Saturday, February 14, 2015

another blog for another journey

I have no intention of leaving this blog but I also know that most of the posts here are my voice from a time ago and I find I can not match its tone, neither do I want to forget the days that came before and there will be times when I need to come back and draw comfort and knowledge from the days which came before.  They were often hard days, and I railed against them but they were forming and not without merit. 

New blogs for new purposes:

Queenheroical thenandagain -- a new perspectives of the journey thus far
Chase the Glowing Hours - an awkward working out of my journey in poetry and such

Tuesday, January 20, 2015

My best day

(For Sarah's:  Goats Milk Lattes:  My Best Day   Syncroblog event)

In the context of my current days and the rhythms found therein:

A best morning would be a quiet event – entangled in sleep-warmed blankets, watching the little twitches of sleep pass over the soft lids of a still snoozy husband, my own slow untroubled blinks drinking in the growing glow of morning.  My first impression of the day is happiness, spreading out from my fingers, down my arms and legs until I must stretch it out through every limb.  As I turn over, thinking of getting out from the cover of sleep, I am drawn near by a warm, heavy arm and I feel breath on my neck, nuzzled up in my hair, breathing me in.  Good morning – and then without agenda or engagement we, two, rest and breath.  It could be 5 minutes, it could be 10 or 40,regardless, it is this moment that sets the tone for the rest of the day – this quiet breathing together, as one.  It is the elusive and rare moment we share before we open the door to parenting, to working, to friending …
Beyond the door, dressed and lively enough to talk – we find our kids …laughing together.  It is music enough to carry away the still messy breakfast table, the crumbles on the floor and the habitual pile of laundry left untouched in the hallway.  I sit next to a happy child, or two or three and I am greeted with a hug and smile or better yet a happy retelling of some “funny” thing that they did that morning.  They chatter at me awhile as David makes me coffee – the smell is a perfect backdrop to their stories.  Dark, rich, and welcoming.  As they continue with their games – I see that they have been busy making … making what is irrelevant … just making is enough.  I have time then to think on a project of my own – and my mind spills wide open to the possibilities … I look over to the containers of felt, thread, and a heady purpose for my day welcomes me.  I disentangle myself from the giddy bodies, join David for coffee and a chat – hearing his plans for building, sculpting, crafting a thing (anything – as long as it means he doesn’t have to work, doesn’t have to fret or worry … as long as he is doing and happy in his doings, that is a best day).
Time passes then – each of us engaged in a doing, a playing, a reading – contented together. Music plays, but it is the humming throughout the house that I feel in the soul and in the soles of my feet.  I gather up my ideas, they are piling up around me and forming into a something – my ideas joining together, creating a better whole than pieces – I string them along  
There must be food somewhere in the day. But not the kind that flattens out the mood – no cheesy noodles or Ichiban.  A whole thing, complete in its satisfaction – satiating, warming. 
The rest of the day might include a trip with David to a store – any store, gathering up supplies for projects, for dinner, for any reason.  We talk lightly, springy and free – I watch his eyes crinkle up happily.  I watch his eyes speak volumes, I hope he sees mine do too.  We hold hands. 
Or we might stay home and play a board game with the kids and we all talk and laugh.  David and I caught off guard by the wit and cheekiness of our growing kids – we talk later about how fast it is all passing by – we mourn together a little but revel in the knowing of these people, these lovely, smart and slightly cheeky people we will get to witness for the rest of our lives. 
The day retires, more food, more quiet, more laughing.  I hug each of my kids and kiss their faces and look into their eyes and tell them, as I do every day, “I love you.”  My God – you know, how I love them.  I thank you in that deep well where it all swirls about – I thank you. 
The evening is reading, or watching something with David.  I putter away on my project, but my mind is filled with the day.  I want to capture it in a bottle – hold it close to ward off the days that don’t fall together so rightly.  But the day is too much for sorrowful feelings, those too are just a passing shadow.  In bed again, I look him in the eyes, awake still, I kiss his face and tell him I love him – and like before my heart seems to soar and my eyes betray the fullness I feel, and tears form – the joy and greatness of the feeling wells out of me.  He kisses away the tears in my eyes, and I see the wetness in his own.  Goodnight my Love – goodnight day.  Thank you. 

Wednesday, October 15, 2014

out of the ashes

I believe, that like water, you can drown in just 2 inches of grief.  I am caught wondering about how much of my sadness is the result of a welling up of true grief, the indulgence of a weak heart, or from guilt because days do pass when I don’t think about them anymore.  The calendar does spark a moment of guilt as I remember that I missed the 8th without it occurring to me that it has been 15 years since I lay on a cold table in an ER room being prepped for a D&C as a result of my/our  “spontaneous aborted” baby.  The words cut – I loath them.  All things spontaneous should be fun – should be gleeful and jolly – not heart sickening.  Stupid words – so inadequate, so thoughtlessly shared with a grief stricken young woman, her heart sore husband.  Hard enough to bear the loss but to have to navigate the hollow walls of a hospital, echoing steps on hard linoleum, the “whoosh” of operating doors flying open – counting backward, leaving it behind to awaken on a bed, alone … hopelessly and desperately alone.  My mind doesn’t forget as much as gets carried away in the daily workings out of life.  But alone at night, when I can’t sleep, or because it is October and some part of me can’t let it pass without calling it forth – I remember, I remember and I am caught up in it – but I worry I am becoming an emotional cutter looking to draw out blood – to let the ailing inside of me bloom red and raw on the surface.  Have I started using the pains of my life as a blade … to taste the metallic tang of blood upon my tongue again, to feel alive in it – to have my heart feel so acutely again.  Or do I do it to drown out the other hurts, the smaller ones which cut only like paper cuts, insignificant and superficial and yet troublesome and sore. 

I fear the drowning – I fear the indulging – I seek to understand.  And yet I don’t want to forget.  I remember so well not wanting my baby to be forgotten but knowing that one day, the memory would fall to me to carry, alone.  Not because others don’t care, but because this is my story.  The others are not imbued with the hard detail of memory, I am. I charged myself with the task, I insisted, I still insist on the memory.  I will not let it go … for fear that if I did it (he or she) would cease to be somehow.  
Eventually, the weepiness passes and I look up again.  I see her face, her sweet round 14 year old face with the perfect rosebud lips and I remember.  Out of the ashes ... after the flood comes the sunshine, the rainbow in the clouds.  I hold my memories perhaps too closely at times, I am working on finding a better balance but meanwhile I hold fiercely to the fact that my loss opened the door to a life full and good.  My sorrows, my joys ... they fall hard upon the other. 

Thursday, September 25, 2014

Things I think to be true … at 42 … in no particular order

Today is my birthday, I am 42 years old and I really don’t mind.  I like my age, I have struggled through years of being self-conscious and awkward, I am still awkward occasionally but I am coming to terms with even that.  I don’t know everything, I sometimes make mountains out of mole hills, I have insecurities, and anxieties but I am learning to bounce faster, to laugh lighter and enjoy the weird. 
These are some things I believe to be true … at 42. 
I hope to learn more things, and reject things I still believe.  But I thought I would share some anyway:

Find a way to the truth, respect it, honour it and abide by it. 

Love – deeply and without fear

Accept that some moments are just that, moments, they will not come again and nor should they, so pay attention and remember

Sometimes it is more important to stay in the moment than to try to “capture” it somehow

Silliness is a wonderful expression of self, don’t mock it – if you do you will regret it, either because the joy will be lost or because you will witness the light in someone’s eyes go out

Joy and sorrow need each other

Those we love will let us down, and we in turn will disappoint them so be ready to forgive them often and quickly

Speaking your mind is not always necessary … the world is chalked full of thoughts and opinions, enough to drown out all sense, listen carefully, consider, and restrain yourself from adding to the chaos.   

Regrets happen, but they don’t need to rule your life, remember them for the future and try not to repeat the same mistakes too many times

Having children is amazing, wonderful, and a great way to grow-up but it is also life sucking, brain draining and exhausting … sometimes in the reverse order

We all feel misunderstood and alone even in company, on occasion, that is because we are all created to be unique, odd and wonderful and therefore will not always be understood by other unique, odd, and wonderful people

You may never be witness to your finest moments -- because they are not for you to see, they are meant for others

Every stage of childhood will pass, some slowly, some faster than you are prepared for – children become adults, … so get to know these people, encourage them to get to know each other



Wednesday, September 24, 2014

September 24, 2014

There is something magical about the way people look at a newborn child. Regardless of their own age, the watcher looks fully upon the babe with rapt awe and wonderment. Taking the fullness of life in with a single gaze.  It is the most tangible to looks, giving the impression that there is a solid force flowing out of the one into the other.  I haven't worked out which direction the energy flows, it is too easy to assume it flows into the tiny new being but having been so recently in the Lord's presence, I suspect it is we, the watchers, who recognize something there which glimmers at the edges of our hearts and our eyes catch upon it, drinking it in, refreshing our spirits.  Remembering and worshipping.

(I promise she isn't trying to punch her sister ...
she wasn't allowed to touch so she was
controlling her urge to "pet" the baby)

Tuesday, August 26, 2014

these words today

God never fails to answer. Never. Fails.

In the wake of my previous post; in the wake of my admittance that I was lacking in my walk with God, a confidence, an unshakeable reliance upon His vision of me and my worth, I felt humbled and vulnerable. Out of this feeling grew a need to seek Him where he is to be found, in His word.

He found me there. More likely, He was waiting there and I found him.

Today, these words:

"Don't you know that you,

yourselves are God's temple,

and that God's Spirit lives in you

If anyone destroys God's temple

God will destroy him

For God's temple is sacred

and you are that temple."

1 Corinthians 3:16-17

This scripture may not resonate with others the way it did with me today, but for me in this moment of time, it is overwhelming to hear that I am His temple and he jeolously protects that which is his. I know there are bigger explanations of this scripture reaching out to the church body and such but today it speaks in a volume which drowns out all other thoughts. My tears are true and can not be restained at the realization that my God treasurers me with a fierceness I can only equate to the love I hold for my own children.

Thursday, July 31, 2014

this moment, this truth

Today I read two very true, very helpful things both written by friends, both speaking to the need to be authentic and true to ourselves, our lives, and by proxy to those around us. I admire both of these friends and feel their words deeply at a time in my life when I am struggling to like myself.

Please don't start jumping up and down telling me all the wonderful things you believe to be true about me - you are right. Hear me, you are right and I want to feel as strongly as you do - but I struggle. I have believed and still believe many of the lies by which I measure myself. I don't know what it is to feel truly beautiful. This is no ones fault - it certainly isn't his fault, because he looks at me in a way I can't describe and I should see it there but I don't - I get uncomfortable and shy and giggle like he is nuts. I throw it back at him and dive under the closest figurative rock. I see the hurt in his eyes, but I cower in my hole. I don't know when I swallowed this lie, it goes that far back. I could try to analyse the mixed up files of Krina's upbringing and probably find some "good" reasons why I feel like I do but it would never fully answer the question. It certainly wouldn't solve anything.

It is THE lie - the one which loops back on itself pulling me back into self-deprecating conversations with myself. The conversation I wake up to in the morning, the one that chases me to bed at night. It is my constant companion and my dreaded visitor. It was planted and left to grow unchecked - it is the fundamental lie of my life. It is exists by design - it's sole purpose is to drain the life from me. And I am prey to it's venom. I acknowledge that its current strength comes from my own lack of steadfastness to the truth, I am not accustom to seeing myself in the light of the father's eyes, mostly because I find myself jumping into holes when I feel his eyes on me as well. Standing in such light dazzles my eyes and leaves me a little startled and confused. I want him to hear my words, to listen to the cry of my heart, to answer my prayers and lift up my family but I flinch at his gaze.

If I am to honour the words of my friends, I,too, need to make an authentic statement about my life. I am struggling to live out the truth of my life - I am not so spiritually mature as to walk confidently in my father's presence. I don't live enough for the glory of God, I live mostly to be happy and comfortable. I still live in the dark even though I have been given the gift of light.

This is my authentic struggle, the one I quake at sharing. Be gentle with me, patient and kind too. I am a small voice amid a din, desperately calling. "Please, come along side and stand and hear the words of this broken vessel."