Through the cracks

I was sitting next to this lady with a styrofoam plate balanced in my hand at one of those pot luck dinners that folks throw together at a moment's notice. She was asking me about my class work as I have been studying to become a counselor, and I was telling her some things about my program and how it's designed to operate for people with full-time jobs. 

And then she asked me (as so many do) what area I wanted to specialize in when I graduated. I told her ... and then the next inevitable thing happened. She knew someone who ... and then she described someone who might benefit from therapy, dealing with issues from the past, and so forth.

I was explaining what usually happens in such cases, and she was nodding and so forth, when it hit me. "Everyone knows someone who's broken." A little more thought and it was, "With the hard knocks of life, it's pretty natural for there to be a few cracks here and there."
 

Photo "Fresh Green Tree Growing Through Dry Cracked Soil"
courtesy of Just2shutter at
www.freedigitalphotos.net

 
This kind of conversation gets me to thinking about the cracks in my life, the little (or big) imperfections that I have that might cause me to feel ashamed to take up space in the world. 

And then I remember how a miracle happened in my own life - a miracle that took almost a year, and one which showed me that the cracks are the places where life can spring forth. They are the places where I'm not quite so hardened and rigid and still inflexible. They are the soft places that allow the real me to come through instead of the masks I put on me to protect myself. Sure, some people might stumble over that, but it also might give them pause too. Maybe life isn't about looking good or appearing to have it all together. Maybe it's more about letting the cracks show. Maybe it's about letting the life inside grow. 

Maybe it's about being real, about being true to who I am and not to what everyone else expects of me. Maybe, just maybe, in letting there be cracks, light and moisture can get in and what is inside can burst forth. It will be messy; that much is sure. But there is life there. 

And I really do believe that is worth sharing.

Some days are like that

Today is one of those "raw" days where I am not far from tears. 

I guess part of it is that yesterday marked a full month of having a nasty cough (so hard and long it makes me lose bladder control!) and congestion, and today I woke up incredibly weary with my eyelashes stuck shut in places - a weakened body leaving the soul bare and vulnerable. I'll be heading to the walk-in clinic this afternoon to deal with the physical side of things. 

Another part is that last night I learned of the sudden death of one of my baby's favorite famous people - comedian John Pinette - Saturday in Pittsburgh. Our best Christmas memory of our little girl is Christmas 2011 when we gave her tickets to see John in person - she was thrilled that we would give that to her, and I knew she would be, so I was prepared with my camera, and took a photo of her moment of realization.  

The moment of understanding what the
tickets were for (Christmas 2011)

Within a minute after I snapped the photo, she realized that we got her the tickets because we had seen him as a family the previous year, and she was not able to go even though we'd gotten her a ticket - and she had been so disappointed ... and now we were giving her another chance. She burst into tears of gratitude. 

And the camera was forgotten. She was in my arms.

And finally, I've been thinking of her a lot more lately since our church welcomed a young pastor and her husband to our church leadership team. Their last name is Willis (ours is Gillis) and their youngest child's name - - is Ariella. And her parents pronounce the first part of her name "AR" - the same way we pronounce our own Arielle's name - instead of "AIR" the way most people do.  FREAKY. The first time I heard them talking to her, I was mesmerized.  And Sunday morning, I was watching this little girl (she's about two) reacting to the music, interacting with her mom, talking to her dad, and eventually sleeping in the pew and tossing and fidgeting in her sleep. Her activity level reminded me of our own little firecracker. I found my eyes getting all watery just watching this little bundle of energy. 

I don't really like feeling the way I have been - perhaps because somewhere, in the mists of my early memory, is a voice that says you are only allowed to cry just so long and then you have to "get over it." Of course, that is a lie. Some days are just like that. There is nothing wrong with grieving; it is a sign that you love someone so deeply that you miss that person's presence now that he or she is no longer here. 

So I go back to my fail-safe position: taking one breath at a time. And I look after myself. And I wait as the billows wash over me, knowing they will pass. 

And they will pass. But even that doesn't mean they'll never come again. 

All I need to do is live in THIS moment, breathe THIS breath and not worry about the next one, or the next time, or to say to myself that I "can't wait" until such-and-such happens - or even to wish that I could go back and have another chance to do it over again. It is enough to just remain in today, this hour, this minute ... to simply be. It is Life's lesson for the times that are rough and raw, as well as for the times that are pleasant and happy: embrace the now and do not let the past or the future rob you of it. It is, after all, all that we have.