannot change,

COURAGE to change the things I can, and 

WISDOM to know the difference."

Often when saying this prayer with others, I hear at least one person tag on the phrase, "heavy on the wisdom..." at the end.  

I know what they mean.  

Accepting things I cannot change is hard.  It is.  It isn't some 'lay-down-and-let-them-walk-all-over-you' thing.  It means facing some pretty tough stuff.  It means allowing myself to feel things I would rather not feel about my past, to address them and to respond appropriately to them. (Thanks to a friend who pointed this out!)  It means refusing to try to manipulate people with guilt, and it involves letting people I love make choices I don't agree with and letting them bear the responsibility for their own actions.  It's painful.  It requires the peace and serenity that only God can give - which is why the serenity prayer is a prayer and not a to-do list! 

Found through Google Images at:
http://jayyvm12-english10.blogspot.ca/2010/04/courage-doesnt-always-roar.html

Changing things that I can change is hard, too.  And it takes a LOT of courage.  Courage I Just Don't Have - or I wouldn't be asking for it!  

Changing the things I can change doesn't mean I change them by myself ... because I've tried to change things by myself and have ALWAYS landed flat on my face!  It means relying on the Courage God gives to face my fears, look after myself, and sometimes even do the one thing I have always avoided at all cost: confront someone and ask for what I need from him or her.  (It never gets easier, by the way).  It means not compromising my values just to please someone else.  Only God can give that kind of courage.  And sometimes I just need to admit that on certain days, I need to be willing to allow God to give me that courage... knowing that the change will be difficult but that He will be with me. Always.  

But it's knowing the difference between the two that is the kicker.  "Heavy on the wisdom?"  OH yeah.  Knowing when to walk away and when to stand, turn around and fight? That takes a whole pile of wisdom. Knowing what to accept and what's worth the effort to change? Crucial.  And impossible. Left to my own, I'd choose the wrong thing, every time.  

Wisdom doesn't come from me; it comes from God. (Hence the prayer!)  When I rely on my own inner (and fallible) human resources to help me decide between acceptance or change, I have absolutely NO wisdom to do that.   Many times I would rather pull the covers over my head and hide from the bogey-man - and sometimes, to tell you the truth - I still do.  Lately I've been feeling like that nearly 24/7.  

Life is not easy.  At least it isn't for someone who hears those accusing, cruel voices in her head saying she's not worth it, that things will never change, that she may as well give up.  I know these voices don't belong to God - but when I hear them all the time with no let-up, it's challenging to mute them without sinking into despair, and try to hear His voice above the din.  And when I'm overwhelmed - which I frequently am of late - I rid myself of some of the stressors I don't need, and I take the time I need to listen to what is important.

So yes, I've been praying the Serenity prayer a lot lately - either verbally or not - and adding a heart-felt, "Heavy on the wisdom."

Comings and Goings

When you came to us, you bore

 the unseen scars of hidden wars

and untold truths and spoken lies. 

So innocent with such ancient eyes. 

  A lost boy, starved of love, of respect 

from self and for self.

But you grew...by millimeters and 

 sometimes by miles...

yet soundless, but for furtive glances

that shouted -

 unable to believe the gift before you -

The gift of acceptance.

Tracing line upon line of feather-light touch

 you quietly soaked in never-before 

yet simple joys.  The power of choice -

the freedom of no-ulterior-motives. 

  Yet your eyes still distant, unable to 

express the growing gratitude within, 

powerless to stop the million voices

 of the past screaming you 

were not worthy - 

 Yet here you were: belonging...  

a little less lost.  Perhaps even a little bit

found.

And now - suddenly - you are going.  

All around you are

 the tears and sadness of a thousand

what ifs and if onlys.  Only you remain

in quiet tearless pain, mixed grief and joy 

 over all that might have been and 

all that is coming

 while you are going. You leave behind

a host of memories which bring

fused laughter and tears - yet you, still silent

 and stoic, barely a flicker behind your eyes

belying your emotion, 

feel more than anyone the word 

Goodbye. 

Family is that person or people one chooses 

 where one feels safe and welcomed. There need 

not be blood ties; often blood ties mean 

abuse, criticism, bullying.  

You can choose who is family.  This you have come

to understand.

As you are going, we know that someday 

you will be coming back.  

For you, though you are loath to speak the words, 

 this, where you are loved,

where you are accepted,

where you are welcome,

 is "home."

Brandon on 16 July 2011

Our message to him and his to us
when we said goodbye

In Transition

Lately there have been a lot of changes in our lives as a family.  A new job for one person in the last six months... changes at another person's job that affect nearly every facet of the job ... another person getting ready to re-enter the workforce ... and most recently, the ending of a relationship.  

Change is hard.  

We like to have things stay the same; it's comfortable, comforting, easy.  But often, we need to deal with shifting priorities, changing interpersonal dynamics, death or separation, and the ever-present economic realities.  

And everyone's life is changing all at the same time. There's no let-up!  It's not like we can say, "Oh last week it was so-and-so's turn to deal with this change in her life, and next week the other fella can start..." No.  It just doesn't work like that. 

And as hard as it is to deal with change in our own lives, it seems much harder to watch someone we love go through a difficult time and not give in to the temptation to jump in and try to fix it. The hardest part is where to draw the line, where caring ceases and meddling begins, where controlling stops and empathy starts - what "letting go" really looks like when you have someone in front of you who is in tears, who is dealing with a really tough circumstance that is gut-wrenching, heart-breaking. 

From the website: 
http://mamahairball.blogspot.ca/2011/09/what-are-you-saying-to-yourself.html

Yesterday, I was made aware of just such a situation in the life of someone I care about a lot. It's quite an emotional upheaval for her... very difficult to say the least. 

I have to fight the urge to jump in and fix it, to take revenge on the person who is most convenient to blame, to impose my own solution on the situation.  It has been a challenge to respect the decisions of my loved one, to let her take the lead in finding her own solutions, and to simply make myself available to listen without judging, to let the tears fall and realize that this is part of her own transition, to believe that she will come out stronger and so will our relationship.  

But the efforts to strike that balance are starting to bear fruit. We chatted today, briefly. I let her know I support her, that I am there for her.  She knows she can talk to me.  She knows that I only want her to be happy.  She knows that I will support her decisions.  She knows that I am a safe place for her to land.  It's been hard for her to go through, and hard for me to watch because I care so much about her.  But she is learning from all this, and she will apply what she has learned to her life in future.  

Best of all, she appreciates that I have learned to let go enough to be able to support her when she needs it.  She is in transition.  I'm learning that I can help people go through times of transition without taking over and living their lives for them.  This has been so very valuable in the last few days. 

We're all in transition, at one stage or another.  And as hard as it is sometimes, as long as we are honest and take responsibility for ourselves and let others take responsibility for themselves, it'll be all right. We can still let go and respect someone's boundaries while we embrace them and show our support.  As obvious as this might sound to some of my readers, it's a revelation to me.  

I guess my loved one isn't the only one in transition.

Connecting the dots

I had an interesting, if difficult, conversation with someone lately.  It forced me to think outside the box of pat answers and platitudes to the realities of relationship: the unseen linkages between spirits (since we are spirits and we have bodies!) and the nature of the most crucial one: the vertical "plumb line" relationship to which God invites us. 

From the website:  http://post-projects.com/cube/

There were a lot of dips and twists and turns to the conversation and it was difficult for me because I had to continually fight the urge to step in and give a pat answer, to fix the person's problem and make it go away.  Yet I am beginning to understand that the questions are part of the process, and that God is creating a perfect design that looks different for each person.  Only He knows what will speak to someone.  God is so amazing that the same thing may look like different things to different people; we each have our own individual perspective.  Each of us connects the dots differently ... but ... when the solution becomes clear, there is that one "aha!" moment when something seems to appear out of thin air; we can't explain it to someone else - we have to experience it for ourselves.  And then our spirits become opened to more possibilities.  

It all boils down to trust, I guess.  Is God trustworthy?  Not only that, but do I trust Him to do what is best for me?  for those I love?  Can I trust Him enough to let go of something or someone I care about because I know that God has a plan and He knows how best to accomplish it?  

It IS a choice, just like whether to sit down in a chair or not based on whether I believe it will hold my weight and not let me fall onto the floor.  I can SAY I believe it, but when I sit down in the chair (which involves a certain degree of vulnerability and risk!) that's trust.  

That's when the dots get connected.  
Here goes.

Hope for a New Day

Tonight I was reminded once again of just how desperate I was when I first started my journey of healing a little over three years ago.  Fear was a way of life for me; and fear (when it was cornered) became anger and rage.  I wasn't living life; I was surviving it - and quite badly.  I was more and more alone, and didn't know how to get free.

As I listened to someone telling her story tonight, and could relate so very much to all those feelings of bewilderment and terror, once again I marveled at just how far God has brought me by following a simple 12-step program of spiritual recovery from what I have called control-freakism and doormat-itis.  Today I do have a brand new freedom, and I can have normal and healthy relationships with people ... as equals. The power trips I went on, the power trips I allowed others to take me on - they are relegated to the past. This is such an amazing trip for me.  I can hardly believe it's actually me living this. 

Part of a reading I turn to quite often goes like this: "No matter how traumatic your past or despairing your present may seem, there is hope for a new day in the twelve steps of Codependents Anonymous. No longer do you need to rely on others as a power greater than yourself.  May you instead find here a new strength within to be that which God intended: Precious and Free."

From the site:
http://quesoyvinoconmigo.blogspot.ca/2010/03/out-of-darkness-into-light.html

The journey is daunting when seen in its entirety.  But thank God, I didn't have to travel that road all at once.  I traveled it - and am still traveling it - one step at a time.  Every step toward the light takes me one more step farther away from the darkness of panic and being without an anchor.  And every step is empowered by the One in charge of this process.  He allows me to stop and remember how far He's brought me - to be grateful.  And I am.

I don't know what is ahead; I don't need to know.  All I need to know is that He cares.  And He does.

God-whispers

Those unspoken prayers - the ones we don't dare pray but which our hearts cannot help but feel - are the most potent. 

This past weekend, my heart was praying such a prayer.  I was tired.  Bone-tired. Weary. Fed up.  I felt unappreciated, attacked, undervalued, and like I needed to be constantly on my guard.  I'd even taken over a day off last week with symptoms that mimicked a cold - stress-related fatigue was all it was, apparently.  All weekend long I "vegged" and slept when I needed to.  Even with the extra sleep, I was not looking forward to being with people and avoided it until the last possible minute.

So ... I dragged myself to work this morning, dreading another week - yes, I saw the whole week stretching interminably in front of me instead of one day - another week of doing my best only to have it questioned, of pouring my heart and soul into my work only to have someone criticize it.  

As I usually do after an absence, I checked my plants to see if they needed watering.

And I saw a flash of a color I didn't expect - white - nestled among the leaves of my peace lily.  One tiny blossom was starting to emerge from the depths of the plant - a peace lily's quiet way of saying, "I like it here." 

From :
http://www.mybestcanvas.com/detalii_produs/Peace-Lilly-Bud/1323034280

Now, this plant was one with which I had a special affinity.  Once a large and luxurious plant with plenty of foliage and lots of beautiful white blooms, it had slowly become pot-bound and I had to perform surgery on it last summer.  I divided it into four plants and gave three of them away; I kept only one.  It looked so small and alone - in my own mind, a shadow of its former self.

Like I have been feeling of late.  Insignificant, lonely.  Plain.  Overlooked.  Stunted. I wondered if it would ever recover.  Or if my own inner transformation would become visible, if it was only a figment of my imagination.

And then, today.  

I hadn't been expecting the still, small whisper of the Divine.  But as I peered into the depths of the leaves where this small tip of a bud was forming, I heard it.  

"You are not alone.  There is hope." 

Old scars just are

"All she ever talks about is crap."

I'd trusted this person with how I was feeling, what my world was like, what my innermost thoughts were.  Now, months and several revelations later, as I lingered by the grate which allowed conversation from the kitchen to be transmitted to the upstairs, I heard those words.  Betrayal, like a double-serrated knife, pierced my insides and then twirled them into a hot knot of confusion and doubt. 

I was sixteen.

I found myself thinking about that moment lately - as circumstances surrounding my work situation have been changing, and there is more focus on the mechanics of what we do instead of the good that we can do - which leads to things taking twice, three, even four times as long as they could. Suddenly, everything I write is being scrutinized because somebody I never met had something to prove to a superior. The totally reactionary and unnecessary "100% quality review" process is extremely subjective and it's extended beyond grammatical and punctuation errors.  And the whole time, the end client waits while we argue over semicolons and commas, whether to include this phrase or not, even whether to give a client the requested benefit or not.  That same sense of betrayal is there, rising higher and higher in my psyche.  Gut-wrenching.  Suddenly what I've been doing all along - and I was told by this same person for years that it was high quality work - isn't good enough. 

The result is an incredible sense of sadness, of fatigue, of a lack of motivation, a growing dread of going to work, even physical symptoms like joint ache, muscular pain, and headaches. My subconscious mind has my body convinced that my job site is not a safe place for me anymore.  I wonder how many more in my section are feeling the same thing to one degree or another.  My sympathy for our clients with work-stress-related psychological problems has multiplied.  With nobody to consult who can effect change, nobody to talk to about these feelings except the catch-all provision, "You can always talk to Employee Assistance," there is nowhere to turn; I feel trapped.  Guilty too - since I get the message, "You should be glad you even HAVE a job."  

Yeah, unemployment sucks.  But there are worse things.  

Even my recovery tools - skills I've learned in my new lifestyle of growth and rigorous honesty - seem inadequate to deal with this situation. Being honest and telling the truth could get me in trouble - not good in today's oppressive atmosphere of looking for ways to save salary dollars.  Being grateful feels like shoving my head in the sand.  Doing the next right thing ... well, I can't even do that if my judgment is going to be questioned.  The only recovery tool I have that even comes close is acceptance: "sitting with the pain." "Accepting what is." Yes... yes, I suppose I could do that. 

Perhaps the pain is worse because it hits me in one of those old scars.  Perhaps it's just a natural and normal reaction to this kind of treatment.  

I can accept that old scars just are.  They will hurt and get deeper when they are re-wounded.  They don't have to define who I am, though.  I can still hold my head high because of the good I have done.  I can continue to do the work that I was trained to do, I can continue to help the clients, and I can roll with the punches until the inevitable happens: the end clients will wonder what is taking so long and complain.  And then the reactionary pendulum will swing in the other direction.  I know that; I expect it. 

Now, the trick is to get from here to there intact, the only way I know how.  One day at a time.

Making Other Plans

When I was first in counseling back in 2009, I took note of the little sayings and posters on my counselor's wall, things that he had thought were worth putting "out there" for his clients to see.  One of the first ones I noticed was a little hand-written piece of paper tacked up over a bunch of other stuff. It simply said, "Today is a good day ... unless I make other plans."

Of course, I was slightly offended.  In my victim mentality, life was something that 'happened' to me.  I felt that I didn't choose the awful things that I went through, that I was still going through in many respects. The concept that I could choose anything about my own life was foreign to me.  I honestly believed that I didn't have the right to have a life, much less choose anything about it.  I was more into trying to influence what happened to other people, not myself.  

As I learned how unutterably powerless over other people that I was, how insane my life was by trying to exert power over them, and how to begin to unhook from that compulsion to fix, rescue, or otherwise control or manipulate others to give my own life meaning, things started to change.  Especially inside of me.  I can't explain HOW it happened; I just know that things started to change, once I gave that whole mess over to God and let Him take charge of this process.  My attitudes changed - over time to be sure - but they changed nonetheless.  

The change was almost impossible to notice from the outside.  But I could feel something going on where it mattered most to me - on the inside. The very act of letting go ... of letting others be who they were and bear the consequences of their own choices ... began to have repercussions on what I perceived was "happening" to me.  This was not something I had the strength to do on my own; it still isn't.  

But as I sought to turn my wants and my life over to God's care, choice after choice after choice presented itself to me, each with its own challenges that made it feel like I was starting from scratch all over again.  Discouragement was around every corner, especially if I slipped back into old ways of thinking and started to behave as I once did without even thinking about it. I'd catch myself doing it and berate myself!  What kept me from giving in to discouragement so often was my counselor's reminder that at one time, I wouldn't have given it a second thought, just run roughshod over my loved ones' feelings so I could have my own way.  This was different.  This was progress.  This was growth.  

I finally came to understand that yes, today was a good day, unless I had decided in advance that it wasn't going to be.  If I made up my mind that this was a bad day, it would be, and I wouldn't see the good that happened even if it reached up and slapped me in the face.  This mind-set of negativity, in essence, was "making other plans."  So, my focus slowly shifted. It happened seemingly without any major effort on my part; it was like I was being empowered to see things differently.  The energy I once drained from myself by overseeing other people's lives, was no longer wasted.  I no longer became the target of the enemy's darts by setting myself up as the guardian of my loved ones.  I let God assume that role - I had usurped it before.

With that energy restored to me, I found that I could focus on other things - like choosing to enjoy life, or looking for the good.  That's a way of life that is so much less stressful.  

Now, when I catch myself stressing over this or that thing, I might spiral down a bit, but the process makes me dizzy in my spirit - and I am aware that I'm making other plans again.  The solution isn't always easy - but at least I know there's a problem.  And with His strength, I can make that decision to let go, to relax, to trust God.  I'm continually amazed at how He is so much better at managing my life (and my loved ones' lives) than I ever was.  

And I'm so grateful.

Making it all better

I've had a couple of little, innocuous reminders today of the kinds of thinking from which I've been delivered in the last three years.  In fact, one of the first hindrances to my healing process was my compulsion to "make it all better."  Someone would tell me a problem they were having, and I would rush in and try to fix it.  Or I'd give them advice and tell them how to get rid of the problem.  Or I'd somehow insinuate myself into their situation enough so that I could influence the outcome.

All that did was make the person either come to depend too much on me (which ended up by me resenting that person), or it made the individual resent me for meddling, or (which was worse) it would rob that person of learning something very important that God might want to teach him or her (patience, faith, etc.) by having to struggle through something on his or her own. 

Source (via Google Images):
http://fierceandnerdy.com/one-more-thing-before-we-go-mrs-fix-it

Trying to use my monkey-wrench on someone else's life wasn't good for them ... or for me.  It usually ended up backfiring and producing the opposite effect from the one I wanted!  So one of the first things I had to learn was that I am completely and utterly powerless over other people. By trying to manage their lives, I had made my own life unmanageable.  It was nuts!  

When I started letting other people tell me about their problems without trying to fix the problem at hand, but simply acknowledging their feelings about whatever was happening, some amazing things happened.  People started realizing that they could go through stuff, that it was okay to feel what they were feeling, and that I would be their friend without steamrolling them into my solution (which might not fit their lives).  They (and I) learned that they could handle their problems on their own, or hand them over to a Power much Higher and smarter than I am - and begin to trust themselves ... and Him ... for more and more.  With God's help and leading, I learned to respect those boundaries more and more as time went on.  And as I did, I discovered that my existing relationships were being transformed from power-based ones to peer-based ones.  In other words, I wasn't in charge and neither were they.  We were equals who cared and allowed each other the space and time to be who we were. Neither tried (or tries) to influence the other's behavior.  Acceptance reigns. 

I can't begin to tell you what a trip that has been.  The stress levels have gone way down, for one thing.  And the satisfaction levels have gone up - hopefully on both sides of my interpersonal relationships.  I've been able to determine what relationships I am in which are power-based, looked at those objectively and made decisions whether to continue in them or not.  Not an easy task, and one to which I never would have been equal three years ago.  But definitely worth it.  

In refusing to make it all better, I've actually found that things DO get better.  Who knew.  

Not That Strong

Someone said something to me this morning while we were discussing how other people's assumptions can really hurt.  

This person mentioned a scene from the  M*A*S*H series - M*A*S*H being a long-time favorite of mine. In particular, there was this one scene that involved Major Margaret Houlihan.  Her nurses were constantly breaking regulations, going behind her back, and not being honest with her.  Finally when she caught them in a huge deception, she was angry and they were defensive - and the truth came out.  She felt excluded.  And they made the assumption that she would not want to be included.  And ... it hurt.  And ... she cried.  Tough as she was, she was still human and it hurt that others were labeling her and shutting her out.  The person I was talking to said, "That's you."  



It hit home.  In one particular sphere of influence, it has been a long-standing source of sadness for me that I've not even been thought of in a certain capacity, that others who have less experience than I do have been parachuted into something I've wanted to do for a long time, over and over again.  They have become the new darlings, a seemingly endless string of them, while I do what I do - and quite well - behind the scenes. Not that they are not qualified; they are.  But so am I - and nobody seems to have noticed, thinking that I would not even be interested because, after all, all I've ever done is that one thing.  Maybe it's because I'm not in the accepted social groups; maybe it's because I'm not interested in the same things as others; maybe it's because I detest playing the political game and prostituting myself to the powers that be.  For whatever reason, the result is the same.  Passed over, rejected, ignored, excluded. 

And it hurts. 

It's supposed to hurt.

Vulnerability.  I've heard it condemned as a weakness.  I've heard people try to denounce the experience of emotion - especially what they call "negative" emotion - as something to be avoided, not trusted, and somehow evil.  

I have a different take on that.  I believe that - as uncomfortable and unpleasant as so-called negative emotions are - they are God-given (otherwise, why would we be hard-wired with them?)  To deny them, to suppress them or to try to get rid of them, is doing a disservice to the human spirit.  They were created as temporary spiritual states designed specifically to be an early-warning system to alert us to dangerous situations: boundaries being crossed, injustice, manipulation, and abuse.  Not trusting our emotions can lead us into succumbing to these undesirable conditions, or allow us to remain there way too long.  Listening to our feelings can help us to figure out what the real problem is, why it is, and what our part (if any) is in allowing the situation to develop.  

And listening to the negative ones - and allowing them to help us look after ourselves - allows us the capacity to experience the not-so-unpleasant emotions.  You see, if we shove down or cut off our "negative" emotions, our psyches don't distinguish between bad and good - so it shuts them ALL down. This leaves us emotionally stunted, unable to experience joy, compassion, or love.  

So ... I would rather be hurt - and know it - than to deny my feelings and shut myself off from working through the injury and being healed from it.

Demolishing the thickest wall

It's the hardest, thickest barrier to freedom from a lifetime of bondage to the addiction of trying to run everyone else's life, of feeling responsible for the bad choices of our loved ones, of trying to manage far more than we were created to manage.  And it's not what you might think.  

It's not resentment, as thick and strong a wall as that is.  Resentment can be a great hindrance to freedom, and has caused many a person to stay in bondage.  

I believe that an even stronger wall is the one built, brick by brick, from the time we are children.  It comes from the words that are said, the words that aren't said, the physical contact we are or are not given, the hateful looks and other injuries we receive from parents, teachers, peers.  It is debilitating, and it discourages us from even starting the journey.

It's shame.

Every person has that one spot in his or her life (and some have way more than one) - that tender area, where shame exists and feeds on the spirit, eroding hope.  

Just so we all know what I mean by shame, I don't mean guilt.  Guilt (whether earned or unearned -hmm, that might be a different post) is feeling badly for something that you have done.  Shame is feeling bad for who you are.  Guilt says I've done a bad thing.  Shame says I AM a bad person.  

Guilt has its purpose (if it is earned): to bring us to a place of 'repentance' which simply means changing direction (doing a 180º turn).  Shame, on the other hand, serves NO useful purpose.  None.  Zip.  Nada.  It paralyzes us, keeps us from believing we can get better, keeps us from trying to connect with our selves and with God.  It holds us back from helping others in a meaningful way: not as a rescuer, but as an equal, a friend, someone real.  

Realizing that shame was never intended for us to experience is one step toward being rid of it.  But I speak from experience when I say that it is impossible to completely rid ourselves of shame - and still have a conscience - without completely, and with utter abandon, turning our will and our lives over to the care of God.  Not only once and for all, but on a continual basis.  And after that, the greatest sledgehammer we have - one that is provided by God Himself - is truth.  

Specific truth.  

Not just 'logos', which is Greek for 'word' - but 'rema', which means 'word for me'.  

Repeated truths.  Spoken - out loud - over and over and over, sometimes several times a day ... for months. Truths spoken into the spirit, where the little child, the one who is so afraid, perhaps so angry, lives.   

Some of those truths - for me - were things like:

• God loves you unconditionally.  You don't have to earn anything.
• The abuse that happened to you as a child was the result of others' bad choices.  You did not deserve it. You do not need to feel responsible for what they chose to do. 
• You have the right to exist, to take up space, to be happy.
• You are the only person exactly like you.  People can like you just the way you are.
• You can be yourself; you don't have to pretend to be anyone else.
• What you have to say is worth listening to.
• Who you are matters.  What you do has value and purpose. 

There were/are many more truths, but these are just a few examples. They are all based on what God has already said is true.  

Not very often does the wall of shame disappear overnight.  But it does get smaller - worn away by God's love, softened by His kindness, chiseled to a pile of rubble, over time, by His truth.  It's a miracle  -  which is no less a miracle because it happens slowly.  That it happens at all is simply amazing.

And it DOES happen.