SSS-KSS-KSS-KSS-KSS

No, it's not a typo.

The title that I chose today is the sound my little dog's nails and feet make on the floor when he races around the house doing what little dogs do when they are excited (or just before bed): "the zoomies."

We had a snow last night. As always happens in the morning when the dog wakes up, he wants to go out. So I put his harness and leash on, and carried him out the back door onto the deck, and put him on the deck for him to choose a place to do his business. But as soon as he had emptied his little bladder, he put his nose into the white stuff on the deck, and jerked away. COLD! And then his nose melted it. He cocked his head. "Wuff," he whispered. He put his nose on the white stuff again. Cold! He pulled his head back and peered at this strange substance.

 

Bullet, September 2020

 

All of a sudden, the lightbulb came on over his head. He started doing the zoomies right there on the deck! SSSS-KSS-KSS-KSS went the little feet as he turned tight corners and slid around ... over and over again! Mouth open, tongue lolling, snapping at the flakes he was raising, he was the picture of pure doggy joy as he lived each and every nanosecond in the moment. 

It made me laugh out loud! Literally! Even when he left snow crystals on my Crocs (and melting into my bare feet inside of them) I couldn't help surfing on the waves of joyful puppyness that emanated from him. 

No fear. Pure joy that comes from confidence - which comes from knowing he is loved. I am slowly learning that I am loved unconditionally, and that gives me confidence ... and joy. My heart skipped and skidded around with Bullet on that deck. Though I hate the cold, somehow it didn't matter to me, and I laughed -- no, giggled -- like a child at play.

It feels good.  SSSSS-KSS-KSS-KSS-KSS-KSS-KSS.....

The right to take up space

Some time ago, I was watching a comedian on television do his routine.  Comedians are sometimes the only people who can get away with telling truth because they tell it in a funny way (they hope). This comedian's name was Greg Rogell, and the line I remember most is when he started talking about golf and golf caddies. "Golf is the only sport that comes with a slave." He then started to demonstrate. He held his microphone like it was a golf club, made the classic golf swing with it, and then dropped the mike on the floor and walked away.

While that was funny, Mr. Rogell was also highlighting an attitude that exists not only in golf, but in everyday life.  Some people, for reasons that still mystify me, have a really hard time with the simple concepts of saying Please and Thank you.  If someone puts themselves out to help them, especially if that putting out is physically or psychologically hard for them, you'd think that "thank you" might be on the list of things to say.  Treating people with courtesy, respecting their personhood, would seem to be a basic skill.

But no. Instead, such people are more likely to find fault with something else that same person is NOT doing, but which they never said they expected. Since different people have different priorities, it is impossible to read minds; expectations need to be stated at the outset, even if it might seem like a no-brainer.  For example, I'm more of a sit-and-visit kind of person; the housework can wait.  For others, housework is this huge thing and they can't sit and visit until it's out of the way. So my sitting and visiting is like laziness to them, perhaps even inconsideration. Yet their refusal to sit and visit until the housework is done tells me that things and appearances are more important to them than friendship and spending time with people. Dishes don't have feelings. People do.  

And yet, who is it that apologizes when the topic comes up? Typically it has been me - because no matter which way you slice it, for whatever reason, I usually end up looking like the one in the wrong... and I have been cow-towing to guilt trips my whole life.

All of my life, I have been fighting for the right - taken for granted by most - to take up space in the world, to be appreciated, and to own my own feelings and opinions without being told (verbally or non-verbally) that they are insignificant. Or wrong.  Or whatever other negative adjective you might want to use.  I'm uncomfortable with confrontation, and my natural response is to withdraw or feel bad for friction existing between people - even if I'm not one of those people. The fact that it exists makes me feel and act guilty.  I lose sleep. I get far more upset for far longer than I need to. Often, I feel like if I screamed at the top of my lungs to be heard, nobody would listen anyway; even if I have something important to say, a large part of me doesn't believe anyone will pay attention to it. 

Photo "Businesswoman Asking To Stop" by imagerymajestic at
www.freedigitalphotos.net

Maybe (and I know that this is a rather big logical jump for some) maybe a big part of it has to do with the fact that I'm under five feet tall. Not being taken seriously because of my height, not having my short legs taken into consideration when doing tasks that take an average-sized person about half the number of steps it takes me, and being twitted (or laughed at) for something over which I have no control, is one of those sore spots with me, because I've had to put up with it all of my life.  

People do it without thinking of the consequences, and they think that by doing so they are funny, or somehow superior.  As if it is by some accomplishment of theirs that things are easier for them (when it is simply a fluke of DNA), they criticize (or laugh) and tell me to keep up. (By the way, these are the people who treat me like a slave without saying thank you...)  Or they laugh and tell me to stand up (when I'm already standing.) Or they worry out loud (like someone did once), when I drop a few pounds, that I'll "disappear."  One person even looked past me and asked where I was ... pretended he couldn't see me.

Ouch!  That behavior and those kinds of statements convey dismissal of my existence and (knowingly or not) they are an attack on my worth.  They reduce all that I am down to what I look like on the outside, and they fail to acknowledge accomplishments that a regular-sized person would be proud of and never would expect to have called into question. Yet it happens to me all the time! Because of that patronizing "I'm better than you, and you don't even have the right to exist" mentality, this kind of belittlement (no pun intended) really hurts. 

In the past, I wouldn't say anything when people treated me this way (or worse yet, I would try to laugh it off), but all that succeeded in doing was (a) send the message that I was okay with it, and (b) make my resentment grow and grow so that finally, I would explode - and not in a nice way.  Someone would invariably get hurt.  And then I would end up looking like the bad guy.  After all, they were "only having fun." Or worse yet, they considered their fun-loving nature (read here: cruelty) to be part of their personality, and took my affront to their unthinking behavior as a personal attack against them.  Suddenly they were the injured party.

Wow. What is worse, I would beat myself up for weeks, months, sometimes even years, for something that at the source, had more to do with someone else's thoughtlessness and insecurity than it did about my reaction to it. It's what kept me in abusive relationships with some people for far too long.

So I'm looking at things a little differently now.  I am telling myself that I have a right to take up space, that my feelings and opinions matter and are valid, and that I have the right to tell someone who is behaving like a jerk toward me that they're behaving like a jerk.  I have the right to expect an apology from them, (not the other way around) and I have the right to require them to be accountable for their actions, to realize that they can't just say any old thing they want to and to blazes with the consequences.  I have the right to be angry when that happens, to work through that anger and to take the time that I need to do that fully before moving past it and on with my life, with - or without - them.  

Maybe someday soon, I might even act on those new ways of thinking. 

Stranger things have happened.

Across the Bridge

She rode between my knees in the vehicle, and didn't even go to the window to look out. Standing on her back legs would have been too painful for her, I thought to myself. And it was one of her favorite things to do when she went for a ride.

Hubby slowed and stopped, pulling over by the side of the road. I unhooked my seat-belt and opened the door, and got out. She didn't hear me; normally she'd be out before I was. 

She got out of the van, half-excited, half in discomfort (adrenaline can mask pain) and I tightened the leash and closed the van door. I waved goodbye to my husband; he had another errand to run and would pick me up after.

After. I tried not to think about after. All that mattered was now. 

Slowly, leisurely, even amid spits of rain, we sauntered up the long lane, lined on both sides with shade trees, grass, and all kinds of mixed wild flowers.

Raspberry canes had begun to bud already. I looked at them as we passed slowly by; their prickles were glistening in the morning's rain shower. The faint scent of raspberry blossoms not yet opened greeted me as I would stop when she stopped to explore a scent trail. After all, her sense of smell was almost the last one she had left completely intact. 

I thought of earlier times. Times when I'd have to call her back as a young dog from the neighboring field because she'd followed a scent trail out there and didn't quite know where we were or have the sense to follow her own trail back. Times when we'd scratch her just above the base of her tail and when we were done, she'd chase that tail and catch it ... and keep going round and round. We'd call her "bagel dog" because that was the shape her body made. Times when we'd be sweeping the floor and find one of those orange hockey balls she loved (and chewed on) so much. We'd throw the ball and she'd go racing after it, trotting back with it to us, and we'd have to take it out of her mouth because she wouldn't drop it unless we grabbed it first. Just two throws and the ball would be covered in dog saliva ... so we called the game "slime ball." She loved that game. As time went on and she was less able to run, she even learned to throw the ball for herself, watch it roll down the hallway and then trot after it.

A spit of rain managed to get past my glasses. It awakened me from my trip down memory lane and brought me back to the moment, on this our final walk. She was sniffing at some grass, and she nosed under some branches to get to the next patch of grass.

Among the foliage at the base in between the birches and beeches, I spotted first one, then a few, then several bunch-berry plants, the kind I used to call "trillium" ... until I knew what real trillium looked like. No, these had four smaller white petals in the center of a cluster of six much broader, green leaves. By the side of the lane, to my surprise, I saw a few late wild strawberry blossoms. Most of the flowers had dropped off most of the plants, but there were a few late bloomers amid the developing green fruit. A couple of them had flowered early, and had almost fully grown and ripened. I stopped to pick them, and tossed them gently into the greenery farther back, to start even more wild strawberry plants; I wasn't hungry. 

She was enjoying the moment. Her tail wagged a little as she smelled each new smell.

As we got closer to our destination, she hesitated more. Perhaps it was the smell of spilled oil in the parking lot that deterred her. I got her past the rainbow-streaks in that area and let her explore the front lawn of the clinic. She squatted a couple of times. It wasn't raining hard enough for her to feel like shaking off the water. 

Amid the budding "devil's paintbrush" at the top of the lane (dandelion-like flowers with multiple blooms on the same stem) I spied one lone buttercup, fully opened, symbol to me of promise and rest. They don't usually come out until July. 

Finally, after one final squat, I led Shari to the door of the clinic. 

The staff were very kind. They gave us as much time as we needed, and in their mercy gave me the paperwork to fill out beforehand rather than afterward. 

Afterward, I would be in no shape to sign papers and pay the bill. 

"Who's all in today?" I made conversation with the new girl behind the desk. "Doctor A____," she said, and Anne-Marie." 

That was such a relief for me. Anne-Marie had been there as a receptionist the first time we needed the vet's services back in the year 2000 for Shari's bladder stone surgery. Through the course of time she became the vet's assistant, and a competent and compassionate one. Though I knew this was hard for her too, I was glad she was there - a familiar face at the end.  

It made this just a tiny bit easier to bear. 

A few minutes later, Anne-Marie came out and we chatted. I told her how this had just crept up on us slowly and how the dog wasn't even asking to go out anymore; she was just doing her business wherever she wanted to inside the house. That, together with the growing discomfort in her joints, the digestive upsets, the deafness, the cataracts, the fatty tumors that pressed in on her heart and made her cough at the least excitement or exertion, the seizure she had two months ago, and the "doddering" she did when standing still (her head would "bobble" slightly), we could tell that her quality of life was starting to get really poor and that it would only get worse. 

"Yes," she agreed with me. "When they don't even bother asking to go out anymore, it's time." Her eyes filled with tears. So did mine. 

She asked me if I wanted Shari's collar and leash; I did. She switched out the collar and leash with one of theirs, handed me our set, took Shari in her arms - there was little if any struggle (unusual for her) - and carried her into the back. After having been present at Cody's final trip, I knew there was no way I could handle that experience again. I was so grateful that Anne-Marie was there.

Five minutes later, it was done. I know that the last thing she knew at the end was the touch of a compassionate hand. That meant a lot to me. 

A few minutes later, hubby was back from his errand, and he took the box containing her remains back to the van. We passed the return trip mostly in silence, only talking about anything but what had just taken place. 

I remember reading a book once by John Eldredge on the day-to-day relationship with God - it was the chronicle of just one year in his life. In the book, he described the relationship between himself and his dog, a golden retriever who loved to play ball - except he would never want to let go of the ball when he brought it back. The time came for him to say goodbye to his furry friend, and family and friends gathered with him at his home while the vet administered the final dose. At the moment of the dog's passing, even though the dog made no sound, two in the circle of friends heard a dog's bark. And then one of the friends got a strange, perplexed look on his face, turned to Mr. Eldredge and said, "I just got some words - I think they're supposed to be for you, John." 

"What are they?" John asked. 

"I'm not sure what this means, but I hear the words, 'He won't let go of the ball.' " 

That's one more reason why I know she went across Rainbow Bridge - and that as I write this, even now she is playing slime-ball.

Shari inviting me for a game of slime-ball

  And she won't let go, either.

Experience - Strength - Hope

A friend of mine is going through an intense period of testing right now. Sometimes it feels like the world is closing in on her. Circumstances seem to pile up and threaten to destroy her, destroy her faith. Yet she holds on - even if sometimes it is by her fingernails. 

The circumstances don't really matter. It could be a sickness, a family situation, grief, loss, the fall-out of someone else's addiction, a financial need, or just a whole lot of fiery little daggers of doubt like fire-ants swarming in and threatening to destroy everything. 

What matters is the feelings. She needed to understand that the feelings she is having are normal for what she is going through, and that sometimes people who have never been through this kind of trial have no clue how hard it is, how distressing it is. There's no frame of reference; it's like Marie Antoinette being told that the people had no bread and saying, "Let them eat cake." Obviously to her, everyone had both bread and cake in the pantry, so if they ran out of one, just eat the other ... right? Wrong. 

So it is with someone who has never experienced it - whatever "it" is. Some of the responses my friend has been getting from people ... show that they have no clue what she's going through, even though they might think they do.

However, I went through something quite similar to her situation several years ago. And I was able to tell her some stories from that period in my life and share with her how God met me in my hour of need and became my rock, my protector, my provider. How I expected Him to work in one way - and so did a whole bunch of people - but God didn't do it that way at all. He chose another route. And I believe - now - that part of the reason He chose that path for me was so that I could sit across the table from her today, in full acceptance of her and of her situation, and share with her my experience, to strengthen her and give her hope that God would come through for her as well. And I could show her by example that the only thing she can count on is that God will act and work miracles in a way that she never will have dreamed or expected.

No judgment. No condemnation. No advice.  That's the thing about experience; it humbles the one who's gone through it, made her realize that it's okay to not be perfect, that the feelings are valid, that the crisis is real - and that people need compassion, acceptance, and love above all.

The story I told her came back to me as I told it - as if I was going through it again, vivid and real - and it reminded me of all those feelings I had back then and how overwhelming they were, how difficult they were to go through especially because of the people around me at the time who (just like her own current nay-sayers) gave me pat answers and brushoffs when my circumstances and my feelings didn't fit into their preconceived notion of the way life should work. And God brought me through it and proved Himself strong - so strong - day after day after day. There is something so powerful in that kind of story. There is absolutely no arguing with it. It can't be done. When people try to dismiss or explain away what happened, my response is simply, "I was THERE."

I've heard people argue doctrine, philosophy, belief, theories ... but nobody can refute experience. And experience shared ... lends strength to the one who needs it until that person can stand on her own ... because at that point she too will have the benefit of her own experience. Then she can pass it on to the next person as the opportunity arises, and give them strength. And it will give them hope - which isn't the uncertain thing people think it is, but rather a confidence, an assurance, a peace that things will work out all right in the end, and if it's not all right yet, it's not the end. 

That's the way life works. We need God - AND we need each other.

That's pretty cool.

Rain Dance

The summer of 1978 in southeastern Maine was hot, sultry, and insolent.

At first we loved it. It was sunny every day, there was hardly a cloud in the sky, and the temperatures were hot, and got hotter as July wore on. 

I was working at a summer camp as a general staff member for ten bucks a week plus room and board. The work was steady, sometimes back-breaking, but since I was working with the horses, I had about three hours a day when I was in my element. The rest was tough slogging: sweat and biting critters (mosquitoes and blackflies) with no end to the joe-jobs: kitchen duty, food prep, and cleaning public toilets after every day of use by 8-year-old boys who had no parents around to monitor their TP usage (shudder!)

And the weather! The camp bordered a large lake, and we caught ourselves gazing longingly at the boats filled with sports fishermen from the fishing camp up the road, imagining how cool it would feel to be out on the water. The grass started to go yellow; the dirt got harder and harder. A creek ran through the center of the camp, and as the weeks wore on, we kicked up dust clods when we walked across the compound, and the creek dwindled from three feet deep down to ... barely a trickle. 

A similar moth invasion happened in British Columbia
in the summer of 2011

The first week of August was when the moth swarms hit. The streetlight just outside the dorms was eclipsed by thousands of moths in a mad frenzy to get to the light source - night after night for nearly a week - it was eerie. And just as quickly, they were gone. 

Yet still, no rain. We wondered when (or if) the skies would break. The heat was oppressive. Tempers flared. We tried to focus on our duties, and we tried not to complain, but we knew that every one of us was praying for a thunderstorm. In private conversations, we questioned how long this dry spell could last. The air was oppressively heavy. Everything was an effort. 

One afternoon around August 13, the guys and I (there were three of us who worked with the horses) decided to take the horses out for a ride in the woods and beyond the usual trail ride boundaries, to give them (and us) a break.

We'd gotten to the other end of the trail and into a farmer's field, about a half-mile away from the camp paddock, when we heard it. A low, distant rumble. "Is that...?" one of us asked. Then we heard another - this time much closer. We looked up. The sky had gotten dark with clouds. It had been sunny when we left. 

The field lit up with a blast of heat-lightning, followed closely by thunder. It was getting closer. We looked at each other, gulped, and wordlessly turned back toward the camp. 

The rain started just before we turned into the back part of the trail. It wasn't any kind of rain we'd ever seen though. The drops were about a half-inch in diameter, and they were pelting down ... straight down ... splashing off the hard-packed earth. Our clothes were soaked completely through in seconds. Lightning lit the trail path, coated now with soggy pine needles, criss-crossed with tree roots - the thunder was nearly constant. In the five minutes or so that it took to get back through the labyrinth - the trees lining both sides of the trail and and arching over our heads. Yet our canopy provided no protection from the pelting rain. 

Finally we reached the paddock and one of us hopped off his mount and opened the gate. Hurriedly we took our gear off the animals and led them back to the lean-to, where there was some shelter from the rain. We put some hay in the hay-rack and hung up the gear, and trudged back to the camp, another quarter mile - this time on foot. 

My comrades ran ahead of me... I figured I was already as wet as I could get, so I walked. As I did, I was aware of the rain pelting down on my head, running past my eyebrows and off my eyelashes; what didn't run off the eyelashes rolled down my face freely and ran off my chin in a little rivulet. 

It was raining.  It was RAINING!

I rounded the corner and saw the girls' dormitories: two large buildings. My room was in the left building, but my best girlfriend, whom I had met only a couple of months previously, stayed in the right-hand dorm. I turned right, went to her door, and knocked. She answered the door and I squinted at her astonished face. 

"It's raining!" I yelled above the thunder.

Her face brightened. "Yes! Yes it is!  Wait a sec!" She went to her bunk, slipped on her shoes, and came outside, where her hair immediately began to get as soaked as mine. She grabbed my hand and pulled me out into the dirt between the two buildings. There, we spread our arms wide, turned our faces toward the sky, and twirled, laughed and spun like little kids, splashing in the puddles and shrieking in delight. The creek was nearly flooding its banks, lapping up against the bridge in brown wavelets of mirth. Once she was as drenched as I was, and we had laughed so hard our sides ached and we were spent, we each headed back to our respective dorm rooms and began the process of cleaning up.

That girlfriend and I still stay in touch; our friendship has seen us through some pretty tough (and great) times. I think about that "rain dance" often. I think of it when I get too caught up in the past, or the future, and forget to enjoy the moment. It helps. 

It reminds me that even the things I think are bad ... can sometimes end up very good.

Catching my breath

From the look of my blogger interface, it looks like folks are stopping by more often, which is good, because I've not been doing much writing - at least for me. 

Life can get busy. The urgent can crowd out the important. 

Appointments (dental, bank, and physio - mostly physio) have been occupying my thoughts and my schedule for the last two weeks. I've been trying to make a little extra money, so overtime has been in the picture; fortunately it has been offered to our group of late. I've been going "flat out," trying to pair my extra time at work with times that my husband has other commitments so that I don't sit at home and wait for him to come home. I've been pinging around trying to find new ways to bring in some more bacon - by trying my hand at some Internet sources of income. So far, I've made a total of a buck forty-eight, which falls just short of slave labor. Frustration and panic have been building. 

In the midst of all that, my body was sending me messages: slow down! I didn't listen. So it rebelled. I developed a recurring muscle tear in my lower abdomen, probably associated with my back problems ... and the extra weight of course. I guess that the tear in my belly would qualify as a hernia, I don't know; I know it's hard for me to take a full breath when I'm in certain positions. (And yes, I've thought about having it checked out - and no, I'm too chicken to have a doctor poke around down there!) Add to that a 24-hour 'thing' this past Monday where all my joints hurt and I spiked a fever, and it just added to my stress because I felt that I should be up and about. After all, I'm the primary bread-winner since hubby's retirement and the realities of that are weighing down on me more and more. 

So when i woke up this morning a lot earlier than what I would have liked, I had a choice: rail against my ebbing hormones or go with the situation and use it to take some time for me - to catch my breath, to use the skills I preach and actually practice them. Accept. Pray. Take care of myself. Set boundaries. Rest. 

Breathe.

Now there was a guy who knew how to relax!
My dear old Cody - God rest his soul.

Even if my mind is going in fifty different directions, forcing it to focus on one thing - this thing - allows me to stop long enough to catch my breath and see where I've been spinning my wheels and where I just don't need to waste my time. It helps me to think about what I really want at this stage in my life and how I can be kind to myself while trusting God to do what I can't do for myself. 

It's harder than it looks. ;) But I have a few examples I can look up to, and I am learning. I don't have to be do, do, doing all the time; being precedes doing. 

One of the side effects of spinning those wheels has been the way I have been interacting with some of my friends; I've been kind of a jerk at times. I hope that they know it's that drowning sensation talking - the feeling of being trapped, flailing around in fear with no way out. 

There is a way out, of course. I just haven't found it yet (I've been too busy flailing around!)  It's like what they told folks on a commercial many years ago in case they fell into the water ... don't splash around. Swim one, long stroke. Relax into it; you'll rise to the surface.  

I can trust God. I can accept what is. I can trust myself: my real self, not that frantic reactive person that pings from crisis to crisis. I'll figure it out, as long as I make it a point to look after myself. In so doing, I will have enough of the best of me to share with those who count: my family, my friends.

And maybe, just maybe, I'll have the courage to change what I can, and also to know my own limitations and stay within them. 

Breathe, Judy.

Let Go; Let God

One of the most important things I'm learning -- and re-learning ... and re-learning, as many times as it takes! -- is the importance of living my life according to the motto, "Let Go; Let God."  I have that saying on my whiteboard right by the doorway, so it's the first thing I see when I arrive home, and the last thing I see before I leave.  

I've been focusing a lot on the letting go part, because after so many years of hanging on as if my life AND the lives of my loved ones depended on it, it's been so difficult to learn how to relax my iron-fisted grip on things I thought I had to control, know about, and monitor.  So much so that the letting God part kind of felt like an afterthought: "Oh yeah, right. That too."  

I was kind of worried about that.  I fretted a bit that I might have left God out of the equation, and I didn't want to do that.  So as I discussed my concerns with God (yeah well, some folks call that praying ... I guess...) a thought occurred to me that hadn't before, even though it was staring me in the face the whole time.  

Letting Go is PART OF
Letting God. 

Well duhhh...  How could I have missed that!

It's a vital part.  Of course! Letting God doesn't just mean that I ask Him to do what needs to be done in my life, in other people's lives.  It means that I trust Him to do the right thing, and that I let go of my need to control how He does that, suggest ways for Him to do it, or try to twist His arm into producing the outcome I desire.  He decides.  HE decides!  

Even if I don't like some of the things along the way.  Even if it's scary.  Even if I or the people I love have to go through stuff I'd rather they - or I - not go through.  I let go and give it to God and I keep my hands off it - because that's part of letting God.  Letting God means I let Him BE God - without interference.  That I get to accept whatever He decides, and sometimes, I even get to watch Him work.

That's pretty cool.

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.

Let it happen

When I was younger, I had flashbacks a LOT of things that happened to me when I was a child. Horrible images, re-experiencing feelings and thoughts I thought I had buried far beneath. I was determined not to ever let ANYone get the better part of me.  Ever.  Again.  

I still have them ... just not quite as often.

But I'm starting to have flash-forwards.  Based on some more recent things that have happened.  Only this time I wasn't the victim (even though at the time I felt like I was ... a perpetual state not that long ago).  I was victimizing my kids by trying to control their behavior - through intimidation or manipulation.  

Because I'm a Christian, and because I wanted them to be as well, I would try to control their decisions by 'hinting' at the idea that they might be sinning and hurting themselves (and me, obviously) as a result.  Or I'd send them a poem that made them feel guilty for the way they were treating me (or each other.)  Or I'd quote Scripture to them.  Or ... well, you get the picture.  

The problem with that picture was that it had the opposite effect of the one I wanted.  Every time.  In fact, my kids coined a word for my behavior.  

Christianazi. 

Ouch.  That hurt.  

Still, I didn't get it. Even when they told me point blank!!  I took it as my children "persecuting" me because I was "standing up for what was right."  Or trying to "raise them right." Or "protecting" them. 

Found this photo at THIS SITE

Nothing could have been further from the truth. What I was really doing was causing them to reject me and turn their backs on everything I stood for (including Christianity, if it made me into a religious control freak) and shut me out of their lives.  I was doing it because I couldn't stand not being in control of something... ANYthing.

They hated being treated that way - as if their wishes and feelings didn't matter, just mine.  They withdrew from me and didn't confide in me (for fear of being judged/jumped all over). And they were right.  I could dress it up and I did for years: I was trying to spare them the heartache I had known by being "out there" and getting some pretty hard knocks. But I'd been unaware that whole time of something important.  In trying to protect them, I also shielded them from experiencing the consequences of their own actions.  I was hurting them, not helping them.

As part of my recovery from this addiction to controlling others, I realized one day not only what I was doing to them, but to myself for putting me through the pressure of taking responsibility for their actions, and yes, even to God for keeping my kids away from the opportunity to find Him for themselves (something He wants, very much!) ... exactly by having this "you gotta do it my [or the Bible's] way" attitude. 

I took another look at the teachings of Jesus - and discovered something rather alarming - -  actually, earth-shattering to someone who had built her whole life on trying to "make it happen" in other people's lives.  Jesus only told people who were following Him to act a certain way.  He told His followers to NOT expect other people to toe the line ... because only God can change a heart and give the motivation and the power to live life His way.

It wasn't my job to change them, protect them, rescue them, make them choose the right thing.  I was robbing that away from God!  And the result?  They ran in the opposite direction!

Can you blame them?  Nobody wants to be made to feel lower than a snake's underbelly just for having a different opinion or take on things than someone else. 

Huh.  So all of my wrangling, tears, temper tantrums, and guilt-trips were for nothing. I was pushing my loved ones away from the very thing I most wanted them to embrace!!  

In one of the hardest life-changes I've ever had to make, I decided to let go and let God have my kids (and my husband, for that matter!) and to TRUST HIM to do in them what I could never do. To stop being Jimminy Cricket and stop fearing what might happen to them if they didn't follow my advice ... and LET IT HAPPEN.  LET them walk away if they needed to.  LET them make a choice I wouldn't make.  LET them experience the consequences of said choice.  No guilt trips.  NO trying to manipulate the outcome.  

Yes, be a safe place to land. YES, forgive.  But LET them be who they were, even if it wasn't what I wanted.  LET them have their own opinions on things even if those opinions were diametrically opposed to mine. They were nearly adults at the time ... I was treating them like they were still six years old.  Letting go and learning to let it happen was one of the hardest, the most frightening, and the most rewarding things I ever did. 

Today, my kids still make choices I don't necessarily like all the time.  I'm learning to let them know what I think without telling them what THEY should think.  I'm learning to enjoy them and accept them for the way they are, and not try to change them.  They have slowly started to open up to me, like flower-buds in their proper season.  I've been surprised at the amazing variety of colours I see in them, colours that I never would have dreamed were there.  

And there is something else now in our house which was so rare before, and which is happening more and more often as I learn to let go and allow life to unfold for them without trying to force it.  It's like music to me.

It's the strangest and most beautiful sound.

Laughter.

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?

Putting me on

"You're putting me on."

No, I'm putting me on.

Some time ago, I heard someone make a required phone call to another person.  The tone was friendly, open, sincere, and would have put the other person completely at ease.  The caller obtained the required information easily, effortlessly.  I would have thought that they were old friends.  

What the other person didn't hear, though, was the tone of voice and the choice of words that came out of the caller's mouth as soon as the call ended and both parties hung up.  It conveyed disgust and contempt for the person who'd been at the other end.

Here's where I got this photo

I can't say anything in judgment.  I've done it - lots of times.  Sometimes we have to talk to people whose company we don't particularly care for - and we have to be civil to these people, for the sake of politeness or social norms.  Especially in situations like a businessman talking to a potential client, or a sales clerk talking to a customer. There's a mask of civility that we wear when we need to. We put it on - and when we're done, we take it off as soon as possible and confirm to ourselves that we didn't enjoy the experience.  I'm not so sure that it's wrong.  But I am sure that it's human.  

But when the other person is consistently crossing a boundary, belittling us or using us, it's time to take off that mask of geniality and let the other person know that he or she has crossed the line.  

For me, that's the time when, instead of putting a mask on, it's time to put ME on.  The real me. 

I've discovered something as I do this.  The more I put me on, the less I want to put on the mask.  I like the me that I'm becoming - and I don't want to be the doormat, the pushover I used to be, the one who strove for the least amount of splash upon entry, the one who hated making waves, the one who just wanted to disappear.  Putting on the mask becomes a distasteful task.  

Sometimes putting on that facade is necessary.  Sometimes.  But a repeated pattern of that kind of behavior can make me practiced in hypocrisy - I can so easily 'put it on' and 'take it off.'  It kind of scares - and almost sickens - me.  That's one reason I hesitate to engage in it.  I'd far rather be totally honest.  

When it bothers me the most is when I am in a situation where I believe that I am in a safe place - and all of a sudden I realize that I'm not - and that I need to put 'em on - let 'em think I'm behaving the way "they" want me to - so I can get away unscathed, unjudged.  Whoever "they" are.  Someone who calls himself my friend, for example.  Or perhaps at church.  Maybe even when visiting family.  Or at work.  

What a joy to realize when I really AM in a safe place, with trustworthy people, people who accept me for who I am and who don't judge.  There are a few such people in my life.  I appreciate their friendship - and their company - SO much!  

When I first started this new way of living and came across the expression, "rigorous honesty"... I thought that it meant with others.  It does - to a point.  But what I've come to understand is that it refers primarily to relationship with God, and with myself.  If I can't be truthful with myself, and with my Maker, I am SUNK.  The fact that I sometimes don't share EVERY little thing with someone else tells me that I'm learning who is trustworthy and who is not.  I can trust those that are trustworthy.  It's okay NOT to trust those that aren't, and learning who isn't trustworthy can only be done by trial and error. 

LOTS of error.

Of course, I try my best not to lie, even to those that I don't necessarily trust with my feelings.  I will answer truthfully, but ... briefly.  I've learned not to elaborate and give people ammunition to use against me later, even if they think that it's 'helping' by sharing something I've said in confidence.  

And I SO look forward to the times when I spend time with people I trust, so that I can put ME on.

Time to heal

Time to heal.

It is, isn't it?  Years and years of gray living. Going through the motions, day in and day out.  Trying to do your best, and always coming up short, getting the opposite of what you tried to accomplish in your loved ones' lives.  Feeling ignored, rejected, unappreciated.  It wears away at the spirit, in spite of your best efforts to stave it off - leaving a deep root of resentment and bitterness.  But you live in denial.  You tell people how wonderful life is, how grateful you are. Inside you wonder if this is all there is.  

I know.  I was there.  And for me, it was high time to heal.  I'd been sick long enough - caught in a trap of my own making.  For, you see, my desire to control, to influence my loved ones, only made them resentful against me, caused them to resist my best efforts.  I'd push, they'd push back harder. Every time.  I'd give and give some more; they'd take and expect more. I'd give it - and they'd use me and I'd resent them more.  Like I said: a trap.  

It was time to heal.  

But once I had reached out for help, I learned something important.

It takes time to heal.

I couldn't expect a divine "Zap" - a miraculous Zeus-like thunderbolt - no matter how hard I prayed for an instant miracle.  Not that it doesn't happen; it does. Sometimes.  But this was one time it wasn't going to happen.  Not this kind.  

There's a major principle of healing that holds true not only in the physical but in the emotional and spiritual as well.  The deeper and more long-lasting the wound, the longer it takes to heal.  

The wounds were far deeper than I was willing to admit at first.  I didn't even think the problem was in me; I thought it was with everyone else.  If they'd only do things my way!!  If they only knew how much I cared!! 

I never stopped to figure out WHY I cared.  WHY I wanted to have that much influence.  Once I admitted that the problem was not in them, but in me, the pieces started to come together.  And I started to heal.  From the inside out.

And it took time.  The majority of the healing (although it's always ongoing) took place in the first year, and only with the help of someone who'd been through the process before and who was willing to walk me through it.  It took complete honesty, openness, and willingness to commit to the process, in order for that same process to only take a year and not five - or ten.  

While I was going through it, I wanted SO. VERY. MUCH to skip to the end, to not have to go through the difficult, painful process of cutting away the diseased parts of me and starting to get better. 

Messily.  And slowly.  Too slowly for my liking. 

But it happened.  Little by little - mistakes and all - it happened.  Thanks to the strength and help of God, and the assistance of a wonderful counselor, as well as the fellowship of people who accepted me as I was - plus a whole lot of determination to not hide from myself, it happened.  

And now, three and a half years later - I can honestly say that it was well worth it.

Isn't it time to heal? 

Up in the air

It's been an interesting couple of days.  An opportunity arose a week ago, right in the middle of my interpersonal saga at the office (see previous posts).  This opportunity allowed me to apply for a temporary "acting" position for the summer months. 

I spent all weekend working on my application, making sure all my T's were crossed and my I's dotted.  And yesterday, I sent in my application; with no exaggeration, I must have read it through, edited it, added to it, and compared it against what was required three dozen times in the space of those six days.  I contacted people for references, and alerted them they might get a call before the end of the week.  

Here's where I found this photo

Yesterday morning as I was getting ready for work, I heard the still small voice of God probing my consciousness about this process.  "So.  How do you feel about all this?  How would you feel if you got the position?"  

I checked inside.  "Scared.  Excited of course, but scared... I guess that's kind of a good thing..." 

I could feel Him smiling. "And?  how would you feel if you DIDN'T get it?" 

This one kind of surprised me.  But I searched my feelings and discovered that although I'd be disappointed not to win, it wouldn't be devastating for me - and I wouldn't resent or be jealous of whoever DID get it. My response told me once more that I had grown in the last three years. 

When I got to work, I got the last of my "ducks" lined up, put a few tweaks into the application, read it through five or six more times and breathed a prayer.  "Your will, God.  Your will."  And I sent the application.

There have been times - many times - when there has been a huge question mark about something I wanted or something that might or might not happen.  In the past, I would stress and worry, and not let it go until I knew the answer. I'd not sleep, and I'd fret and stew about it, and eye suspiciously anyone whom I might see as my "competition."

But with this - and I hope this is the beginning of a new normal - the fact that the answer is (so to speak) "up in the air" doesn't make me lose any sleep. I'm perfectly fine with whatever happens.  

Go figure.

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

Breathe. Unclench.

Yesterday, as a result of some things I mentioned in my previous post, and after a discussion with a trusted colleague who suggested what to do next, I made an appointment with someone at work who potentially had the power to help me, and I let this woman know my concerns, and asked some questions, and ... yes.  Yes, I cried.  

She was wonderful.  In the course of our one-hour conversation, she allayed many of my fears, corrected some false perceptions I had regarding the individual I believed was targeting me, and gave me the freedom I needed to concentrate on looking after myself for the next couple of months.  

Most of all, she assured me that I was a valued member of the team, that my work was extremely good, and that she and the leadership team had a lot of confidence in my abilities not only in my job but also as a potential leader myself. She stressed that now it was time to take care of Judy.  (Fresh wave of tears...) She and I worked out a plan to do just that, to take the pressure off as much as possible and still allow me to do my job - just a different facet of it for a while. She authorized the use of a particular type of leave that usually requires a week's notice... so for today and tomorrow I don't have to go to work.  When I return on Monday, I will know what is waiting for me on my desk and I won't need to be afraid or concerned that someone is going to be "in my face" with anything.  

The ball of lead in my stomach has lightened ... somewhat.  At first, it was hard to believe that the cause of the stress was gone, just like that, I'd been carrying it for so long. Even now, I have to remind myself to 'breathe' and 'unclench.'  It takes a while for the body to let go, apparently.  But last night, for the first time in weeks, I took the first deep breath that wasn't a brace-yourself-for-what's-coming kind of thing.  And it felt so unusual that I did it again, just to feel that oh-so-that's-what-relaxing-feels-like sensation. 

Breathe.  Unclench.  Let go, let God.  

The tension is draining slowly away... there are still health issues that I need to look after, but in large part, my life-balance is returning to normal.  Who knows? in a few months, I might look back and think that this might have been the best thing to have happened.  

That's usually the way of it.

Connecting the dots

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sea of Tranquility

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Different and same

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

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



I know he inspired me.

Bumpity-bump

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

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

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

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

We accepted.  

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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