Unexpected

So much about the last several weeks has been unexpected.

Not the least of which was the unexpected visit from the police on October 23 informing my husband and oldest daughter of the death of the youngest member of our family the night before. Or the unexpected call I then got at work from my husband informing me of the same. 

Immediately, there were unexpected people standing there beside me, hugging me, doing unexpected generous and caring things in unexpectedly kind and thoughtful ways. People we thought barely knew us rallied around us - all of it unanticipated - we were never alone, never without support, never without the prayers and love of people near and far. 

There were unexpected reconciliations in relationships that seemed to happen almost unbidden. Family relationships, work relationships, church relationships. 

There were the unexpected gifts we received: food, friendship, finances, fellowship - each one bowling us over with implicit messages of caring, of concern, of compassion. 

Her friends "friended" me. They ask about how I'm doing. They show that they care. My family got a whole lot bigger. All unexpected. 

There were the condolences. The flood of people who came to the wake (okay, for those where I grew up that means visiting hours, not an Irish wake!) to hug us, to cry with us - from every facet of our lives, and some we hadn't seen in over a decade. The folks we didn't expect, who attended the funeral. Those who took their sparklers and lit them that night ... and made a video to put on Facebook to show that they honoured their best friend. The father of the young man who was a passenger in her car that night sent condolences on behalf of himself and his son. He let us know how the young man was doing; we heard his pain at his son's anguish in those words. He didn't have to contact us. It was unexpected. The card we got from someone in Ontario who used to go to youth group with her, telling us it was a joy to know her.

Getting every last morsel of icing off the
candles of her birthday cake - 2012

People we didn't know in Alberta contacted us. RCMP people, insurance people, coroner's office people. As professional as they had to be, they were also compassionate, sensitive, and kind. They still are. The medical examiner called our house Friday night to let us know the results of his report. He could have waited until we received it in the mail, but he wanted to let us know personally and as soon as possible, that alcohol was not a factor in the crash. That was unexpected.

And most recently, just in today's mail we received something that the RCMP in Wetaskiwin, Alberta had received and forwarded to us. It was a sympathy card, with heartfelt condolences inside ... from the family who was in the van that was struck that night - a mother and two of her children. Yet all their names were listed, and the names of those who were in the vehicle underlined. We'd been told that the mother's back was broken - that thankfully there was no paralysis. There was every reason for her to be resentful. Yet there was no tone of anger or of blame. Only sadness that our daughter "didn't make it."

Unexpected. 

And humbling. The overwhelming, overarching feeling we have as each piece fits together in this crazy jigsaw puzzle, is one of gratitude. There is so much that could have happened, which didn't. We've had to rethink a lot of things, redefine a lot of words.  Miracles abound - they started happening the very day we heard ... and they continue to this very day.  

And all around us, people are lifting us up, letting us talk, and welcoming us into their hearts. We are loved. And astounded.

And even these words are not enough to describe it all. And neither are the following words, but with all my heart, I'm saying them anyway.

Thank you.

Leaning against the door

Helen Keller said once, "When one door of happiness closes, another opens, but often we look so long at the closed door that we do not see the one which has been opened for us."

I understand the sentiment; I do. I know that there comes a time when we must move on. 

However, I also believe that it's normal and healthy to look at the closed door - whatever that is, for a while - and to ponder its meaning, whether or not that leads to restoration. Only then can we move forward. 

I also think that it's perfectly natural, after the door has been shut, to lean against it, to allow oneself to regret that the situation has gotten to the point of separation, to regroup, and to begin to accept the new reality. The scene is common when there has been a quarrel; the person goes out, closes the door and then leans with his or her back to the door. In those moments, the heart can begin to let go, to feel the shock, accept a previously denied truth, and eventually ask itself, "Where do I go from here?" 

How long that takes is anyone's guess. It's different for each person and even for one person, it's different depending on the situation, and/or the nature of the relationship in question. 

Photo "Massaging Shoulder As Very Stressed"
courtesy of Stuart Miles at
www.fredigitalphotos.net

When a relationship ends - for whatever reason - it hurts. That's okay. It's supposed to hurt. 

Sometimes, when the inner pain is deep, it even hurts physically. The mind-body connection is amazingly strong. A person can literally become sick and/or sore because of the stress associated with prolonged emotional upheaval.

At the same time, at some point in those moments - or days - of leaning against the door, comes a marvelous gift: the ability to breathe again. Oh, I don't mean the involuntary "in, out, in, out" stuff that the nervous system does automatically. I mean belly-breathing: diaphragm breathing. I mean unclenching those abdominal muscles you didn't even know were wound up tighter than a fiddle string - and allowing the physical tension to drain away a little bit with every breath. It's the kind of breathing you have to remind yourself to do, (medium slowly in as far as you can, medium slowly out as far as you can) or your body only does enough to keep itself functioning. I'm beginning to think of this deep breathing exercise as an internal massage. Or a spiritual yawn - oxygenating the psyche as well as the body, purging the toxins of lingering fear and resentment.

It's all normal; it's part of the process. As I've said so many times before, feelings are not good or bad. They just are. They were created to be a barometer of the inner climate, indicators of attitudes that affect health, behaviors, so many things. Tuning in to those feelings and finding out why they're there (in other words, drilling down to the attitudes behind them) does way more good than denying that they exist (perhaps out of some misplaced sense of guilt or shame, or fear of being seen as "weak.") How much better to carve out time to look after yourself, and to take however long it takes on a regular basis to process events and your emotional reaction to them.

Taking the time to find closure like that is another way to help yourself let go of things over which you have no control anyway (I'm talking to mySELF here) ... and gain the internal strength to look for that second door.

Take it all down

Today has been a difficult day, and it's not over yet.

There's a relationship that's broken in my life. It's been broken for years and over time, it has gotten more and more broken.

I tried to fix it starting a few years ago. However, the dynamic of it was such that anything I tried to do, backfired.  The history - and there was a LOT of history - got in the way.

Now it seems broken beyond repair. Lines have been drawn in the sand. Boundaries set and breached, over and over and over. 

In desperation, looking for some sort of sign, a prayer on my lips and an aching in my heart, I turned on the TV and thought maybe I could just put my mind in neutral and quiet the revving motor, the chest pains, the loss of appetite, the anguish. 

What I saw was an episode of a well-known Canadian home renovation show. The host was examining a floor that had water leakage problems and nobody knew where the leak was coming from. After excluding the obvious suspects, he decided to rip up the floor.

It was a beautiful hardwood floor. Shiny, glorious. "Take it all down," he said. "We'll find out what's causing this problem." 

Out came the crowbars. Up came the wood - splintering in all directions as the workmen did their duty. It was ... obscene. All that beautiful wood. 

"Danger" courtesy of
Michelle Meiklejohn at
www.freedigitalphotos.net

But underneath ... underneath it, someone had put plastic between it and the concrete slab. The concrete was cold; the wood was warm. The plastic made a perfect place for moisture to condense and cause the problem. 

Just a piece of plastic. Put in the wrong place.  Dear God.  

That's when my sign came. 

Sometimes, to fix something that is very wrong, everything has to go. It all has to go out the door, and be done right  -  and the right way too  -  from scratch. 
 Time to make a clean break. Splinter even the good things so that they are unusable, clear it all out, lay a good groundwork and do it right this time.

In my relationship dilemma, I believe that means (although I am scared to death) making a clean break as well. The way things have been going is not good; it is time to put an end to it, to say goodbye, to remove the source of the situation and lay the proper foundation: one based on each individual taking responsibility for his or her actions. 

No more who did what to whom first. No more majoring on minors. No more trying to do the same thing, over and over again, expecting different results. 


No more enabling. No more wheedling. No more manipulation. No more intimidation. 

That's going to take some hard work. And the hardest of all will be when the relationship crowbar comes out. When we (with much fear and sadness) say goodbye to what was. 

Even if it hurts. And it WILL hurt.

A LOT.

More Lessons from Yarn

I keep learning from these crocheting projects! 

After I finished my first real "clothing" project (a hat) which turned out to be too small for an adult, I donated it to a local charity for a yard sale they had coming up. So ... it went to a good cause, and I learned a whole passel of stuff.

I decided to try again. This time, I had some black yarn I'd picked up at a local craft shop. Applying the lessons I learned from my previous project (see my previous post) I took my time, relaxed my grip, unraveled when I made a mistake, and trusted the pattern. 

I'm about half-way through and it's looking fairly good so far. However, I have learned even more from my second than my first, especially because I used black yarn.

Black yarn is harder to work with than ... say ... pink. It's DARK!

So, here are the things I've learned from crocheted (crow shade) work (yes, I know it's a very old, very bad joke!)

Increase the contrast
Use a hook that will contrast well against the color you're using. This helps you to see where the stitches are on the hook and will prevent you from messing up the stitches. 

It helps to have a guide like that, to be sure of where you are and where you want to go. The backdrop of a clear vision of what you really want to do is the starting place for accomplishing it. 

Try not to get discouraged
Sometimes the mistakes look hopeless. Taking your time with it, finding out where it went wrong, and having a little patience to work your way back to the blunder can take extra time, but it is worth it if it results in a successful piece. Setting it down for a little while can help recharge the batteries and give fresh perspective.

In our dealings with those who are closest to us, sometimes we think too many mistakes have taken place on both sides. However, it's worth the extra time that it takes to ferret out what went wrong, deal with it honestly, and work it through (individually or together) without succumbing to the tendency to have a chip on our shoulder.

If it's stuck, it's stuck
Backtracking can sometimes only go so far; at times there has been a hanger-on that has caused a tangle beyond which it's impossible to go. The tighter you pull, the tighter the knot gets. At such a time, the choice remains to go with it the way it is, or cut the yarn and start over from scratch. Either way, it is what it is and all you can do is accept it.

Some things can be lived with. And, like it or not, some things aren't fixable and it's time to say goodbye. True in crocheting, true in relationships or circumstances. It does no good to get upset about it - accepting the situation as it is, is the only way to relieve the stress and find some peace.

Turn on the light
Making it easy on yourself is sometimes no more complicated than reaching up and turning on a light so you can see where to go next, count stitches to find out where you've been, or do a row count to make sure you're on the right part of the pattern. It's a great way to orient yourself and get a general idea of where you are.

At times, in relationships, it helps to clarify the rules, to shed light on expectations and let each other know where we stand. It's so easy to "coast" in relationships with those we love or with whom we work or volunteer. Checking to see if we're playing by the rules, taking each other for granted, or crossing boundaries that are better not crossed, is a wonderful exercise to do once in a while.

It keeps us from perpetuating errors that can destroy relationships. 

Go by feel
Sometimes, given the difficulty of knowing where the next stitch is (especially with dark-colored yarn) the only thing left to do is to "go by feel" - to follow the stitches with your fingers, even poking around in behind stitches to find the right opening. 

That's okay. Sometimes the feeling can give clues and cues that your eyes can't. Learn to work with it, to recognize what the stitches feel like. Then you can trust your sense of touch to guide you as well.

Feelings can sometimes be the only thing we have to go by in relationships; if the feelings are uncomfortable, it's a pretty safe bet that boundaries are being crossed and it might be a good idea to figure out what is going on and where things have gone astray. After a while you can even trust your feelings - contrary to popular belief.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Those are the most recent object lessons from the world of crochet. I'm sure there will be more. All I can do is keep my eyes and ears open, and trust my feelings.

I could do worse. ♥  

Learned by crocheting

The last couple of weeks have been rather stressful at our house, due to one daughter having surgery and another working through some interpersonal problems surrounding boundaries and freedoms, trust and respect, and rights and responsibilities. We as parents have also learned - or perhaps relearned - some old lessons. 

To de-stress, I decided to try something my [temporarily] disabled daughter has been doing to pass the time: crocheting. A friend came over one night to show her how - and I watched. After she had made a few simple items, I decided to try my hand at it - and was (pardon the pun) hooked! 

After spending the last week crocheting, I have learned that my fingers do indeed have muscles (they told me so in no uncertain terms!) and that I can keep away from other, more fattening pursuits by keeping those fingers busy (and it doesn't hurt that I don't want to get crumbs, or grease, or gunk, on my creations!)

I already know how to knit a little bit, and even though I had learned some lessons the hard way in knitting, it surprised me that I had to learn them all over again in crocheting!  I mean, not just about the skills required, but about the whole process. 

"White Glove" courtesy of nuttakit at
www.freedigitalphotos.net

As I learned - or relearned - how to work with yarn with respect to the art of crochet, I found myself humbled by the failures and having several of those "aha" moments along the way.

Here are some of the lessons I mean - and as I write, I find that I'm not just talking about crochet, but about life. Relationships. Setting boundaries. Letting go.

You will see what I mean:

Don't hold on too tightly
Hold the yarn, the makings of the masterpiece, lightly. If you hold on too tightly, the work will get all bunched up, lose its softness, become stiff and hard to do anything with. You'll lose your place, skip a stitch, and you'll work much harder than you need to work in order to make the next stitch. And the next. And every stitch after that. And to be honest, you'll end up hurting yourself by repeating motions over and over again while you are all tensed up. 

Let go. 

I forget this when it comes to people, especially people I care a lot about. I want so much for them to succeed that I tend to grab on to them too tightly... which only serves to reduce my ability to interact with them. Tensions build. The relationship becomes strained, stiff, unnatural. People can't breathe around that kind of clinginess, which is tantamount to controlling. 

Give yourself a break
Learning a new skill and seeing some progress with it is intoxicating at times. When I'm doing a project, I can't wait to see the finished product and sometimes I forget to take breaks. And then I wonder why my eyes can't focus on things across the room, or why I have pins and needles in my fingers from sitting in one position so long (especially when holding on too tightly) and thinking ever so quietly (and stubbornly) to myself, "Just one more row." 

It doesn't work like that. When life is out of balance, other things suffer. Taking a break to rest - or to do other things - can really give enjoyment and perspective to a task (or a bunch of tasks) that sometimes - especially in relationships that are strained - be very draining. 

It doesn't need to be much. For example, last evening, my husband had somewhere to go and I had the choice of staying home and crocheting ... or going to a local department store for an hour. I opted for the store. I hadn't had an outing "just for me" in months. And I thoroughly enjoyed myself. I even stopped at a nearby McDonalds for a small soft drink, and on the way back I got a smoothie to take home to my oldest, who can't get out of the house just now. It made her evening! And mine too: I ran into a young fellow at the McDonalds whom I hadn't seen in years - we caught up on the latest news and he even hugged me ... in public! The pièce de résistance was seeing the delighted look on my daughter's face after a particularly trying day, as I presented her with her smoothie. ☺

It's okay to do a "do-over." 
Frustrating as it is to get half-way through a piece and realize you've been doing something wrong the whole time, it's better to unravel the entire thing and start over than it is to muddle through and end up with something that doesn't fit. (Yes, I did the latter. Oh well - the hat will fit a child. Sighhh.)

It's okay to start over again. It's okay to admit mistakes, even if by doing so the end result takes three times longer to do, than it is to blunder ahead and have to apologize for all the holes and tangled mess you made. (And yes, I've done the latter - with my kids. Dozens of times. Sighhh.) I'm learning to stop before it gets too far, to stop dead in my tracks and to admit my mistakes, go back to where I went wrong and start over.  This has so many applications: ground rules that don't work, parental overreactions, and making concessions that get out of hand, to name but a few. 

Stitches make rows; rows make a work of art
Getting blasé about the little things makes for bigger mistakes later on. Stitching every stitch, not skipping stitches unless instructed to, leaves holes that look like blemishes in the piece. Even such a small thing as forgetting to add a stitch at the end of a row (or a round) that is the same height as the rest of the row (or the round) can make the finished work look amateurish and crude. 

Little concessions made, boundaries not set (or not enforced) make way for bigger concessions and more broken rules (and hearts) later. It's so much better (even if it's harder) to pay attention to the little things. Such a simple matter as saying please and thank you (and meaning it) - or little courtesies such as turning off an appliance (or light) that you turned on - or a decision made to treat the other person's feelings with respect by not criticizing or belittling (even in jest) can make the world of difference in the fabric of our lives, and the lives of those with whom we are in relationship. 

Trust the designer and follow the pattern
On my first major project earlier this week, (I referred to this earlier) I looked at how my hat project was turning out, and I thought, "That's not right. It'll be too big." So, I started to narrow the work beyond what the pattern said. 

And it ended up being too small. 

Duh-h.

Lesson learned. All was not lost; I could give my finished hat to a child or a really petite adult. However, my plan to give it to my daughter (whose head is just as big as mine if not bigger, apparently) was foiled. 

Sometimes I just have to trust that the Designer really knows what He's doing and just concentrate on what I'm told to do next. Even if it doesn't make sense at the time. Even if I think it won't turn out right. The moment I start thinking I know better, that's when things take a turn for the worse. I can't control what someone else says, does, believes, or thinks. When I try to control it (or the other person), my effort blows up in my face. I've proven that time and time again. 

You'd think I would have learned by now. 

However, one thing I will say: Experience is a great teacher.

Growing Season

Earlier this week, I looked outside our picture window and I couldn't help it - a short, surprised, delighted gasp escaped my lips.

Some of the crocus were blooming - the ones closest to the cement step out front. The step is painted a forest green, so it absorbs the heat, and it is slightly warmer in that section of the flower garden. 

It surprises me every time. Winter lasts so very long in the Maritimes that I am startled at any sign of the S-word (you know, Spring - the word whispered in corners so as not to scare away the sunshine...) 

And amazed. 

The bulbs, first planted in the fall before the frost hits, have been asleep all winter, and now they wake from their slumber. Granted, they are the eternal optimists and usually, there is the false start to the spring season. The warm weather allows them to thrive, but it is only to followed by an ice-storm that destroys their delicate blooms. 

This time of year makes me pensive - I start thinking of new life, hope, and promise. 

Last year's blooms

This year, though, recent events (such as our daughter's surgery, as well as some other things) have started me thinking about the entirety of the growing season - from cultivation to planting to weeding to harvest. 

What strikes me as I think about this is that there is a definite structure to it all. The land needs to be worked, aerated. If it doesn't drain well, we mix mulch and other kinds of soil - maybe even sand - into the garden to prepare it to be planted (whether with bulbs, vegetable seed, rhizomes, or pre-started plants.) And then the REAL work begins.

The law of the harvest isn't ONLY that you reap what you sow. It goes a bit further than that. Once germinated, the young plant needs to be nurtured, given room to grow (weeding comes in here), and provided with food and water in just the right proportions for the harvest to be optimal. I've explored these analogies before, but today what jumped out at me was the one thing I hate almost as much as I hate weeding. 

Waiting. 

It seems interminable before the first shoots poke their heads up out of the ground. That in itself is exciting (for the gardener) - but then comes a period of waiting that seems to stretch on forever. The tension between what is and what shall be is frustrating at times. Often it is as much as three months before harvest can happen. Yet there is much to do during that time: hard work to keep the roots clear of encumbrances, working the soil frequently so that it is loose and provides room to grow, and sometimes even pest control. The task is not something one would seek out.

Some of my most unpleasant gardening memories as a child surround being coerced into weeding in my parents' large vegetable garden amongst clouds of mosquitoes and blackflies that seemed inexorably drawn to my tender skin, and walking between the rows of foot-high potato plants with a Coke bottle in one hand - a bottle which had been half-filled with kerosene. I'd pick up and plop squirming potato bugs - adults AND larvae - into the bottle to exterminate them (shudder) and all under a hot and punishing summer sun - a sun which would have been welcome at the beach. But alas, it was not to be.

Some things about the growing season aren't very comfortable, let's just put it like that. I'd so much rather skip to the end, reap the benefits right away. However, it doesn't work that way. Time has to pass, I must work, and I must wait for nature to take its course. I must also cooperate with it on its own terms; the ground will not give forth its bounty easily. It will always tend to slip back into a state of chaos. 

It needs maintenance, husbandry, tending, care.

How like the process of spiritual healing, of recovery, of parenting, of any process where there is an end result desired and it takes time and (grit teeth) patience to get there. 

Sometimes I do what I know is the right thing, and reality's thorns pop up and try to choke the life out of what good I am trying to do. That sucks... but it happens. So ... I do the next right thing. And I pray that a whole sequence of small decisions to live honestly, openly, and willingly, to set boundaries (and enforce them) when I need to, and to let go of things (and people, and outcomes) that I can't change, will eventually produce a bountiful crop. (Or a beautiful flower. Even if the flower doesn't believe she's beautiful.) 

"Do the next right thing," I have learned as I recover from codependency. 

Even when the choice to do the next right thing is hard. (And even when I do it wrong!!) And sometimes, even when doing the right thing makes someone else believe I'm doing the wrong thing, and that person makes a self-destructive choice based on that belief. Those are the hardest things for me to accept. 

The growing season happens one day at a time. My courage fails me when I focus on the endlessness of it, and I complain that it's taking forever for this thing or that thing to happen. 

But I can do only what I can do ... TODAY. Just this one day, I can make the next right choice. I might not be able to do it graciously, or perfectly - but I can live in the moment and do what I need to do to accept what is, and to take care of myself and the people I love, today. 

After all, this moment is all anyone has.

Working at resting

It's normal and expected to work when it is time to work, although some people play at working (that's a different topic).  But often, I have a hard time resting. 

Less so now, but when I first realized the value of resting, it was like my skin had the jitters.  

Resting can mean getting enough sleep - and although that's important, that's not what I mean here.  I mean being in that state of mind that so trusts God and so lets go of the need to fix stuff that only He's supposed to fix (no matter how long it takes) - that the worries and anxieties don't have a chance to take root.  

It took me a fair amount of time to begin to learn how to rest ... actively. Yes, to work at resting.  I still have to work at it. 

Let me give an example - something pretty close to home.  

A while ago, my daughter decided that she wanted to apply for a Canadian passport.  The reason she wanted one was because she had / still has a friend in the States and she wanted to visit.  Maybe even to go and live there.  

My reaction?  Instant panic.

I got this photo royalty-free HERE

The questions abounded, big and little. What if it doesn't work out? how much will it cost us for her to travel / move all that way? will she be able to survive down there with no safety net? what about her plans to go to school or get a job here? are those put on hold or will they EVER come to pass? What will she do to communicate with us? Will I have to take her off my cell phone plan?  What if she gets stranded with no money of her own? What if she gets sick and has to see an American doctor - how much will THAT cost? Will we survive financially? And worst - what if we never see her again?  

On and on the questions tumbled, one after the other, especially when her passport arrived - just a few days ago.  I get a bit of respite from the questions once in a while, but they just keep popping up at odd moments, usually when I am trying to enjoy something else.  The panic grows if I let it, and sometimes it comes unbidden - even wakes me up and I have to work hard at dealing with it. 

Feeling those feelings of uncertainty ... isn't wrong.  It's okay to be concerned about a loved one, to feel unsure about the future. But when it takes over my life, when I can't sleep because it robs me of peace, then it is a problem.  And when I try to manipulate the outcome by using guilt and shame, or intimidation - it ends up pushing my loved one away and giving me the very outcome that I fear most.  

Every.  Time.  

It takes a great deal of effort to force my focus back onto the basics, the most important things, the fundamental truths of faith: God is in control. Of everything.  I have no control over outcomes; only He does.  He loves both me and my daughter; He will look after me ... and her. I need to relax my grip, to learn to let go.  The work part is in the fact that I have to keep reminding myself of what is most important.  

As the time draws closer and closer to her departure (not even sure of THAT date!) it's really tempting to panic all over again.  I can admit that I'm scared. That's okay - it's okay to be scared.  What isn't okay is for me to ping all over the place and react (usually badly) and let my fears rule my behavior.  

When I work on resting, I know peace.  The knots loosen in my stomach. I remind myself that letting go of my need to have my hands on it - even if she makes mistakes - is the only way to do that.  I accept what is.  Even if I am scared.

It's a lesson that I keep having to learn with every situation.  But I have the assurance that God's not going to give up on me.  And neither should I.

Somebody poisoned the water hole!

One of the greatest Disney-Pixar movies I've ever seen is Toy Story.  It's about friendship, loyalty, honesty, integrity, and so much more.  So many lines from that flick have come to my aid to describe various experiences that I've had.

The character Woody the Cowboy (played by Tom Hanks) has quite a few of them. Woody is an action figure with a pull string that allows him to say certain phrases.  One of those phrases is today's blog post title.  I got to thinking about that particular saying, and how it applies to some situations I've been going through lately.  

HERE is where I found this photo

Start hanging around poison situations and pretty soon the air reeks of it.  It leaves a bad taste in your mouth.  You feel dirty, used. Start hanging around poison people (everybody knows at least one) and their attitudes and speech will rub off on you. You feel "less than" - like something is wrong but you don't know exactly what.  Watch depressing or disturbing TV shows or movies on a regular basis, and eventually you'll be depressed or disturbed.  It's like I used to tell the kids when they were growing up, "GIGO - garbage in, garbage out." 

The fact of the matter is, if I don't want to turn out dirty, used, depressed, angry, if I don't want to be rolling around in the cesspool of life and get the stench of it all over me, I need to make some changes in what I read, what I watch, what I listen to, and who I hang around with.  I need to stop letting people use me, and establish (and enforce) some boundaries in my life.  I need to start believing (instead of just saying) that I can do nothing to change anyone else, to fix anyone else.  Changing people is God's job, NOT MINE.   The only person whose behaviour I must be responsible for ... is me.  Anything more will be self-defeating because I can NEVER do God's job.  Not even in myself.   The only thing I can do is trust Him and let Him fix me.  Me.  Not you, not him, not her, not 'them'.  That said, at the same time, I need to let people know where my boundaries are - and let people know when they've crossed them.  Too long I spent as a doormat, letting people scrape the muck from the barn off on me - if you catch my drift.  

Which brings me to the water hole.  The water hole is a safe place to come and drink, to be replenished, to be refreshed.  If that place is corrupted by dishonesty, betrayal, hypocrisy, and selfishness - mine or others'  - the place that was supposed to be a refuge, a haven in the storm, can become the opposite.  I've seen it happen in families, in friendships, and in church (or other social groups which are supposed to be "safe.")  The water hole is not the place to clean your dirty, manure-covered boots.  If people use it like that - the water is no longer drinkable. It's poisoned.

The only two things that can be done when the water hole is poisoned is to get rid of the poison... or dig a new water hole.  Either option is going to require a great deal of work.  But it's the only way to not get sick.  

And I'm sick of getting sick.  Aren't you?

Living in balance

You can't give what you don't have.

It's a simple concept... but over and over again I have tried to offer help, whether emotional or practical, out of a place of want, of deficit, when I was just scraping the bottom to meet my own needs.  I ended up feeling used, put-upon, taken for granted, and yes, resentful. 

It's like the teeter-totter at the playground when the big kid gets on the other end. No matter how the smaller kid jumps up and down on his or her end, he or she is suspended, legs dangling, unable to get down and not having any fun at all.  When life is out of balance - when we pay more attention to the needs and demands of others (when they carry more weight) than our own needs, then there is the potential for a lot of resentment.

The lifestyle I've been practicing for the last three years or so is based on taking care of three central things in a specific order: 

(1) relationship with God, 

(2) relationship with the self, and 

(3) relationship with others, 

and then maintaining and strengthening those three relationships in that same order. The principle is that one must first have a full cup before one has the capacity to fill another's.  Sounds simple enough.  But the old lifestyle I had -  which still lures me back into its clutches occasionally - was just the opposite.  Give til it hurts, and then give some more. My motivation was that I wanted people to be grateful enough to do what I wanted them to do. Change, be more attentive, stop drinking, whatever.  And the result of that was that people first of all didn't change, but they expected me to keep giving, keep putting myself out, and then they wondered why I was so cranky.  Hmmm.  

When I learned that I was powerless over other people, that I was actually trying to be God in their lives - and without His permission! - things started to change.  I started focusing on what mattered most: my relationship with Him and then with myself.  Once I felt more at ease in my own skin, and was able to let go of my need to control the outcome of others' lives, I was able to have more healthy and fulfilling relationships with other people. 

I still have times when I go down that dark path and end up at the top of the teeter-totter, bouncing up and down and wasting my energies trying to look after someone who isn't budging and who might even use my people-pleasing nature against me.  At times like that I need to remind myself that I am responsible for my own actions, and that the other person is responsible for his or her actions. Then I can more easily let go, and let God do His stuff.  

That's a bit more "in balance". 

That Awkward Moment

My kids are really into Tumblr ... and their favorite thing to do is to read those posters that start "...that awkward moment when..."  I hear peals of giggles coming from them as they identify with commonly shared embarrassing experiences.  I've seen them spend an hour reading nothing but the awkward moment posters. 

The last little while I've been struggling with (albeit a mild version of) depression.  As word gets around my work place, or in my church, or among my friends, that I have been finding life a little overwhelming these days - I've noticed a change.  Not only in my own feelings, my energy level, and my motivation level - but also in the attitudes of others as they interact (or don't interact, which is more often the case) with me. It's kind of intriguing in a way.  

Perhaps people just don't want to run the risk that I will bleed all over them, so they avoid asking me how I am.  I understand that.  Perhaps they think that them talking to me will somehow add to my stress.  Maybe they're just uncomfortable with anyone who's in pain; it doesn't agree with their theology or their life philosophy. Maybe they are judging me.  After all, I've preached freedom from the chains of the past and living one day at a time.  And now this??   

Whatever the reason, there's a part of me that sits back and finds all this almost clinically peculiar.  I've spoken to one person who has suffered from depression for many years and it appears that this kind of reaction is not unique to my situation.  Hm.  Of course I wouldn't want people to fawn all over me and pity me. That is absolutely disgusting; it makes me cringe.

But there's another part of me crying out to be acknowledged, to know that I matter, to feel that nothing has changed in how they see me - in spite of what my eyes tell me.  Some people won't meet my gaze; they avert their eyes when they cross paths with me.  Their discomfort is palpable.  Others who used to approach me and chat, no longer do so.  If I want interaction, I have to go looking for it. I see the sidelong glances of people passing by as I chat with someone I've gone to see; I have to force myself not to wonder what they are thinking. The sense of isolation is very real.  

A rare few do brave the possibility of hearing "bad news" ... and stay in touch.  I am grateful for them and I try not to go into much detail when they ask me how I am.  I've taken to saying, (IF they ask me and IF they stay to hear the answer) "Taking one day at a time."  If they press: "I have good days and bad days.  Today is one of the ___ days." (insert adjective).  Otherwise I say, "Okay," or (if I know they won't bother to stop and talk), "Vertical." Most times I avert my eyes from them, too - preferring to alleviate their discomfort rather than my own.  

I wonder to myself if that's always been my problem.  Disappear.  Don't let the grownups see you.  I find it easier to try to analyze myself as if I was someone else.  It beats feeling some pretty unpleasant feelings.  Yet I know that I need to acknowledge those things and bring them out to the surface so they can be dealt with.  

My mental cogs chug away, on and on, endlessly, while I go about my daily routine, trying desperately to keep me on target without losing myself in the stories I must read to do my work.  Produce the next widget. Write it down, let them know I produced a widget.  Stay under the radar. Play it safe. Don't think of the widgets as real people with real lives, try not to let their stories move me...and die a little more inside every time I write down a number like it was just one more piece of meaningless data. Come home.  Eat.  Avoid making decisions; even "What's for dinner?" Vegetate in front of the TV or my computer. If I have a choice to go somewhere or not to go there, I don't go - tired of the judgment, weary of the well-meaning advice given by folks who want to fix it with trite slogans or pat answers. All I need is the inner assurance that they haven't abandoned me - which is all too rare; the down side is that I do end up isolating myself and not giving those who might show their support the chance to do so. 

But these folks are the exceptions - and they usually find a way to express their love, and they don't mind if I shed a few tears when they are so kind to me.  I wish - wistfully - that the other people would quit smothering me with platitudes or their own solutions ... or stories of what happened to Uncle Fred (theme: it could be worse) or how their Aunt Mary got help. It's not any other human being's job to fix me or snap me out of it.  That's God's job.  

This is my journey; nobody can walk it but me, as difficult as that is for some people to accept. (It's difficult for ME to accept too!) To those brave souls that continue share their presence and their love with me - without offering their opinions or judgment - I give in return all I am able to offer:  my profound gratitude.

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.

Owning Your Power

One of the most difficult concepts I have had to understand and accept over the last three years has been what Melody Beattie, a well-known author in recovery circles, calls "owning your power."  

It did not make any sense to me.  I was painfully aware, having been desperate enough to ask for help, that I was powerLESS over others, even over my own addiction to being needed.  How could anyone - no, how could I - own any power that I was sure I didn't have?  

So I set the idea aside and concentrated on the tasks ahead - which were all about learning that people - all people, including myself - have boundaries.  Those boundaries must be respected.  Learning to let go of other people, to see and respect their boundaries, to stop manipulating, intimidating, and controlling, led me to the understanding that I, too, had boundaries.  That it was okay to say no - if no was what I felt. That certain things that people had done to me or were trying to do to me (such as intimidation, manipulation, and control) were wrong.

It was then that I started to understand what it meant to "own my power."  

It didn't mean that I had or could exert power over others.  It meant that I had a choice as to whether to allow others to exert power over me or not.  It meant that I could choose to take responsibility for my own actions, and to let others assume responsibility for theirs.  And that included their expectations of me!! I didn't need to allow them to make me feel guilty for something they expected me to do which I decided not to do.  Or to for something that they expected me NOT to do which I decided to go ahead and do.  

Owning my power has come to mean placing value on myself, the value that God places on me.  It involves making my own decisions and bearing my own consequences - and allowing others the same courtesy.  It also has a lot to do with not letting other people, their demands or expectations of me control my actions or reactions.  They have the right to their own feelings and opinions - but those feelings and opinions do not have to determine what I do or don't do - or how I feel or don't feel.  

For someone who spent her whole life trying to please people out of a sense of insecurity - that is a huge step.  I still have a tendency to not want people to be mad at me ... but when someone doesn't agree with my choices now, it doesn't bother me nearly as much as it would have - because my sense of self-worth doesn't come from them anymore. 

It's amazing how much energy that frees up to devote to other, more important things that I actually WANT to do.

Twiddling my thumbs

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Level and Plumb

I've been thinking a bit about building things (like houses, sheds, structures of some kind), how it is done, what the starting point is, what tools are needed, what the principles are.  It's pretty interesting how the tools we use today have changed so very little from those used in ancient times.

Two words are crucial to constructing anything.  (1) Level.  (2) Plumb.  

The builder has to determine what's perfectly flat. To do this, he uses a tool known as a level.  But the concept has been around for ages.  When the pyramids were built, they dug deep trenches in the sand, side by side like garden rows.  Then they poured water into the trenches and waited for the ripples to subside.  The mark the water made defined "level" and they built from that point upward, using what was level as a guide. 

They knew that digging down deep and putting water in these trenches, the water would seek the lowest place possible.  This would define the base of the pyramid.

The level for those seeking a life of fulfillment and purpose is a rather unlikely one but it parallels (no pun intended) the concept of seeking the lowest place.  It is the knowledge that no matter how hard we try, living life by trying to control all the variables just doesn't work.  It is the admission that on our own we cannot do anything of lasting value.  It is the concession that we are powerless to make life work.  Once that comes to us and we are still, that marks the point at which we can be ready for the next and equally crucial concept in this process.

Once the level (horizontal line) is known, a plumb line has to be dropped to determine what is absolutely at right angles with "level."  A plumb line is a string weighted at one end.  Plumb lines have looked very much the same since they were first invented, well prior to the Egyptian dynasties.  They usually come to a point and are balanced so that the point will be directly in line with the string.  Their purpose is to draw a vertical line from the base upward, as a guide in order to keep the building from getting lopsided (and therefore unstable).  

The way this is done is that the plumb line is dropped from above, and has to come to a complete standstill.  This takes time.  The weight at the bottom has to stop swinging, be perfectly still and not be touching any surface underneath that would influence the outcome.  This is the only way to determine if there is a perfectly vertical line.  

You don't just drop one plumb line and that's it.  Over and over again the plumb line comes out and the builder checks to see that everything is square.  At every new level, the plumb line not only shows which way is up, but the builder can determine whether the structure is "true" - that is, whether the horizontal lines at each stage are parallel to the level that was determined at the beginning, and whether each piece or wall is perpendicular to that, going straight up and down.

It doesn't matter if the building is ornate or not, or even if the walls and floor are made of sturdy materials (although that helps). But even with the strongest materials, it matters most if the structure is level and plumb.  If it isn't, it will eventually crumble.

We need to keep admitting and remembering that we are powerless over our own lives - this keeps us on the level - and that without God (our plumb line) we would never be able to live lives filled with peace and happiness.

But many of us treat our relationship with God like a tire swing.  Sure, when it's just sitting there, it shows what's vertical.  But we like to get on the weight (the tire) and see how far we can go.  It's fun to push the limits.

Unfortunately, we never get anything accomplished that way.  We just keep going over and over the same things and we might end up kind of dizzy, disoriented.

Remembering to stay level - that is, recognizing that even after getting into a relationship with God, we can do nothing at all to live the way He intends - "grounds" us.  And maintaining the plumb line - which only requires that we are quiet and let Him define which way is up - reminds us that it's only because of Him that we can accomplish anything at all. After all, He's the One who dropped the plumb line in the first place. He holds it steady at His end. The only variability is at our end.  

No wonder He says, "Be still, and know that I am God." (Ps. 46:10)

When we start thinking that we've built what is in our lives by ourselves, then we're not level, and our relationship with Him is not plumb. But as long as He is at the centre, we will continue to be amazed at what He accomplishes in us.

Power Begins with Helplessness

I had a magnetic resonance image (MRI) taken today.  For a person who tends to be claustrophobic it can be a bit off-putting!

They jammed me into the place they wanted me to be, held in place by straps and cushions, and wired up to listen to soothing music, my left hand holding a panic button and my right held immobile at my side while they took a picture of my right shoulder with a very large, very powerful magnet.

My eyes were about two inches from the inside of the tube.  Talk about invading one's personal space.  I felt completely powerless.  This beast had me and I was in its belly until it was done with me.

I'm familiar with that feeling.  As a child, I felt it every time I was beaten.  And as an adult I vowed I'd never feel at anyone's mercy again.  Well, that didn't happen.  For many years I was at the mercy of the most cruel, exacting, judgmental, and perfectionistic person I know.
Me.

My expectations of myself were nothing less than perfection.  And I expected no less from the people around me either.

No wonder they didn't want to have anything to do with me or with anything I believed.

Try as I might, I was powerless to change them. And I was totally incapable of changing myself. I was stuck.  And truth be told, I deluded myself into thinking that I was a selfless, giving person, who wanted nothing more than the best for everyone in my life (definition of the best was "what I want them to do").  The harder I tried, the more I got the opposite of what I wanted.  I learned the hard way that the very things you fear the most are the very things that you create in your life.  Loneliness? check.  Rejection? double-check.  Abandonment? oh yeah.

My journey to a place of wholeness, a life of power, began when I admitted that I was powerless.  Totally, completely, with no reservations, no conditions.  In the control and power department, I was totally bankrupt.  I had no resources to control other people, make them do what I wanted them to do.  Nor could I make MYSELF do what I wanted to do either.  Admitting I was powerless gave me permission to fail.  It gave me permission to allow others to fail.  It  opened up my mind to the possibility that if I couldn't manage my own life, much less anyone else's, then I needed a Manager.

THAT WAS HUGE FOR ME.

I had thought I was pretty normal, not uptight like a lot of folks.  But this admission made me realize just how tense I was.

It was like the moment that I received an epidural (spinal anesthetic) when I had my first child.  The doctor told me to get as relaxed as I possibly could.  I thought I was.  I was slumped over in a very loose way ... and then the needle went into my spinal column.  Immediately I slumped forward another six inches as the control I was holding over my lower body left me in a moment of time.  Poof.  Gone. Just like that. It surprised me.

Within days of the admission that I was powerless over other people, when a situation would arise that I had previously tried to manipulate or control...the knowledge that I couldn't control it came to my rescue.  I could relax.  Inside my mind and heart, I could give this person the right to have a different opinion than me.  I could stop trying to manipulate that person's feelings and just be honest.  (That was a trip.)  I could let go (see my last post).  I didn't need to get all bent out of shape because things weren't going my way.  It wasn't the end of the world. Previously, it had been.

The admission I was powerless actually gave me far more power than I had before.  Not with other people initially, but personally, inside.  It freed up so many inner resources that up until that time were bound up with fretting over what other people did, what they said, what they thought, how they felt.  Usually about me.

It's so different now.  The freedom that kind of mindset gives me is the source of all kinds of good things in my life: new friendships, a new outlook on life, new interests, new passions.  Old (unhealthy) relationships have been transformed - and those that couldn't be transformed have been ended.  I am more and more free as time goes on.  And I would not trade that kind of liberty for any amount of influence someone could promise me over another's behavior.

Not if it meant going back to the way things used to be.

I'm broken

I'm broken.  I freely admit it.

There was a time when I didn't think so.  I thought I was fine.  (Denial: I was anything BUT fine.)  I thanked God that I grew up in a Christian home (Delusion: it was a religious home, steeped in religious superstition and fear.)  I boasted in my own Christianity (Deception: I was a legalist, bound up in rules and regulations, afraid of people who were different from me.)

One of my friends said once, "We're all broken toys."  At one point in my life I would have been offended.  But he was right.  Somewhere deep inside of me I knew he was spot on!  For many years - in fact, for most of my life - I just wasn't willing to admit I was broken.  God had to bring me through a lot of things to get me to face that fact about myself.  Abuse - verbal, emotional, physical, and more - had robbed me of my self-concept, stolen my childhood, crushed my innocence, whipped my confidence.  So by the time he said, "We're all broken toys," I knew it was true. 

In my dealings with people throughout my life, it's like I had this big red, black and white bull's-eye target painted on my back - a big "Kick Me" sign.  I attracted people who would treat me the way I was used to being treated: like a nothing. They were rough in their handling of my feelings.  Or perhaps I was just too fragile by then.  But if I was, I wore my fragility like a badge of honour.  By the time I figured out that I was a victim, I had learned to play that role to the nth degree.  I figured it wasn't wrong to play the victim if you really WERE a victim.

No wonder I repelled well-adjusted people who wanted to be my friends.  They couldn't stand being expected to "fix me."  They knew I was broken, too.  I "needed" people too much.  I needed them to need me, to not be able to live without me, to be my soul-mate.  I smothered them with my intensity.  

And when I was placed in a position of others needing me - such as being a mother - I became the controller.  I had to control everything my kids did, said, thought, and believed.  I became outraged when they dared express an opinion other than my own.  They were afraid of my anger; they resented my manipulative, intimidating, controlling ways.  And they turned away from me.  I was lonely and unhappy and I was mystified as to why.  After all, everybody would just be happier if they did what I said.

I was truly alone.  I was broken and nobody, not even me, knew how to fix me.

Except God.

He worked things out in my life such that I would be forced to go to Him in desperation.  He knew what it all meant.  He knew the very things that would send me running to find help.  It took Him well over 20 years in a marriage with a man who was slowly taken away from me by alcoholism, to get me to the point where I knew I needed help and that I was willing to do anything - ANYTHING - to be free of this horrible ache inside.  It wasn't a life.  It was barely an existence.  I thought about suicide but I was too scared.  I thought about leaving my husband and family but as I worked out the finances of it all, I realized that things would be so much harder with just one income: mine.

I remember praying that God would do something - I didn't care what - to heal me on the inside.  Things really started falling apart after that.  The tension built.  I felt more and more lonely, sad, abandoned.

The straw that broke the camel's back was just a simple thing.  It would have been nothing by itself, but after all that had happened, it let the rest of my load come crashing down on my head so hard that I felt I could no longer cope with things the way they were.  I felt so empty, so terrified, so lost ... so broken.  

That's when I asked for help.


And that's when God could start to heal my brokenness, to shine through the loneliness and the darkness I had known. To show me that His kindness was enough for me.  That my weakness could be - and would be - swallowed up in His strength. He helped me to see myself in a way I had never done before - as He sees me.  My relationships started to transform.  I formed new relationships with equals - a new concept for me.  I got rid of old dysfunctional relationships that would never change. I could talk to God about things, deep and intimate things I couldn't share with anyone.  But He listened - and He cared.  God actually became my friend, my strongest ally, my champion, and my healer.  I am so grateful He did.

I'm still broken.  In some ways I suppose I always will be.  But now I just trust Him to fix me, and I don't need other people to do that. He loves me just as I am, and loves me too much to let me stagnate; He keeps me challenged and engaged in my life and in relationship with Him.

That's freedom.  And for a broken toy, that's pretty cool.