No April Fool

 I'm not a great fan of April Fool's Day jokes. Most are pranks played at someone else's expense (a practice I consider cruel and spiteful), and so I weather the day hoping nobody does anything disrespectful. 

This year, nobody did. I breathed a huge sigh of relief.

On the evening of the next day, I got a telephone call from a nursing home out of province telling me that my mother had died. I checked my watch for the date. Nope. Not April 1st. 

The next few days, I worked with the funeral home director and with loved ones to plan and arrange my mom's funeral. It turned out better than I expected, and although the occasion was sombre due to the reason for the gathering, it was good to see everyone again, and I was surprised at how many showed up for the service.

In the time during and since the initial rituals of grief and saying goodbye, folks have been kind and tender. And I have been okay. Probably more okay than I would have thought. 

Free photo by alexman89 at Pixabay

As we prepare for her burial in a few weeks, I've done a lot of pondering about how I've spent the last several years trying to be heard and believed about my lived experience as her daughter; even though I love her, it was not an ideal relationship for many reasons. And I've finally realized that people are going to believe what they want to believe about her (and about me) no matter what I say or don't say. With that realization, there comes a bit of ... peace, I guess. 

We all have that part of ourselves we only show to those closest to us. And I know that my mom did the same. Most people viewed her as a saint (in the sense that she should have been canonized...) but nobody knew what happened behind the four walls of our little house. Nor would they have believed it. 

Nor does it matter any more. She understands now more than ever how I feel, how I felt, and all the multi-faceted complex emotions that implies. And somehow, I am starting to understand the relief involved in the little saying, "April Fool!" when the joke is over - that the horrible thing that someone did or said wasn't what it appeared to be after all. That the truth is now revealed and the cruel joke is over.  

She can rest. And I can rest. And from now on, there is no more April Fool.

Only the truth. Just knowing that is enough for me. 

Quiet

It's quiet. But this time, the silence feels different than at other times.

I remember other times, other moments, even other places. For example, a week ago, as I was sitting in my dormitory room in Calgary, Alberta, with my roommates gone for the day and me finishing up breakfast, the quiet was deafening. I felt isolated, alone, trapped. I was thousands of miles from everyone I held dear, eating breakfast alone without their company, without their laughter and conversation, making do with my keyboard tray and my laptop as a makeshift table, and feeling incredibly homesick. Tears began to sting my eyes as they rose to the surface. 

Of course, it wasn't as bad as one time (one very LONG time) when I felt so very alone. My youngest child had died and the funeral was over, and the sympathies from well-wishers had tapered off, and I was (yes) surrounded by my closest family and closest friends ... but knowing that the tick, tick, tick of the clock would never again be interrupted by her raucous laughter or her crazy antics ... made the quiet an open sore.  I wanted to play the last video she sent to me just to hear her voice again, but it made my family sad, so I sat in the quiet - the cruel, taunting quiet - and suffered loss that no parent should suffer. 

A few days previous to the breakfast incident in Calgary, a classmate took me to "see the Rockies" - we drove up to Canmore, Alberta, (see my previous post) and I was increasingly in awe of the indescribable vastness of these wondrous creations, the closer we got to "The Three Sisters" peaks. Even though most of the time my classmate chattered away, in the core of me there settled a blissful quiet, where I was able to commune with my baby girl because she had seen the Rockies this close too, about a month before she died. It was somehow a shared experience, and in the inner quiet ... I felt close to her in a way I had not felt for a long time. And I knew she knew it, and that she was deliriously blissful and at Home, more than she ever could have felt here. I knew that she was okay, that her restless, anxious days were done. Happy tears slipped their way past my lower eyelids and slipped unhindered down my cheeks.  The quiet healed me, soothed me, comforted me. 

A black squirrel - July 19, 2017,
on the Mt. Royal U "Lincoln Park"
campus,Calgary, AB.
It nearly blended in
to the tree trunk...

A hare munching on fragrant white
clover, July 20, 2017

In Calgary this year, there were also times during the ordinary hustle and bustle of the day, when I sought out the quiet and made it part of my day; there, I could recharge my emotional batteries and gain strength to face whatever task was ahead. There was a lovely park on campus where I would linger either on my way to or from class, and sometimes both... being there seemed to restore my soul. Perhaps it was because it was so beautiful. I watched the water from the man-made waterfall tumble over the rocks and land in a little pool, close to an arbour with a little park bench inside; I smelled the roses and drank in their striking fuchsia, bold musical tones that sang to my eyes and caressed my nostrils in the breeze.

I was particularly drawn to the wildlife in Alberta. I got to see some amazing creatures there; to the locals they were a dime a dozen, but to me, they were remarkable: magpies, gophers, and hares abounded. Even the squirrels were different than at home: larger, and black instead of reddish-brown. They were fast too, so I was pleased to get a photo of one (see above, left). The quiet they produced in me was tender, almost a communal feeling. I felt somehow at one with my surroundings. It made being far away from home not quite so lonely. 

But the quiet today is different still.  It is a calmness, an assurance that all is right, that I am where I am supposed to be, that my family is not far away, and that I can rest and relax without worrying. I can close my eyes and know that when I open them, I will see the familiar - the jumble of cat toys and pillows, my books and papers, and the occasional cat walking across the floor or playing in an empty cardboard box. 

I like this quiet best of all.

Getting Zapped

It happens, okay?  It does. 

Every once in a while (sometimes more often than others, and nobody can predict) God "zaps" someone.  He takes an intolerable and hopeless situation, and all of a sudden turns it around: heals someone instantly of crippling osteoarthritis,  miraculously gets someone their dream job out of the clear blue sky, drops a place to live into someone's lap.  

It does happen. 

But it doesn't happen often.  More often, He works the slow kind of miracles.  No less the miracle than the instant ones - but in slow motion.  Years of setting things up, months of preparation, weeks of rehabilitation and hard work, surgery followed by a painful recovery period. Working through people and/or process. Yet the miracle happens, sometimes without us even being aware of it.  And then we look around one day, and discover that the landscape has changed inexorably.  

Who knew?

We like the instant miracles. We eat them up! They get the most press, get the highest ratings on the Christian talk shows.  But the slow ones - the ones that work at a snail's pace in the background unnoticed - these are perhaps the greater miracles because they require even more faith... faith that even though it's slow, it will happen in God's time. Faith that the next right thing will lead to the following right thing, and so on and so forth until the goal that seems so far off today, is within reach.  

It's the faith that believes in the slow miracle that I think is the most heroic, the most spectacular - because it must endure the scoffing and the ridicule (or at the very least, the pitying indulgence) of the ones who got their miracle "just like that" (said while snapping their fingers.)  

I'm a firm believer in the saying, "God always gives His best to those who leave the choice with Him." (Written by Jim Eliot, missionary, 1927 - 1956)

This includes making peace with the fact that God has the right to say no.  For whatever reason, that possibility exists.  We ASK.  We don't demand.  We ask believing - and accept what God decides: fast, slow, or not at all.  If the latter, we accept that He has His reasons - and move on.  

In the meantime - we're allowed to keep asking.

Stretching

My back went out this past Sunday night - sometime before Monday morning. It was a flare-up of a chronic problem - degenerative disc disease.  Sometimes the vertebrae go out of alignment.  The muscles react - or should I say, overreact - and clench tightly to try and keep the back from going "out" further.  The problem with that is ... it HURTS.

One thing about being in pain - you really cut out the non-essentials. And it's surprising how many things you thought were essentials ... aren't.  

But I digress. 

I knew early Monday morning, as soon as I awoke and put my feet on the floor, that I needed to go to physiotherapy; I was hobbling around and every step I took was agony.  Even sitting was way more than uncomfortable.  The pain was so bad that I called in sick and made an appointment to look after what was essential. After a visit to the doctor to get a referral to physio (as well as a prescription for some pain medication), and going through my first treatment, the pain lessened to manageable levels and I was able to get back to work the next day.  I was rather pleasantly surprised because usually my back is slow to respond to any kind of treatment, be it chiropractic treatments or physiotherapy. 

Here's the site where I got this photo.

My therapeutic regimen involves moist heat, electrical stimulation of the muscles surrounding my back, a bit of acupuncture, and some deep massage to "release" the clenched-tight muscles that have gripped my spine like a vise to keep it from slipping out of alignment.

But there is a home regimen too - some of which I can carry out at work.  It involves 20 minutes each of a couple of different exercises to stretch those lower back muscles.  

And stretch those they do.  Feeling that "pull" is pretty uncomfortable - but I put up with it for the benefits that I know will happen.  Not pain - my therapist is quick to tell me that - but a pulling feeling that is uncomfortable. Very, at times.  But the exercises are teaching my back muscles how to behave, how to let go, so the joints can slip back into place.  

It's going slower than I'd like - well, face it, I'd like it to be immediate!! But I can see a difference, day to day.  And in time, I'll not only be better, but I'll have the knowledge that I need in order to help prevent another flare-up.

In the meantime, I'm learning a lot - about how important letting go is, for one thing.  The back pain seemed sudden, but it had been building for a few weeks - a little tension here, and little clenching there, and finally my back jumped the rest of the way to pain, do not pass Go, do not collect $200.  And "not letting go" can creep up on my inner life too.  Little things I hold onto, little things I think I can handle without God's help, tiny things that niggle at me and I ignore them rather than dealing with them as they arise. 

I  need to let those go and relax my grip on them. 

They'll only end up hurting me (pardon the pun) in the end.

Bouncing back

The past while, I've been struggling with a few physical symptoms (sore throat, coughing, sniffles) that have sapped my physical strength and left me running on empty, especially near the middle of the afternoon and the end of the day. 

I'm not really sure if it's just overuse of the vocal cords (lots more singing last Sunday than I've been used to) or if there was a bacterial thing going on, or if it was a virus.  But I've been fighting it for almost a week.  Hm. Sounds viral.  Anyway, I've been looking after myself as much as possible and the symptoms seem to be improving (more or less). In the meantime I wait. Get enough sleep. Take vitamins.  Drink liquids.  Eat soup.  Sighhhh.

It probably shouldn't surprise me that it takes as long as it does to "bounce back" from something as small as a virus.  I've been "bouncing back" from all kinds of things (big and small) in the last few years and every time, it amazes me that the simplest things can sometimes be the hardest to experience.  Real emotions for example.  It took me a long while to admit to myself that I even had them. Then even longer to experience them and not hold back just to be "nice."  I'd been "nicing" myself to an early grave, clamping down on them and not letting them out when they so desperately needed to be let out!!

When my life gets out of balance, when I am letting people walk over me or I am trying to run their lives, that's when I get worn out, super-tired, and extremely irritable.  It's very stressful to be on either end of that spectrum.  If I'm letting people walk all over me, the stress is from resenting the fact that they don't even take me seriously, they don't care how I feel, like that.  If I'm trying to manipulate the situation and control the outcome, then I have assumed a burden that is not mine to bear: that of the controller of all things (hm, I guess that would be God!!) This is extremely stressful, and it's how I lived my life before He taught me how to let go.  

Letting go allows me to bounce back sooner.  It gives me more stretchability. It helps me to grow, to learn, to develop.  

I could learn to live with that.

Change in Plan

It's a glorious day. The weather couldn't be better, especially here, especially for this time of year. Hubby and I had planned to spend some time together this afternoon while the kids went and did something else together.

But the plans fell through; one child assumed the other would like to do something specific and it didn't work out that way - yet tickets had already been purchased.  My husband - gallant man that he is, agreed to use that non-refundable ticket.  Which leaves me without my planned (and anticipated) afternoon with just him.

Even a couple of years ago, that change in plan would have been way too much for me to take. I am naturally the kind of person that has to have things planned out several days in advance and things have to follow a certain pre-set itinerary; deviation from that normally sends me into a tailspin.

But I've been learning much about acceptance, about unhooking from what I want and focusing on WHY things happen (in other words, the purpose for a particular activity) and on WHAT is really important.  So while I was disappointed at not being able to spend that particular time with my spouse, I was able to unhook and understand that our daughter spending some time with her dad was going to pay dividends long into the future, and that one of the errands that my husband and I  were going to do together as a couple (and it had to be done during that exact time period) could almost as easily be done by me.  Not as much fun, but there you go.  I realized that no one person actually stayed up late and schemed over how to mess up Judy's day.  The plan just changed, that's all.

And I didn't get freaked out (read: afraid) or angry.  That amazes me.  

Someone I consider very wise said once, "Don't let a bad moment turn into a bad day."  That saying has come to my rescue many more times than I thought possible - and I expect it will in the future, too.  

A lot of my time has been spent lately in the negative spiral thinking pattern I mentioned briefly above (the plotting-to-wreck-Judy's-day thing) - not actually consciously thinking it of course, but half-expecting people to treat me like that because I felt that I had this thick black cloud over my head with lightning and rain coming down from it.  But most people don't actually do that (and if they do, that's THEIR problem!) - my life isn't cursed, and people can like me for who and what I am.  Allowing myself to unclench, to loosen up, to breathe, to relax and enjoy the moments as they come without fretting about what's going to hit me next, and without punishing myself for what's past, has been a valuable skill in the last few weeks especially.  Plus, it's helped me (after a bit of a bumpy start) to begin to cope with some pretty major changes in some parts of my life.  

A change in plan doesn't mean that things have to come to a screeching halt or even go backward.  It just means a bend in the road - even though I can't see what's ahead, I know Someone's passed this way before and knows the way.  And I'll be okay.  

:D

Back to the basics

In the last few months I've been noticing some increasingly alarming things happening in my thought life, in my attitudes and in my physical health.

However, I didn't notice the thought life or the attitudes until my physical symptoms started to show up in a big way.  Incredible fatigue, crushing depression, a dread of being with people, especially people at work or church, headaches, joint aches, knots in my stomach when I thought of certain places or people, even my hair and nails drying out.  

It started about six months ago or so, after I was unjustly treated by someone at work. It was a difficult experience.  I felt attacked; I felt bullied. And I eventually confronted the person and we talked it through - and I thought it was resolved.  

About two months ago, though, there were some changes at work that put one more step into the process of what I do.  That step involved the involvement of this same individual. It wasn't long before the same thing started happening that happened last time, only more intensely. It was then that I realized that I hadn't been imagining the personal nature of the attack from the last time; it was real.  And with that realization, it dawned on me that it would keep on happening, over and over with no end in sight. Now, I'm not naïve enough to believe that everyone will like me all the time. However, I do have the right to expect to be treated like a professional.  This is not how I am being treated by this person. Whether real or perceived, this not-being-in-a-safe-place ... can be a cause of a mental illness known as "Adjustment Disorder."

So more and more I started to dread going to work. My confidence in my own abilities was suffering. I felt like I had to compromise my own values to conform to what this person wanted from me.  This I was not prepared to do - yet that old me was still there, wanting to be approved of, needing to not make anybody mad.  

Sick days, even planned holidays became refuges from the mounting stress. On weekends and days off, I'd nap at least two hours during that day, too tired to think or move.  Everything was an effort. My productivity went down at work and at home.  Way down.  I couldn't concentrate on what I was doing.  My memory started to lapse; I'd forget why I was on my way to a particular spot and have to go back to my seat to try to recall what I was thinking before I stood up. And I was so tired all the time.  At work I would catch myself staring into space, in that zoned-out pre-sleep state just before nodding off. It scared me.

One day last week, while researching hypothyroidism (symptoms, causes, treatment) for my work, I read about the most common symptoms and discovered with a start that I had most of them.  So I booked a trip to the doctor, and had my blood tested.  The results came back "normal" today.  Warned by a co-worker that this might not tell the whole story, I decided to pursue this avenue until I was sure I could rule out the possibility of a lower-threshold version of the same thing.  At the same time, I booked an appointment to talk to my counselor and see if there might be something else that is the matter.  

This evening, while visiting a good friend, I was reminded to not give up and also to remember to look after myself first, even if I have to hound my doctor to stay on the case, and even if it means another blood test (yuck) to check for a higher percentage of white blood cells (which would indicate the possibility of leukocytic thyroiditis - which happens when the white blood cells attack the thyroid gland and cause it to slow down the production of thyroxin, a hormone that regulates growth and metabolism).  

Just the basics of self-care - it felt like such a long time since I had done what I needed to do to look after me.  What a tremendous gift.

And this is where I sit now, even as I have dozed off for the fifth time tonight, in gratitude for the reminder that yes, I am worth looking after and that it had better be sooner than later.  A call to my doctor to discuss the test results might prove fruitful especially if he agrees to send me a copy of them.  Whether it turns out to be hypothyroidism or not, I have a difficult conversation I need to prepare myself for - with much prayer - so that I can further reduce my stress and be able to get the rest and peace that I need.  

And I will keep reminding myself of a few important but very basic things which are all too easy to forget when fighting an uphill battle: 
This too shall pass.  
Let Go and Let God.  
And First Things First.

Hit the Ground Running

I must have looked a little frazzled when a former co-worker saw me tapping my foot impatiently by the elevator on my way to a physiotherapy appointment.  She asked me how things were going and I mentioned something about having hit the ground running first thing this morning and not stopping since.  She laughed and we commiserated.  She asked me why I would volunteer to do a certain task; I let her know I enjoy it and we went our separate ways.  

Source - stumbled on this through Google Images at:
http://mychinaconnection.com/english-idiom/
being-gung-ho-hit-the-ground-running/

Before I go any further, let me say that it's not wrong to "hit the ground running." A lot can be accomplished in the run of a day that way.  But there comes a time .... well, I'm getting ahead of myself.

After I got to my physio appointment, with electrodes attached to my lower back giving vibrations, plus a moist heating pad beneath me, I settled into the change of pace it brought. Sometimes this transition is graceful; other times it isn't and I struggle to relax.  This was one of those "can't settle down" times.  I found myself thinking about the work day I just had, how much work there was left waiting for me to do, and whether I would be able to get to work at the time I wanted to arrive tomorrow.  That word should have been a red flag for me - but it wasn't; I was in full "fret mode."  It wasn't until I found myself planning what time to leave work Tomorrow so that I could do what I wanted to do Tomorrow Night, that it dawned on me.  I was doing it again.

Tomorrow is one of the great thieves of the enjoyment of the moment.  I wasn't in the moment.  I hardly noticed the moment.  I was tense and stressing about a day that had not - as yet - been granted to me.

TODAY, I reminded myself.  Live in TODAY.  After a few deep breaths, and some prayer, I started to relax.

Well, I must have relaxed a fair bit .... because by half-way through the session I woke myself up by my snoring!  

So, knowing that my body was tired and that there must be some reason for it, I started doing a bit of an inventory on what I was doing to look after myself, and - naturally - I'd been "hitting the ground running" a lot lately.  

This evening I am happy to just sit and "vegge" on Facebook, blog (yes, I LOVE to blog!), chat online, maybe even go on Skype with someone, and possibly watch some pre-recorded TV programs with our oldest daughter. And enjoy it all.

And all this so that I can have enough energy - when the time comes tomorrow - to "hit the ground running."  Again.

I just hope that by my next appointment I am not drifting off on the treatment table again....  ;D 

Ready for Christmas

Well, there are less than two weeks until Christmas morning.  How time flies!

Every year it gets harder and harder for me to find that special Christmas spirit I had when I was young and full of boundless energy.  Perhaps it's because as I get older I see more that jades me.  Perhaps. 

It could be that I am overwhelmed by the social expectations and the pressing crowds of people, both of which push me WAY outside my comfort zone.  Not to mention that a favorite gift that people tend to give to each other happens to be perfume, which they try out - in the store - before they buy. [Different post, different problem.]  ;)

Or perhaps I've allowed other things to creep in and rob me of the simple pleasures I used to enjoy a lot more often when I was younger: watching the lights sparkle off the tinsel, listening to the music the season has to offer, wrapping (or making) presents for those whom I love while imagining how much they'll appreciate them, planning a Christmas menu, making my famous deep-dish pumpkin pie (well, famous in my family anyway.) 

I do miss very much the old-fashioned Christmas Eve service, the kind with candles and singing those hard-to-play and almost as hard-to-sing carols, the kind of service that takes us back to the baby in the manger and doesn't focus on the gloom and doom that is all around us every day - I think we're aware enough to know there are people at war all over the world, and I want to hear about the peace inside - and the reason for it.  I miss that kind of Christmas message.  I miss it a lot.  

I would love to be more ready for Christmas ... and by ready I don't mean for me to have a whole lot of presents under the tree (although it would be nice to have the ones I ordered come in before the big day so that I can have them wrapped).  No, by "ready" I mean that I wish that my heart would be ready.  Sometimes I feel like there's such a hard crust on it, that it's so calloused by having to pay the bills and make a living that it's forgotten how to live.  I think that I might be more "ready" for Christmas year after year (starting with this year) if I were to make it a point to look after that calloused heart, to soften it with some soul-soothing music, to nurture it in reading uplifting words of hope and life, to rest it by taking more quality time to spend with its creator instead of running around half-crazed.  

It's really about time I got ready.

Unwinding

"Mona, take a break."  

This is my favorite line from an old Caramilk TV ad from 1973, where Leonardo da Vinci tells Mona Lisa (as he is painting her portrait) to take a break because he can't get her to smile just right. So she takes a bite of the Caramilk and the rest - "Mona! hold it!" - is history.  

Back before I started my process of healing, I would come home from work and hit the ground running.  Hang up my coat, put supper on the stove immediately.  Go, go, go.  Gotta, sposta, woulda-coulda-shoulda, as the events of the day whirled around in my head.  (Whew!)  

And when I was healing, one of the things I decided to do in order to look after myself and support my healing process was to take about twenty minutes or so when I got home and do whatever it is that I wanted to do. I still do it.  I call it "unwinding."  It's pretty incredible what just that 20 minutes does - it allows me to shed the stresses of the day and gear up for the events of the evening, whatever that holds in store.  I can check my emails, start a blog post, read something from a book, or even have a conversation with someone via Skype or one of the social media.  It doesn't take long, but it is time well-spent.  

What it does for me is freshen and sharpen my perspective, bring me into the moment, boost my gratitude factor, and underline for me the relatively new fact of life that I am a person too, and that I have the right to be cared for.  Even if I'm the one doing the caring. That it's okay - that I'm worth looking after.

When I feel that uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach, when I sense the slime of that slippery slope of becoming too personally involved in things that are none of my business, I know that there is an area of my life which needs work.  I have allowed myself to slip back into the insanity of trying to fix or rescue people, or otherwise influence the behavior of a person or the outcome of someone else's situation or plan. 

That is the time I need to pull aside and look after me.  Unwinding, taking a break, looking after myself reminds me of the existence of boundaries that other people have, because it reminds me of my own boundaries. Since the concept of boundaries is a new one, it is helpful for me to keep it front and centre so that I won't forget and cross one - or allow one to be crossed.  This makes for better relationships with God, with myself and with others.  

It's funny how that works.  But it works.  Every time.

Yawn

It feels good.  Yawning feels good.  And it's contagious!!  

One of the most contagious yawns in the natural world is a horse's yawn... they stretch out their long necks, close their eyes a bit (or completely), open their mouths wide and yawn deeply... often skewing their lower jaw to one side. I remember "cooling off" my mount after riding lessons about 20 years ago - and she would get me yawning with abandon with just one or two of hers.  She enjoyed it SO much!!

We excuse ourselves when we yawn in front of others because we think that it shows we are bored, tired, or disinterested.  But it doesn't necessarily mean that.   According to recent research, yawning is the brain's way of maintaining the body's temperature in order to think better.  It's a re-energizer, allowing the body to change from one state of mind to another.  It helps us relax.  It even acts in a similar way to some anti-depressant medications, inhibiting the brain's re-uptake of serotonin so that these neurotransmitters are more readily available for use in brain receptors. 
( Source:  www.naturalnews.com ). 

So yawning is good for us!  (I knew it!! - well.... I suspected...)  That's comforting, because I've been doing a lot of it lately... even talking about it - or remembering being around that horse - can set me yawning:  perhaps you yourself have been doing it while reading this (and no, I won't take it personally).  

Okay then.  Here's another thing to add to my list of things to do to look after myself.  Hm!

I can do this...  :O

Power and Peace

It was 1978.  The eastern seaboard had been going through a drought.  Creeks, once gurgling and splashing over the rocks, dwindled to a trickle.  The air was hot and grew muggier and muggier with each passing week.

At a summer camp, everyone has a regular job (one they do all summer) and a rotating job (there are so many duties ranging from cleaning toilets to peeling potatoes to washing dishes that everyone gets to take his or her turn.)  Since my regular job was looking after the trail rides, I rode upwards of 3 hours a day.  

August 17.  We'd gone nearly 8 weeks without rain.  The dirt pathways were dusty, and some of the other staff and I wanted to take the horses for a jaunt that was outside the regular trail, so we got together and took off through the woods.  Leaves scratched lightly against our skin as we traveled through the tree-arched pathways to the neighboring property, a farmer's field - the edge of which we'd gotten permission to ride on.

We heard it from a distance while we were riding the edge of the farmer's field at the far end of the wooded trail - and at first we didn't realize the danger we were in.  A low rumble.  The second surprisingly louder.  

Thunder.

Inside I froze.  I'd always been terrified of lightning - my family culture fostering a vibrant fear of unbridled electricity.  Our parents would wake us up in thunderstorms in the middle of the night, just to sit in the living room in case we had to leave the house if it were struck.  I'd heard how lightning came through the kitchen window while my grandmother was washing dishes, and took a fork right out of her hand.  Or how my father - as a child - was pursued by ball lightning (ignited pockets of methane gas) as he ran across a pig pasture toward his house.  All these things rocketed through my mind in that moment of time.

"Book it!" yelled one of the staff members, shattering my fear-fest, just before another peal ripped across the sky, seemingly right above our heads. We made our way as fast as the horses could run, toward the tree line, and turned back into the wooded path that was the only way back to the camp, slowing down as we did, to avoid having the animals trip on the bare tree roots in the pathway.  And then the rain assaulted us - everything (including us) went from dry to wet in five seconds flat.  Great, saucer-sized drops of rain soaked us, pelting and permeating everything.  And always there was the acrid, metallic smell of electric air.

It was the smell of panic.

I could feel my heart beating in my throat.  We were going from the frying pan into the fire.  All those trees overhead - I was sure I was going to be hit - or one of the trees was going to be hit and crash down on me.  

Each of the bright blue flashes of light melded into the next one.  I remember the feeling of my soaked legs gripping the saddle, the warmth of the horse beneath me.  I wanted to shut my eyes but could not afford to - I needed to be alert to keep from getting smacked by tree branches, to keep from directing the horse over too rough terrain.

The crashes became indistinguishable from each other.  I'd never witnessed a storm that wild in my life - me, who would spend thunderstorms inside cowering under the kitchen table - and here I was in the middle of it and I couldn't run away.  There was nowhere to run!

We rode the trail all the way back to the pasture and let ourselves in the gate, still being hammered with water.  We were so relieved - at the edge of the tree line - to see the open-ended barn: a glorified lean-to, where the horses would gather away from the sun.  We dismounted, drenched to our water-wrinkled skin, and removed the horses' bridles and saddles, putting them on their hooks in the barn, and broke open a couple of bales of hay for our mounts.  Afterward, rain still teeming, we trudged back through more tree-lined paths to the camp.  The others were running - I walked.  After all, I was wet already; how could I get any wetter?

To my surprise, having survived the trip high up on horseback through the trail, I discovered that my fear had changed from a mountainous monster into something a whole lot smaller.

So instead of going to my dorm room immediately to dry off, I went to the neighboring dorm and knocked on the door of a good friend who was assigned there.  She took one look at my face, hair plastered in ribbons along my cheeks, water running off my chin, and started to laugh.  "It's raining!" I yelled over the thunder.  She ran out into the rain with me and we laughed and laughed together, arms and faces raised to the sky, twirling like little children in the mud puddles, greeting each flash of lightning with hoots of approval. We could hear the creek roaring only a hundred feet away, filled almost to overflowing.

Neither of us ever forgot that day. Neither of us ever wants to.

Suffering Comfort

I don't believe I can remember a time in my growing-up years when we didn't have a pet.  A never-ending stream of dogs and cats seemed destined to be always hanging around, usually being "on the wrong side of the door."  

I was (and am) continually amazed at the practiced and well-honed skill that dogs and cats have (but especially cats) - that of relaxation.  When my mom would see a cat practicing this skill (and yes, they do it 20 out of 24 hours) she'd say, "Now ain't that just sufferin' comfort!"  I was never sure if it was her way of saying the critter was cute, or whether she was actually jealous of the feline for being able to completely let go and enjoy doing absolutely nothing.  Given her type A personality I suspect it was the latter.

The guilt some people experience over what they consider "doing nothing" is unwarranted in many cases.  People were designed to need a break from work or the everyday routine.  

Resting, making time to take a break, is not "doing nothing".  It is "suffering comfort."  In Elizabethan times, the verb "to suffer" meant "to allow" - and if taken in that context the expression would mean "allowing comfort to happen" - or letting oneself be comforted.  This is not a bad thing.  It's like a solar-powered battery soaking up the sun's energy.  Too long going without, and reserves run low.

I have a tendency to forget that I need to recharge.  Often, I use time that could be spent in replenishing my spiritual and physical energy by working, or by doing things that drain me.  But when I take the time to allow myself to be comforted (yeah, I like that rendition) then I find that I have a reservoir of strength upon which to draw when I need it.  

It's a simple concept, and one which I constantly need to remind myself to put into practice.

Resting

Faith is resting.

It's depending.  It's relying on completely.  It's not intellectual.  It happens inside and shows on the outside in decisions.

It's trusting that what (or who) you put your faith in will not let you down, won't move away.

Lasting, enduring faith is not humanly possible.  At least I've never been able to sustain it on my own without help. The Bible says that the faith that saves (rescues) us is a gift from God, not from ourselves.

It's one of those daily gifts that get stronger with the using - and the way to use it is to cease from our own efforts and just rest on His strength.  It's another one of those spiritual paradoxes.  Strength in apparent weakness, life in apparent death, richness in apparent bankruptcy. I don't know why or how it works.  I just know it works.

And the side-effect of this resting paradox?  Peace.  

It's Okay to Rest

Sometimes the frantic pace and the enormity of the steps I've been taking in the last two years to be free of those things that bind me to the pretense of life, weigh upon me and I become weary.

Tonight I told a friend that there was a verse I clung to in early recovery and - truth be told - still cling to, because my journey is far from over.  It's Psalm 139:3 which I discovered in the New Living Translation, a prayer King David prayed to God.  "You chart the path ahead of me, and tell me where to stop and rest.  Every moment You know where I am."  What a comfort and a relief it is to know that resting is allowed when I just can't take another step!  

Everything needs rest.  The rests give meaning to music, to art, to life.  They rejuvenate, allow for healing and reflection to take place.  In the physical world, rest allows the body to repair itself.  It's okay to rest.  It's okay to take time aside to allow the world to stop spinning - even if only for us - and allow us to breathe.

The journey I've been on is like that of so many others, and in the resting times I can remind myself that I'm worth it, that my relationship with God and with myself is worth taking the time to cultivate, nurture, care for.  I dig out a list of affirmations that I say to myself sometimes, and remind myself that who I am today is not who I was two years ago, and who I will be in two years will not be who I am today. 


Like the ugly duckling in Hans Christian Andersen's fairy tale, I am becoming who and what I was meant to be, often without realizing it.  Every now and again I get an inkling - but it makes me so grateful to know that God is not finished with me yet - not by a long shot.  

There are times that I feel ostracized and stuck in the ice like that young cygnet (baby swan) who all his life thought he was a duck.  There are so many parallels there that I can't begin to name them.  But even in his exile, he was becoming.  As he was trapped, he was becoming.  And when the ice receded, he had become without knowing it.  That is the miracle. It happens without me even being aware that it has... or without me pulling myself up by the tail feathers to see what's happening.  God ALWAYS finishes what He starts.

I can rest in that, too.