Contentment

Contentment doesn't mean I don't feel hunger. I think it's how I process the feeling of hunger. I've been thinking about this admonition:

I know what it is to be in need, and I know what it is to have plenty. I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation, whether well fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or in want. I can do everything through him who gives me strength (Phil. 4).

Yesterday I was feeling frustrated with myself because my desires have not changed despite the season of need I have unexpectedly found myself in. Here I am without money to even buy groceries, living off the extreme generosity of my family who is feeding and housing me while at the same time making notes from a fancy house magazine on the mansion I want to live in and supporting my husband taking a test drive in a luxury car for fun. Call that delusional, right?? All at the same bemoaning my "lack of contentment" and anxious that I should ever attain such such a high calling as contentment in the place of want. How can I claim contentment when my desires are for more? Is contentment the lack of hunger?

Dictionary.com proposes that content means "mentally or emotionally satisfied with things as they are," or "assenting to or willing to accept circumstances."

Webster's 1828 dictionary:

CONTENT, a. [L., to be held; to hold.] Literally, held, contained within limits; hence, quiet; not disturbed; having a mind at peace; easy; satisfied, so as not to repine, object, or oppose

CONTENT, v.t.

1. To satisfy the mind; to make quiet, so as to stop complaint or opposition; to appease; to make easy in any situation

CONTENT, n.

1. Rest or quietness of the mind in the present condition; satisfaction which holds the mind in peace, restraining complaint, opposition, or further desire, and often implying a moderate degree of happiness.

Well, no conclusory thoughts for now. I shall retire for the night wondering if feeling want and hunger can coexist with contentment. I hope so.

It's like a muscle

In the past months, a friend explained to me that emotional healing is like developing a muscle. It takes time. When muscles strain against a resistance that is stronger than itself, it still grows even though it doesn't immediately overcome the resistance. It takes times and seeming failure is just part of the process. And then, you have a victory that energizes you to keep on straining against the resistance and persist in standing up for yourself.

Tonight, I had a victory and it came in a rather unusual form. A bicycle.

For years, I have wanted to buy a bicycle. I've known exactly what I wanted and being rather off the beaten path of bicycle retail, I expected I'd have to pay more for what I wanted. So I've waited until now. A generous monetary birthday gift led me to the bicycle store and I was elated to find almost exactly what I wanted on a great sale. I was still hesitant to commit, leery of an impulse purchase but the sales person assured me I could return it if not 100% satisfied. The handle bars were not quite what I wanted but exactly what I wanted didn't seem to exist so I took the sale and brought it home. A few weeks later I realized the same bicycle came in a ladies ame so I exchanged it. I still didn't quite like the handle bars. In comes my resistance training.

I talk to the bike guy who convinces me that my handle bars just need to be adjusted and they may suite me better. The adjustment helps. It's still not quite right. I talk to 3 different sales people (during 3 trips to the store), tell them exactly what I want and get their recommendations. I finally order new handle bars that take twice as long to arrive as they tell me. New handle bars?? Well, they are almost exactly like the old ones and I'm certain they won't help. I'm so discouraged that I don't even let them put on the new bars (which they would have done for free). They say they won't let me return them because they were a special order. I felt like I had communicated so clearly what I wanted! Later in the day, I call the store and kindly ask to be allowed to return them. They guy I talk to was one of the ones who gave me the recommendation and he says he really thinks they will help if I'll just come in and let them change the bars. I feel like a puppet being jerked around on strings. Still frustrated, I go to another bike store that will allow special order returns if I'm not satisfied. I communicate even more clearly what I want and even draw a picture (I actually had a dream about the kind I wanted). They look at me kind of funny and I can tell the guy thinks this is not going to work but at least he doesn't say anything and orders them anyway.

The (second) new handle bars arrive. Exactly what I want. However they will charge a good bit to put them on so I take them back to the first store thinking it possible they will still put them on for free, especially as I am a frustrated customer at this point and could use some encouragement to ever frequent their shop again! Oh, not so. First of all, they won't put them on for free. And now some serious resistance. The sales manager (well, he at least seemed to be in charge of things) kept trying to "help" me. I explained the problem I had with the initial bars, and with the first replacement. He spent a good 10 minutes telling me he didn't understand why I had trouble with the first bars. I told him that I didn't either but I was open to suggestions on how to fix it. He again tells me he doesn't understand why I am having a problem and all the reasons why my new replacement bars won't work. He does at least agree to let me return the first special order but reiterates all the problems I will have with the new bars. He is exasperated with my problem and maybe also with me. Again discouraged, I leave the store, feeling rather like a picky brat, an idiot and generally thoroughly doubting myself.

I don't even take the bike out of my car for several days. I'm sure I'm chasing a fruitless fancy and I just need to try and enjoy what I have. Finally my dad puts on the new bars. Guess what? They are perfect. They are exactly what I want. The bike is not of a cookie cutter variety but guess what? I don't care one bit. I will still have to pay to have the gears and cables changed over but after almost a dozen trips to bike stores, lugging the bike in and out of my SUV, combatting many well meaning but unhelpful sales people and paying more than I thought I would with my on-sale purchase, I will have exactly what I want. And dang it, it was worth the fight.

I think once it's all said and done, I will pay in dollars about what I originally expected but it will have cost me much more in emotional energy and much more in time. In the end, I will actually enjoy my purchase.

In the end, I will enjoy my life. I will enjoy my bicycle. I will enjoy giving expression to my funny quirks and I will enjoy my un-cookie cutter nature. It will take time and maybe more energy than I want to spend but it will be worth standing up for.

NOT complaining :-)

I really am thrilled to be preggo and my goal is to make it through without complaining. I have too many friends who have had serious troubles getting pregnant, had miscarriages or been unable to conceive at all to fuss. That said, I'm really just kind of surprised by how icky I've felt so I'm trying to figure out how to successfully deal with it (while praying for it to go away)! So far chick-fil-a sandwiches and lemonade are my best standby and mac and cheese - go figure. Forget veggies, most dairy and meat (really, I was a very healthy eater before this).

What do YOU do when you find yourself less capable than your normal routine?

Having spent a great deal of time in the medical profession, I have seen how taxing physical stress, pain and illness can be on the human soul and one's emotional capacity. It can really be a joy robber! No wonder people grow depressed in the face of chronic illness or pain, it takes a lot of joy to stand up under that pressure without growing weary.

I have had a number of conversations as of late about "joy strength." The idea that joy gives you the strength to face trial, endure difficulty and so on. Even the Good Book says that the "joy of the Lord is your strength." I've always relegated that joy to a spiritual variety, such as the joy of knowing the Man who loves you most, the joy of a a clean slate when you mess up ... but my perspective is expanding. Sometime recently, something tipped in my understanding and I've begun to see all honest joy as authored by the Great I Am, like the joy of watching my puppies sleep, the joy of sleeping in, the joy of taking a nap, ok, enough about sleeping :-)

Maybe it did not help that I had hot chocolate at 8:30pm...except now it is 4:30am and I have most definitely been awake a good deal since I attempted to go to sleep five hours ago. I am SURE it also did not help that hubbie and I were looking at houses to rent in a new city we may move to in the next few month, pending admission to certain Masters Program. Do not get me wrong, I LOVE my house that we bought in our Midwest city, the way you can only love your first house that you buy together. As my dear Anne Shirley says, it has truly been our "House of Dreams."

I imagine I am like most women in that I am rather particular when it comes to houses. I fancy that I am peculiar in that my particulars seem to range in the extreme. Maybe that comes from being an introverted housewife and owning a home business - home is work, play, rest all rolled into one building. Oh and did I mention that the home business is making wedding cakes? So the kitchen, yes, it is very close to the most important room in the house.

I was all settled into the idea of praying for a house that is reasonable as we seriously consider our East Coast move...that is, until hubbie, dreamer par excellence, starts pulling up pictures (and prices) that I should be sure are beyond us.

Well, I may as well put it out, since the ideas have kept me up half the night, and then maybe I can fall asleep while there is still darkness left to the morning. Keep in mind now, that I am "dreaming big" and I do believe that sometimes we do not have because we do not ask. Gracious, let me not fail in the asking! So the dream is for a large house, at least 2,000 sq feet with at least 4 bedrooms and an office. The master bedroom must have its own bathroom, complete with a double vanity, a deep tub, a window in the bathroom and a separate water closet. The bedroom needs high ceilings or at least a knock out ceiling, plenty of windows and should be private from the other bedrooms. The master bedroom must be the quietest room in the house and large enough to comfortably house a king size canopy bed, one or two dressers, double bedside tables, bench and or a chair, and possibly an armoire. Large walk-in closet is of course necessary and a window in the closet sounds nice. Two of the other rooms should be large enough to house a queen canopy bed, dresser, bedside tables, chair and possibly a desk. These rooms also would benefit from large walk in closets. It would be wonderful if one of the rooms was in its own "space" with its own bathroom, like a basement room with a large window or room over the garage. The last bedroom needs to be large enough for a crib, double or queen bed with bedside tables, dresser and changing table, and rocking chair.

The said kitchen, well, marble or granite countertops would be nice. A large island for rolling out fondant, with at least a 40x30 space uniterrupted by seams, sinks etc. Lots of cream colored cabinets, I could fill 30-50 of them! A quality dishwasher and a fridge with either french doors and freezer below or a single door with freezer below ... a side by side is NOT acceptable. The sink is NOT stainless steel nor is the faucet. The very large double sink has a spray nozzle and cleans easily. The 2-3 car garage has plenty of space for shelves, peg board and a stand up freezer and refrigerator. There is plenty of counter space for stand up mixer, toaster oven and there are open, dust free shelves for some easy access drinking glasses. The kitchen has space for at least an overstuffed chair and or a loveseat and coffee table. Also room for a decent size eat in table AND a separate, formal dining room. The cabinets have many slide out shelves and some cabinets have glass fronts for china. The kitchen is open with a breakfast bar or at least many windows. Hardwood floors or at least new carpet are a must. Tiled bathrooms would be lovely. A large laundry room with state of the art washer and dryer, folding table and shelves and cabinets are a nice addition. Somewhere there needs to be space for dust-free storage for all my wedding cake and catering supplies. Oh and did I mention that a double oven would be delightful :-)

On to the yard, fenced in of course, on at least a half acre. There are trees, not blocking the sunlight but providing privacy. The house itself is close to East Coast university, a distance easily traversed by students, guests and hubbie. A large linen closet and coat closet are required and a screened in porch with outdoor sun deck is lovely. A front porch is homely, but not required. The foyer or living area has a vaulted ceiling and the kitchen also has high or vaulted ceilings. A mud room would be great, largely so I can decide if it really is "all that" and if I want one in my "homestead one day" house.

Plenty of entertaining space is necessary and the office must have a window, room for a moderate desk, comfortable chair and maybe a couch. I would not complain about being in a col-de-sac or having access to walking paths. The mail is secure, the neighborhood quiet and access to grocery stores, organic markets and general shopping are plentiful.

Ah, well there you go - a whole hour later and now daylight is quickly approaching. Now to Him who is able to do immeasurably more than I ask for or imagine, I leave my dreaming with You. There are more immediate miracles necessary if said move could even happen, I shall leave step four with you while I work on step one. My right now step involved nourishing little baby in the womb, maintaining the peace and joy of my heart and storing up joy and energy should such move come to pass. Oh grace to live in the moment, I find my peace in Him.

Reminders

This afternoon I am reminded of the reality of the parts of me yet unredeemed. I dreamt the other night that I was wearing all black while my car was stolen almost with my permission, as I had left my purse and keys in the car with the doors unlocked. This dream the morning before reading, "I appeal to you, brothers, in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ, that all of you agree with one another so that there may be no divisions among you and that you may be perfectly united in mind and thought."

Ugh. Looking in that mirror, aware of the anger in my heart, no wonder I feel like the unreverent wretch I am when left to my own devices.

Thanks be that I have NOT been left to my own devices but to leading that is both gentle and strong. Oh Lord, lead me in thy sweet way and grant me understanding. It is not enough to follow you without knowing you. It is not enough to hear your words without understanding them, or worse, to misunderstand them. I have suffered a great pain for misunderstanding. I am not eager to do so again. Lead me on in your kind way, you who are able, I find my rest in you.

One Too Many

For various and asundry reasons, I find myself unnerved by the displeasure of those close to me, especially when such displease is directed toward my own choices, quirks, or personality in general. As such, it is no wonder I feel rather off kilter by my current happiness, as I have only this morning experienced a blunt criticism of a decision I labored long to make.

For you see, it was one too many. This one, dear to my heart, and I cannot seem to see eye to eye on several deep and and purposeful decisions I have made and even on a direction I have taken in life. We have a long history, this one and I, and have both celebrated, mourned, and shared life together for many seasons. So it stands to reason that I would value sincerely the opinions she holds and take to heart the criticisms, generally constructive, that she makes.

Yet months have passed, with the distance between us in this subject growing. The distance seems to be planted with active landmines and I know, for I have often tried to cross. Either when she has called me to come to where she stands or when I have reached towards her to explain why I stand far off, her displeasure has erupted in my soul, with shards of self doubt and anxiety that I have chosen the wrong way.

This morning was externally no different, she parted our short moment shared in conversation with a blunt assertion that I have put myself on an unrighteous path. I even cautioned her before she let words leave her mouth, for I have traversed this path often enough to know it was coming. No point in defending my stance, done that before too. One of my first thoughts was to be thankful I had planned for time to sit and spend time with my Father who loves me, to ask his perspective, which I have done on this subject many many times before.

The difference in this morning, you see, was that it was one time too many. In the moments I first turned Him, all the perspective and comfort he's already given welled up in my heart. Yes, it welled up like a mighty storm and took hold of that criticism, took hold and tossed it back into oblivion with a forceful, "NO YOU WON'T detonate in my heart today!" And in joy, I breath in the peace of the morning and the promise of a beautiful day.

The Perfect Job?

Among my current assignments are resting, writing and quite importantly, HAVING FUN. Apparently having fun has much more spiritual value than I have ever thought to consider. So in the process of such, I am exploring and asking myself to what end I should labor.

Months ago, I read this quote in an airport and it has quite stuck to my heart:

"Let each man pass his days in that endeavor wherein his gift is greatest." Prospectus

Which begs the question, WHERE is my gift greatest? And aren't gifts meant to be enjoyed? Is it dreadfully selfish to want to do something I enjoy for the rest of my life? Certainly it is right and good to enjoy yourself sometimes and on this side of eternity, there will be trouble...but overall, is it even possible?

Just in case, I want to draft my ideal occupation. It may change tomorrow, or maybe this evening. Yet even as I write this, I am torn, almost in agony that in the end, I will have to do something I hate or very frightening, futilely dreaming such ideas. Or that I am so unaware of "wherein my gift is greatest" that my dreaming is birthed from the heart of a silly girl that will have to grow up.

Oh, so a draft (why does this feel so committal?) starts like this. I have regular interaction with people in an organic kind of way. This could consist of having multiple work-out partners, an assistant to help with cleaning/cooking, I'd really like a housekeeper friend or a person or two who live with my husband and I for a season, clients whom I make cakes for, clubs I belong to and so on. These people are not in categories per se, such as: person I'm serving, person my friend, person I'm learning from, etc. These labels are not always so helpful. Ministry happens in the course of life happening. Learning happens. Mentoring happens. People who have camped out in climbing the mountain of the Lord are healed and energized to take His hand and keeping walking. Hospitality is a way of living. Tea and bread and fancy dinners and salads for lunch with occasional visitors for the week. Time to be alone is as necessary as water, not only time alone, but time for stillness. Time for reading stories, time for writing and time for puppy cuddling :-) Energy to keep my husband well fed and welcomed home to a clean and peaceful house. It all sounds quite romantic and almost wonderful...but I remember.

I remember a heart that beat with passion when Jesus was loved well by people. I remember a heart of agony over people who were hurt and compelling compassion that sustained the sacrifice that filled the reserves and hopes of others. I remember a little girl who prayed that she would not "settle in the land of mediocrity" when she grew up, a little girl who envisioned herself serving orphans, a little girl who did not shrink in the thought of adversity but swelled up in love and passion to meet it.

A few months ago, just for a moment, I felt a wind and it's blow was of passion. My quick reply was an energetic claim that I didn't want to spend my life hiding in my kitchen but to be blown in such wind of passion. When the wind was gone and the stillness came, I found myself happy to stay home, happy in that very kitchen.

For several days, I've felt a sense of mourning, a sense that I lost something valuable and don't know where to find it. I've lost my license too. Isn't it illegal to drive without one? Yet daily I do. It seems fitting. I've lost something else too and like my license, I have no idea where to find it. When I pray about it, I feel like I'll find it when I need it...but isn't it illegal to drive without one?

Someone recently told me to do what I see myself doing in my dreams. Seriously? Do you KNOW what I dream about? In my dreams, I am doing quite heroic things, going where others fear to tread, dodging evil - oh how often I have run down the stairs to escape evil - flying (this is a recent trend), singing songs of the Lord, escaping a modern day Holocaust, teaching others, jumping out of windows, getting on planes and knowing that I'll stay when others return...oh things that I dream in the night seem in the day as far from my heart as China from the moon with only a boat to travel on!

It's only February. I have a whole year to get some clarity and maybe a wind of passion. Maybe in the end, it won't be terrible. My hope comes from an old story of escapees caught between an ocean and an army with no escape. God tells them to be still. That he'll fight for them. That they'll never never see those enemies again. He tells them to BE STILL. I have a whole year. A whole year.

When You Can't Shake It

I have this feeling that something is wrong but I'm trying to be hopeful. However it seems more appropriate to be hopeful in the face of a painful reality instead of a anxious unknown. Oh my heart, peace be still, for He longs that you not be anxious for anything. I think I may know something in 8 days. Until then, I shall "silver box" this feeling; I trust it to you Daddy and shall leave it with you until you reveal whatever reality you have given me grace to carry. I trust you.

Oh Imaginations!

(Deep sigh) Oh my imaginations! They are strong uninhabited things you know and while I know they are meant to lift my sights and spirit, it is true that sometimes they cause more sting than they seem to make up for. It is the lapse between the dirty carpet I walk on and the sparkling clean, thoughtfully decorated almost palace of my imagination that causes such sting. I can ... well, right now, sigh, it does not seem to matter than it is beautiful and fascinating and deeply welcoming in my mind's eye while there is a pile of unmatched socks and clothes to be folded and put away staring me in the face.

Today I am imagining, even in a more humble house, a housekeeper; sweet girl of eighteen or twenty, needing a job and place to stay. She lives with us all the time and puts in her set, boundaried hours (it would not do to have her work all the time, simply would not do at all), doing the things that delight me but that I do not as regularly find the energy for. Oh, what a delightful idea! Yes, she may be a college student that we know in need of provision. And as a side note, I have decided to sometimes pray for provision instead of praying for a job, because, well, why not! I am romantically convinced that there is an inheritance for me, floating around out there, waiting for the perfect time to reveal itself, an inheritance which I shall steward in the fear and joy of the Lord, mostly in and unto Joy.

But back to our housekeeper, oh, what a delightful idea! So, she (and I'm pretty sure it must be a "she") would have her own lovely room and bathroom too if possible. I would not go in her room unless invited, it would really be her own space to find sanctuary in. The whole idea must be a provision for her and hopefully for her delight as well. She would work a set number of hours, just as she would with any job. We would pay her quite well, certainly better than a coffee shop or day care or other college type job. We would consider the cost of her food, rent and utilities and she would work how ever many hours unto those costs and any other work she would be paid out. In today's market, I think $12-$15 an hour would be generous but time shall tell. Only it would not do if in her heart, she considered working for her room and board to be shameful or beneath her. And this is the trouble; I'm afraid most that I know would consider it just that! The other trouble is wondering how I would ever find peace with myself to let someone else do such for me. What if, for example, one day I felt particularly possessed to stay in bed and write, drinking coffee and eating sweets, while said housekeeper is working? Would I feel terribly guilty? Oh and the girl she would have to be to live with us!

So in my imagination, she is sweet and kind, thoughtful and thorough. She must not begrudge me my sensibilities and strange thoughts but we shall both give freedom to each other to live as we sense best. It could be possible that we should be friends, if such was convenient to each one. I would have to trust her a great deal and I suppose we would have a trial period first to see if we should suit one another. Only it must, must, must not be a drudgery to her.

Yesterday I read the fourth chapter of Luke's good book. In it, the gravest enemy tempts the Great Hero, weakened by hunger, with riches, authority and splendor among other things. The Great Hero denies the temptations and goes onto his mission with power. It is later that the Great Hero is given all that he was untimely offered and more than the enemy even possessed to offer. Such story has always spoken to me about the proper timing. The Great Hero's mission would have been poisoned, thwarted and destiny destroyed by taking the offers of his enemy. In resisting, he went without these things for a time but in the end was given all and greater.

Jesus, comfort my longing soul as I wait for your timing. I don't believe in the slightest that you despise my imaginations and maybe my very romantic idea was even birthed in your heart towards me. Come and strengthen me, lest I give way in my impatience.

Wearied In Vain

Yesterday I was particularly weary, maybe not in a physical sense, but particularly weary in my soul. As the day began with such low emotional capacity, I sat for a while trying to find some motivation or energy but instead a picture came to mind, and grew more detailed and delightful, of being invited to spend the day in a royal bed, sleeping and resting. Ah, just in writing it down, my soul and even my tensed shoulders, relax a degree. The bed was an iron canopy with fluffiness for a mattress and blanket and all was white. I can see it now, dreamy as it was, though a day after a weary labor, it seems more like the dream that I fell out of and now wish to return to.

I have heard that if you build against the blue print, you build in vain. Certainly I understand that today, where hindsight is clear and discerning. Not that anyone would have discouraged my "good" labor yesterday, being productive in the lowest sense of the word...ah, but it was labor that only further wearied my soul and today I awoke feeling utterly spent and frazzled without even the comfort of having labored to an intended purpose. I am sorry. How can it be made right today?

There is a mercy that is made new as the new day is born and here I am asking for it. Mercy that forgives and gives even a double portion, that does more than make up for the dept I incurred in the day lost. It is possible to receive more than just to "catch up." I am deeply in debt and I need an extra portion today. And I know Who gives extra portions. I'm glad to know him.

GIving In

Anne Shirley has recently reminded me to love my imagination and I appreciate her, fictional as she is, for her contribution. My imagination doesn't require the maintenance of my real house, or at least, not quite so much. The supposed law of entropy does.not.apply in my imagination. Not that I despise housework, I actually love being the clean and cook and manage the house housewife...my energy is just not always up to the demands :-) I live mostly in a castle, sometimes a cabin in the woods - always where the land is beautiful and I am in white...and usually in a dress. Femininity is not so difficult to achieve there, at least my hair is not quite so prone to frizz and hard to manage tendencies! Somehow the havens of my imagination strengthens me and thus far I live more in the real day in and day out to worry about losing my way home out of imagination and into the meat and potatoes of a real day. Maybe all this is why I'm learning to love cake making, it brings the femininity of my imagination into the reality of necessary celebrations. Yes, cakes. Sweet and unnecessary for the substance of life but quite necessary for the enjoyment of such!

The Wind Is Blowing ... Unto Where?

I can only make guesses as to the "what" is coming but I can feel change. My sleeplessness is a sign, now that I think about it. From my first year in college until now, I can remember short seasons of time laying in bed awake for way too long, thinking, thinking, Winnie the Poo, think, think, think. In the day there are plenty of things to distract myself and of course work to be done but in the stillness of the night, it is as if my soul is absorbing the reality of change so that I have the endurance for it when it may arrive. Generally I have known of the change ahead, the last long period of sleeplessness was in the weeks before I got married, but this change feels more elusive.

An intuitive person, I often see the possibilities of change and preemptively prepare for them. But then there are those life altering changes...like moving. I have moved about every two years for over a decade. They have been more of less significant, for various reasons and I have learned to hate, or at least dread, the moves. Now that I feel one coming, I am trying to "un" dread my thoughts so that if this sticky feeling turns into reality, I will not melt like butter on a saucepan when the time arrives.

The administration of moving and starting over somewhere, well, there is a reason it is on the top ten list of stressors. I wish they distinguished the stress level between moving within your current area and moving to a NEW STATE, or across the country. Fortunately, I have not yet moved out of the country, especially not to a country where I do not speak the language. Deep sigh, I have been spared thus far. Did I tell you that I am a homebody?

Quite Frankly, How DOES One Recover from Sexual Abuse?

For me, identification of it has been the first hurdle and that hurdle took more than two decades to nail down. Even yet, I feel that full identification is standing on the other side of a wall that I can neither peer over or come to the same side of it. IT happened when I was small enough to escape the concrete memories of it, yet to have experience of something so wrong to childhood was also the root of a growing tree in my own life. Such tree has born countless poison fruits and I have spent many years unknowingly eating them.

Plainly said, evil is evil and there are many expressions of it. My personal experience is what I speak of and that is childhood sexual abuse that continued on in more subtle forms into my adulthood. It was not until I was married and could point out him to my new husband, who, eager to protect and advocate, helped me manage to close the door. Neither my new husband nor myself was aware of what a broken sexual being he carried across the threshold and years into marriage, we finally understand the reality of that poisoned tree still bearing poison fruit.

Identification is painful but it can give power. If I recognize that my arm is broken and can bring it to the attention of capable caregivers, it can be restored. The heart and broken being of one having sustained the wounds of sexual abuse is a much more complicated thing, and caregivers who can attend to such wounds may be harder to find. Yet there are caregivers capable and I find myself in reverent thanks to have found such a caregiver. As that may be, there is still the work of the patient. I am that patient and I have come to the point in this journey where I identify my illness and I want to be well. If only that wellness came overnight!

Yes, there is the work of the patient. Sometimes my work is to sleep, as the labor of healing requires a great deal of recovering. Lately that work has been building up my reserves of joy, doing the silly yet important little things that make me happy. I have lately spent great hours reading stories written for children, if for no other reason than they make me happy. I have been unwinding myself, at least for a season, from endeavors that require my strength and energy. I suspect I will soon need that energy if I am to continue to heal. Plainly, I have detached myself from my career, a job I do think I was never intended for and chose because I had been eating those poisonous fruits. You see, I am desperately in need of the energy required to heal. While it may be possible to rip an entire tree out of the ground, maybe even roots and all, repair the ground and replant, I simply do not have the endurance for such a dramatic process. So the process has been a slow one, but I am hopeful.

Now, the reader ought to know that I do believer there is a Great Caregiver who is delighted to be orchestrating this journey towards healing. I am strongly suspicious that this Caregiver has a tree of good fruit to plant in place of the decrepit one I have known. I am nearly convinced, even if it is only the convincing of hope, that if the poison is as bad as it is, it is only because the true and intended good fruit is so powerfully good. I eagerly await the fruit that is both good and true.

The Greatness of Beginning

"You had to be taught what courage was. And you couldn't know what it was without feeling it: therefore it was given you. But don't you feel as if you would try to be brave yourself next time?"

"Yes, I do. But trying is not very much."

"Yes, it is-a very great deal, for it is a beginning. and a beginning is the greatest thing of all."

At the Back of the North Wind by George Madonald

I Like it Best When They are Sleeping

It has been particularly assigned to me that I should be so blessed as to have a season to rest. My days and nights come to pass and slip away filled with books I feel I ought to have spent my childhood with. Some are light and playful and remind my heart of the very things that sustained my little girl dreams these decades past. Others are thoughtful and delicate and lend breath and life to those pursuits that have huddled in cold and darkness for many times over.

In the hours that pass in these days, my four legged practice children as I call them, have spent many happy times cuddled by the window, wrapped with me in the blankets that are required for winter. They are small dogs to be sure but their presence is none too insignificant. These are quieter times and I like it best when they are sleeping. If their sleeping was in-proportionate, I would think them lazy but indeed they spend plenty of time running and chasing and watching for crumbs from the table as other pups do, so their time sleeping is of particular joy to me. They strive not and even the effort of giving their affections is put aside. I feel loved most as they offer the least, offering only their trust, as of course one is possibly the most vulnerable when one is sleeping. Indeed it is as they offer to me their vulnerability, that I think the most of God. Sometimes I think He likes when I am resting near enough to Him to feel him but still enough to offer nothing, enjoying the safety I know of Him. Yes, sometimes I think God likes it best when I am sleeping.

An Uncharitable Thought

Of all the drab or grand reasons to start a blog, it has finally come to this. I'm starting a blog because I read some that were downright boring, that's right, boring. Not that I commend myself so highly to think mine would be so much better, maybe the outright boringness made blogging seem approachable. Well, here we go. However I don't intend to TELL ANYONE who I am in real life, as I plan to say whatever I think and shall enjoy my little secret for now. Since...well, I might be the only one actually reading it anyway.