I lit a fire to burn the last of my old journals, and movement on the front porch caught my eye. It was a dove…two doves…working in tandem to build last years nest. One is flying back and forth bringing sticks while the other stays home to rearrange. And I know what is next. Creation. New life.
The symbolism is not lost on me.
While I am clearing away the old to make room for the new, I get to witness newness springing forward in the fullest way possible.
I sat down to write this morning and asked myself, “How are you feeling?” There was no answer… so maybe the answer is numb.
I think I am having an anniversary reaction, and there is this stuff swirling around in my body, just below the surface. I have been a bit on edge all weekend, so last night I was thinking about watching a sad movie- something that would make me cry so I could get it out of my body. I couldn’t find one that interested me.
This morning as I sat with my pen dangling over a blank page, I reached over and turned on my iPod. A song by Mercy Me came through loud and clear. “Yeah,” I thought, “there don’t have to be any words, and I don’t have to try and fix this. Just be still and know…”
She had a lot on her mind, and she didn’t pay attention.
She was going way too fast,
and before she knew it,
she was spinning on a thin black sheet of ice.
She was so afraid.
She threw her hands up in the air,
“Jesus take the wheel, cause I can’t do this on my own.
I’m letting go.”
How many times have I been moving so fast that the moments get blurred? How many times have I taken myself to the edge before I threw up my hands? I distinctly remember the first time I really let go… that moment when I surrendered.
Can you see this sign?
I was sitting on the sofa in my living room at 4am, trying to sip broth since I was not able to keep any solid food down for the past four days.
I carry all of my pain in my belly, and I was holding onto a lot of pain. My husband was using, having an affair, and he had moved out of the house. I was confused, lonely, angry… and most of all afraid. I was spinning on a thin black sheet of ice.
As I tried to sip the broth, another panic attack came over me and I started choking for air. Apparently I passed out, because I “came to” slumped over the cushion. And when I came to, I was filled with an overwhelming sense of peace. That “peace that passes all understanding” was full of a sense of knowing. I “came to believe” as they stay in Step 2… and I knew I was not alone. And the words resting in my fragile awareness… “I can do this.”
Ever since that moment my prayer has been, “God, please help me stay awake today so I can see the signs you plant in my moments. Help me to trust this process.”
This morning I turned on my iPod while I was reading and processing a long and arduous mediation from yesterday. We will be sitting back at the table on Monday to keep moving forward with the divorce agreements… hopefully. I was writing about some judgements I have around the financial division of assets, really wanting the final agreement to be fair and equitable. Knowing full well that it is not my job to make decisions for the parties, the fear that lack of understanding of the complex financial information will prevent informed decision making.
Carrie Underwood’s voice came through the speakers, and I smiled … my prayer became, “Jesus take the wheel. Take it from my hands, cause I can’t do this on my own. I’m letting go.”
I woke up and remembered I trust the process! It is my job as a mediator, ethically speaking, ” to make sure that the parties have enough data to assess their options for settlement and their alternatives to settlement.” I find some peace in knowing I can present the information they bring to the table in a way that everyone agrees is accurate, then let go of the results. And if I am not confident that all of the needed information is on the table, I can call the mediation.
When I am complaining, I am telling myself a story about what other people are doing that is making my life unhappy. I am focused on what I don’t like or want, and this takes me on a journey to nowhere!
A couple of weeks ago I heard someone say, “Complaining is a form of dishonesty,” and it really got me thinking. Am I being dishonest when I am complaining? com·plain [kuhm-pleyn] verb (used without object)
1.to express dissatisfaction, pain, uneasiness, censure, resentment, or grief; find fault:
2. to tell of one’s pains, ailments, etc.
3. to make a formal accusation
dis·hon·est [dis-on-ist] adjective
1. not honest; disposed to lie, cheat, or steal; not worthy of trust or belief
2. proceeding from or exhibiting lack of honesty; fraudulent
So expressing dissatisfaction, finding fault, and making accusations is not worthy of trust and fraudulent? Yes, if I want to live an authentic life and be honest with myself. I want to be trustworthy and acknowledge that I play a part in the stuff of life. The behaviors of others may stimulate pain and grief in me. They are not, however, responsible for my feelings. That’s an inside job.
If I keep my complaints out there, then I get stuck in them… like living on remote control with no off button. If I bring them back home then I get to see just what it is I am missing in my life. What do I want… and what can I alone do to make that happen?
Numbers are like a tidy little package that I can wrap and deliver with ease and confidence. I love reconciling accounts and seeing that everything is perfect… discrepancy “0.” and I love that numbers tell a story, a story that no one can question or call to task. They tell the truth.
Or so I thought until I was involved with the legal system. I entered into the courtroom anxious for the truth to reveal itself. The numbers are like facts that cannot be disputed. Like one plus one will always equal two. Then I heard the attorney twist and turn and take a deposit and turn it into a lie. I was shocked to learn that taken out of context, even numbers can be manipulated to turn a simple story into a saga.
My faith was knocked off center. My naive belief in the legal system was shattered. We take an oath to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. Attorneys, however, have wide latitude to engage in “puffery.” They manipulate facts in an attempt to make their version of the story more compelling… And this includes the ability to manipulate numbers.
My body was so shocked at what I witnessed… I threw up my lunch. After much processing… screaming and crying and talking to people I trust…. I have come back to my original conclusion.
Over the past two weeks, I have had multiple cancelled appointments, offices closed without notice, and no-shows at mediations. I have had similar situations in my personal life. The decisions of others, or lack thereof, impact me in a painful way. What’s up universe???
Just last night, one of the parties for a 4:30 mediation failed to show. We called at 4:30, and they said they would be right over, so we waited. And waited. And waited. Finally at 6:00 we left. I was disappointed. I really want people to mean what they say, and I missed out on Friday night time with the kids. I was excited, nonetheless, to get home in time for our Friday night Clone Wars adventure.
I got home to an empty house.
My confusion quickly turned to sadness, and when I could not get anyone on the phone, the sadness became intense. When I finally spoke my disappointment with the intensity, I somehow became the problem. Sound familiar?
Last night was not fun… I took a trip down with my itty bitty shitty comittee. What started as “Wow, they went without me and did not even let me know” to “He NEVER communicates with me.” I even thought, “I’ll show him what it feels like! I won’t answer his calls or let him know what I am doing!” I think I was operating on the level of a 15 year old at that point… or maybe a seven year old like Alice nose diving down the rabbit hole. It does not feel good an certainly does not make for a decent night’s sleep.
This morning I sat down and started writing. Three pages later I came to this
I cannot do it right enough to avoid the pain of living life. I cannot make choices for others, and I certainly cannot control their choices. My part is making my heart known. Show up for myself by sharing my truth, my experience… with an open, compassionate heart.
God gave me a mate, and I learn about my own holiness through my relationship to him. All of my confusion and sadness and anger are a call to return to God…. to love. Although I may think it is about someone else, caring for my sadness is an inside job! And really there isn’t anything that needs to be fixed. I just got an opportunity to see what really matters to me.
I want to matter. I want to matter enough that others will consider me when they make decisions. And I am so grateful that consideration of others is important to me. I care for the time and attention that others put into their schedules. Their work and their play. It matters to me when someone takes a minute to text, to call and let me know what is going on, when they stop to answer my calls. I am glad that I invest time to touch base with others about my plans. I am glad that I answer phone calls, even if just to say, “I’m going to have to call you back.” I am glad that this is who I am. Even when the need for that is unmet, I can feel how full it is to want that!!!
That is where I am this morning. Self empathy… feeling all the feelings and dwelling in the beauty of my unmet needs by seeing that I would not have it any other way. I do not want to change who I am to avoid disappointment and sadness. And I do not need to change anyone else. I have a beautiful caring relationship with someone who cares about me. That does not mean he will do it perfectly all the time. Perfect sucks. I tried that for a long time, and today I know that God lives in the imperfections of life.
I want to stay open to all of it! I can make a simple request. “Can I share with you how sad I was last night…” and sharing my experience IS connecting… intimately connecting. This morning I can go there with the knowing that I got to see God at work in my moments. Aaahhhh “there’s no place like home.”
That’s what they called it when I had one in the 60′s and perhaps they still do, but the one I found the other day is called a Hypotrochoid Art Set. Quite a mouthful, but I bought it anyway. There are templates and various sized circles – called gears. Each gear has multiple holes for your pen, so there are lots of choices. I didn’t know what the results would be, yet I went ahead and gave it a try.
At first it looked messy… Then out of the chaos order appeared.
Magnificently beautiful in a way that I could not create even with immaculate planning.
That’s how I want to do life today. Give it a whirl and even when it looks a little messy, just keep going. One step at a time. Because God’s design for my life is beautiful… intricately beautiful… even though I only see that in hindsight sometimes. Trust the process and keep going. That’s all.
Yesterday started out sucky. I went to my Friday job where I work on a database for a place I really love, only to find that the computer was down and no one told me. So I headed back home with a tight jaw and a conversation with my itty bitty shitty committee. “A simple phone call would have been nice! I could have stayed home in my pajamas and finished my writing! Is it too much to ask for simple consideration?”
I heard myself slipping into bitterness, and I do not like feeling this way, so I pulled out my phone to call one of my Wise Women only to see a text from my afternoon appointment. They cancelled. Dangitalltohellandback. What’s up with this day??? Deana Carters song, “Did I shave my legs for this?” popped into my brain, and I smiled. “Guess I am getting a day off to take down the Christmas tree. It is, after all, the Epiphany, so the Wise Men have found my house already!”
Starting to shift into gratitude, I pulled into my driveway and was hit by the realization that the car my teen drives was not parked out front.
Panic slammed my body. My heart started racing, my hands started shaking, and I had a huge lump in my throat. I grabbed my cell phone and started dialing as I ran up to her room hoping to find her there. Her room was empty…
It only took about thirty minutes to find her this time… and that’s when all the feelings flooded me. I was very aware that my reaction was huge compared to the event, which was big enough on it’s own. When it’s hysterical, as they say, it’s historical. And I knew this was happening. I was reliving the moments when I could not get in touch with my son… when he committed suicide. I knew this was happening yet could not stop my body.
I made a bunch of phone calls. One of the reason I am so grateful for being in Al-Anon is because I have a large support group. There are many people who know my story, and today I needed the phone list. The tenth person I dialed called me back quickly, and I was able to listen my way down to center. While I was on the phone, I heard my daughter come in the front door and head upstairs to her room. Relief anger fear frustration fear calmness gratitude fear … all of it was true all at the same time and I went kind of numb.
And I slept. My spirit needed rest.
When I woke up a bit later, I made chili and took down the Christmas tree and packed up all of the ornaments while she slept upstairs. Today I am amazed that the computer was down and my clients cancelled. I had the time and space to process and feel and make decisions about how I want life to look in my home.
We call ourselves The Wise Women. Not because we are smarter than anyone else, but because we are wise enough to be willing- willing to open ourselves up to be known. By opening our doors and inviting people in, we get to see ourselves from a fuller perspective. We become more real… more well rounded.
And we share our stories. Sometimes we do not know each others last names, but we know each others hearts. By sharing, we invite others to help us muddle through with their experience, strength, and hope. We help each other heal the broken places so we can move into our days with less baggage.
Hidden in all of our stories is one story – a story about becoming our whole and holy selves. It is about God – it is the human story.
