Surprises

I know that this is really late, but I had to be sure of a few things before I could really write some of this down. I wrote a few weeks ago about the struggles I was having with this month, of facing my birthday and the holidays at home without my mother, and seeing my one-time fiancé in person for the first time since breaking my heart. Now that I've come through it, I can say, once again, that life is a constant surprise.  

To start with, I saw him the Monday before my birthday. And it didn't go very well. It was definitely not a great start. Communication between us had broken down, seemingly beyond repair.  We used to operate on the same wavelength. We could tell when there was something wrong with the other person. It may sound a bit hokey, but we did have a spiritual connection. Even after he called everything off, I could tell when something was wrong. But here's my take on that. It wasn't that we were tuned into each other. We were tuned into the Holy Spirit, and because of that we knew what was going on with the other person. The Spirit let us know. I'm not saying that my ex isn't still tuned in, but maybe he's not listening. As for me, I try to stay on that station. The Spirit has never led me wrong.

Anyway, like I said, Monday wasn't a good day, but being as jaded as I was at the time was more helpful than I could have expected. It was a protective shield for me. I walked away from the encounter less shaken and angry than I expected. But that wasn't the end. We met for lunch a few days later. This time, we were more civil. There was some better communication. I won't say that I don't hurt less, but I do understand more. I know he was hoping I could gain some sort of closure from it. I don't know that what I feel is closure. It's more a certain type of peace that I haven't felt in months.  It's a knowledge that I did do all that I could, and there was nothing I could have done to prevent what has happened.  

With this new serenity about me, I had a little extra strength to prepare for my birthday. I ended up being more than pleasantly surprised by how that day unfolded. The whole weekend really was spectacular. I was surrounded by precious family, and good friends. I watched so many good movies, and had wonderful food. I'm so thankful to my father who did everything he could to make my day enjoyable. The high of the weekend even stretched into the next week.  I made a new friend in a snow storm. And I caught up with an old friend, of whom I only have fond memories.

All the while, I could feel a growing excitement and tension as Christmas approached. I can't say that the Christmas Spirit ever made a strong showing in me this year, but I can say that I was again pleasantly surprised by the outcome. There is something special about the traditions our family has. They are pretty typical, but they are ours. There are only a few Christmas' that didn't start at Grandma and Grandpa's house on Christmas Eve. We had a traditional dinner, and then gathered in the living room. Squeezing in wherever you could find room. Grandpa reads the story of Christ's birth out of the bible (in years past, the kids would dress up and act it out) and we'd stop every few verses to sing Christmas carols. Then it's time for presents.

As I've gotten older, I find that I prefer to give than to receive. That doesn't mean I'll say no to a gift. But I love trying to find the perfect gift. There's a victory to knowing someone so well, to think of something that they'd love, but didn't even know they wanted it. I've gotten really good at it over the years.

Christmas day at our house was just like I remember it. I could feel my mother's presence here.  There was no sadness. Only joy, and peace, and love.  It was one of those days where the joy of the knowledge I have far outweighs any sorrow I still feel at her loss. I know where she is. I know what she's doing. I know I'll see her again, one day. She's waiting for me, on the other side of the veil, with a huge smile on her face just waiting to wrap me in her arms when I get there. I know exactly how it will be, and how it feels. And while, I can't wait to see her again, I have important things to do here, first.

I may not have had the Christmas Spirit this year, but that doesn't mean that I'm not grateful. If anything, I am more so. This is the time to celebrate the birth of Jesus Christ. Without Him, I wouldn't or couldn't know the things I do. I would be lost and alone always. The sadness and hurt I feel would be true sorrow and anguish. Instead, I know a truth that only brings understanding and perfect happiness.

I once was told the true meaning of the phrase Merry Christmas. If you break it down a bit, you get Merry Christ Mass. A mass is a joyful meeting, and merry means happy. What does that make? A happy meeting in Christ. Ever since I heard this, the saying has been more special. So when I say it, I say if fervently. So I truly wish you all a very Merry Christmas!

Jaded

I wish I could be indifferent. I wish I could learn how to not care, but that's not in my nature. I'm too soft. And maybe because of that, I'm becoming bitter or jaded. I can see it happening, and I have to admit, I'm not doing much to stop it. I'm thinking of it as a defensive mechanism. A way to protect myself, so I can continue healing. Even if I'm wrong, the damage is already done.

There are a thousand things running through my head. Hundreds of thoughts clawing through me.  So many things that I want to say, get off my chest. But the people they are for will never hear them. Not because I won't say them, but because they don't listen. They close themselves off, listening only to the sound of their own voice. Or the voices in their head. So, I'm stuck with the words eating away inside of me. I wish I could scream them at the top of my lungs, until my voice was gone, and my throat was raw. Because, sometimes writing isn't enough. Words are meant to be spoken.

I'm sick of the selfishness of people around me.  Open your eyes. Look around, there are other people here besides you. And guess what… Their world doesn't revolve around you. Don't act all put out and put upon when things don't always go your way. Because, that's life, baby.

And to one person in particular, who I know will never read this. It could have been great. I know it wouldn't have been perfect, but I wasn't the one who broke promises.  I tried to stay as strong as I could for as long as I could, and you just ripped me apart. I'm still putting myself back together, and I'm finding that there are pieces missing. I'd love to have those back, but I don't know where to find them. I'm sure they'll come back someday. In the meantime, what did I learn from you? I learned that my best never seems good enough. I learned that even though I loved you completely, I'm probably better off without you. I'm trying to learn how to stop loving you. Maybe tomorrow will help, and I'll be able to walk away for good. Or maybe I'll fall in love with you all over again. I guess we'll see. Either way, I still want to punch you in the throat.

For what it's worth, I feel better now.

Struggle

I find myself really struggling this month, and it's only just begun. I usually love the month of December. I love the holidays, and my birthday, though I don't always enjoy the weather. There is usually a certain something in the air that just makes me smile. But this year, I'm having a hard time keeping things together. I find myself crying at the drop of a hat, and I'm much more sensitive than normal. I was sitting in Sacrament Meeting yesterday and the tears started about the time I sat down and I was powerless to stop them. And I had no tissues. I'd left my handkerchiefs at home, so I was in right state. I basically just sat there and let them roll down my cheeks.

 

This was supposed to be one of the happiest months of my life. My fiancé was supposed to be coming back into the country. We were supposed to spend this time together, making last minute wedding plans. It's been three months since he broke my heart, and I'm still hurting. I thought I was doing ok, until yesterday. I'm not sure if I had myself fooled, or if I am finally feeling the last bit of hope as it dies.

 

Added to that, this time of year was also my mother's favorite. She loved putting up the tree. She loved going Christmas shopping. She loved singing Christmas songs at the top of her lungs. I find that I almost can't listen to my favorite Christmas music, because every song reminds me acutely of her. I'm not the only one struggling with this. I know that both of my sisters are having a harder time without her this year than last. I think it's because last year we were still pretty numb. We were still wrapped up in the comfort of the Spirit. And while the Spirit is still with us, we aren't shielded from the pain and her absence as much as we once were.

 

So, if I'm not bubbling over with Holiday Spirit, you'll have to forgive me. I'm not a Scrooge. I'm just trying my hardest to keep things together. Trying to reconcile my losses with what is usually the happiest time of year. I know that it gets easier in time, but these are some of the hardest things I've ever had to experience and I'm finding my way through them blind.

Freezing

I live in the wrong climate. It's something that I've known for years, but am always reminded of it when winter decides to roll around again. You would think, seeing as the area I live in seems to be under winters spell for nearly half the year that I would do something about that. Well, I almost did, but that's another story. My body prefers the tropics. Where it's warmer and there's a little moisture in the air.  

Anyway, it's that time of year again, and I once again find myself always cold. I have often been heard saying that I'll probably freeze to death.  My grandmother would say that I almost did once.  When I was little, my mom, dad and I were driving to Idaho in the dead of winter, and the heater broke in our car. Apparently I was nearly an icicle by the time we got there. Maybe that's what started this, maybe it's just a girl thing, or maybe I got it from my mother who thrived in eighty degree weather. Either way, I'm freezing!

I dislike winter. Sure, snow is pretty if you only get to look at it.  But it's cold and wet. It doesn't stay pretty for very long. After awhile it turns brown or black. It makes driving very difficult, next to impossible. (Which always baffles me. We get snow EVERY year, so do people really forget what driving in snow is like?) I wish it would stay in the mountains, so those Crazies that like to play in the snow can go skiing or snowboarding. I like snow in the month of December. I like it for my birthday, and Christmas, but after that, it can go away. It needs to stay away from me.

I am resigned to the fact that I am stuck with it all. The snow and cold temperatures, and the bad drivers. So, I stock up on cinnamon hot chocolate and various herbal teas. I pull out the blankets made especially for me by loving hands. I buy more books, and rent more movies. I curl up, cover up and tuck in for the long winter. I'll wait for the daffodils to show their happy faces. They tell me when spring is around the corner. I've made it through winter every year previous to this, so I know I'll make it through another, hopefully with feeling in all of my fingers and toes.

Thankful Heart

It's Thanksgiving, and I thought I'd share a few things that I'm thankful for.

I am thankful for a good job, that I like at least 95% of the time. I'm thankful for this beautiful country that I live in and the freedoms I enjoy here. I am thankful for the service men and women past and present who work and have worked so hard to protect the freedoms that I enjoy. I am grateful for friends who are always there for me. You are like family to me. I am thankful for my actual family and the strength they give me, especially my father who is always there when I need him, whether I need to vent about something or I need his help to calm a crisis. For my brother, who is steady and gentle, and proof that there are good young men out there in the world.  For my sisters, both old and new, for the solidarity they show me. For my mother, who helped shape me into who I am today, who gave me wings and let me fly. But most of all, I'm thankful for my knowledge of the gospel, and the comfort it gives. I would be lost without it.

Loving Me

Self-esteem is an unusual thing. It's to value one's self. In this world, self-esteem is hard to come by.  We are constantly berated by the media. It tells us what we think we should be, and makes us think that we somehow don't stack up. It's very difficult, especially for young girls, to escape this. To learn to love themselves as they are. Somehow, and to this day I'm not exactly sure how, I never really had that problem. I decided early that I was going to love myself, no matter what anyone else said. I knew that I was a daughter of God, that I had worth in His eyes, and what others thought didn't matter. I thought I was pretty even though I didn't look like the girls in the magazine. In fact, I usually think I'm the most beautiful girl in the room.  Sure, there are things about myself that I don't like, but I decided to embrace them. They are part of what makes me, me. I refuse to think badly about myself.

This was something my mother and I could hardly talk about. She had been riddled with self-esteem problems her entire life. We were on completely different ends of the spectrum. She couldn't understand the self-confidence that is the side effect of the high self-esteem. But I owe it all to her. She was the one who told me every day that she loved me. She told me I could do anything I set my mind to. I am who I am because of her.

But in the last couple of years, I've had a few experiences that have severely shaken my self-esteem. And I didn't like them. I know that at least one of them was something I needed to go through, the others I 'm not so sure about. But I did learn that to value yourself is precious.

Two years ago I got a bad case of the flu. I'd never had the flu before, so it knocked me down and pinned me for awhile. Then I got every secondary infection that gets associated with the flu. A sinus infection, and inner and outer ear infection in both ears, and bronchitis. The ear infection was so bad that it irritated the nerves to my face and I ended up with what the doctor said was a "classic" case of Bells Palsy.  For those of you who don't really know what that is, basically the left side of my face was paralyzed. I dealt with it for over two months. I had to tape my eye closed at night, because it didn't stay closed. I was lucky that it wasn't super noticeable, except for when I smiled.  That's when people could tell something was wrong. The left side of my mouth wouldn't turn up. It was hard to look in the mirror, and not see the beautiful woman I thought I was.  Eventually it went away, and I got most of the control back, and it was great to see my full smile again.

This last time my self-esteem has taken a hit has been harder to overcome. There's something about the pain of rejection that sinks deeper than anything else. The wound is often so deep and ragged that it takes months if not years to fully heal from. I know this from experience, more than one experience. I've caught myself wondering if the fact that I love myself makes me unlovable by others. But that doesn't make sense, either. Because there are people who love me. I know that the people who count love me, and the rest don't matter. But it's hard to give your heart to someone, only to have it thrown back bloody and bruised. It's difficult to climb out of the hole they've dug inside of you. But that is just what I'm doing.  And even though it sucks, I'm probably better off.

Catalyst part two

And here it is, the newest version.

 

This is just the catalyst for what comes after,

The breath before the scream,

The cringe before the blow,

The beginning in the end.

It's the moment of decision,

The steeling of the nerves.

It's the jumping off point,

where the paths diverge.

This is where I let go,

Douse the dying embers,

And scatter the ashes.

Throw caution to the wind.

It's the broken pieces mending,

Leaving me stronger in the scars,

It's the spark of hope, because

This is just the catalyst.

Catalyst

For two days I've been thinking about what I should write about for today's post, and I hit a brick wall. There were several things I could have explored, but none of them really struck me. And then all day today I've had snippets of these poems that I wrote earlier this year running through my head. So I thought I'd share them. I wrote these back in February. The second poem is actually the first version, but the lines just wouldn't stop rolling around in my head. Then the other version popped out. I found it interesting that how very different the two versions felt. What's even more intriguing is that I can feel another version forming in my head. Another reincarnation with a different take.

Anyway, here are the Catalyst poems.

This is just the catalyst for what comes next,

The breath before the scream,

The pause before the start,

Tension pulled to the breaking point.

Its the balance beginning to sway,

The calm before the storm,

The frenzy before the fall,

Its the dance, out of control.

Turn the key and wind us up,

The spring's about to break.

Let me loose and watch me spin,

There's not much more I can take.

This is just the catalyst.

The moment of truth.

Will you stop me here, or let me go,

Dark oblivion or bright ecstasy await.

This is the other version:

This is just the catalyst for what comes next,

The breath before the scream,

The pause before the start,

And I'm stuck here, in between.

The moments last forever,

Dragging into impossibility,

Driving me insane,

As I long for tranquility.

The next move is a mystery,

is this a game or a dance.

What more can I say,

I have to take this chance.

It's a bet I'm willing to make,

So take this leap with me.

It'll be worth it in the end,

I promise, wait and see.

The future is unwritten,

And I'm an eternal optimist,

Waiting with bated breath

Because...this is just the catalyst.

Just Keep Flying

I've been sick this week. Nothing major, just a cold, but I don't like being sick. I don't think anyone does. Now for a tangent that I promise I will get back to. My mom had multiple sclerosis. It's an autoimmune disease that causes the immune system to be over active and attack the body's nervous system. So, she very rarely got anything like a cold or the flu. Second tangent that is also important, emotions in my father's family run close to the surface. I also got this curse/gift. So what do all of these things have to do with each other? Well, I'm usually pretty good at controlling my emotions, keeping them in check. When I'm sick though, the control gets lost in my body's fight against the illness and the emotions just leak through. I'll start crying for almost no reason. That's how I usually know if I'm really sick, or if I'm just having an off day.

When I get sick, I usually want a bit of sympathy. Who doesn't? Well, my sweet mother wasn't so good at that, mostly because she didn't get sick. She never really understood it. And her mother and grandmother were hypochondriacs, so if I wasn't throwing up, or if I didn't have a fever, I wasn't truly sick, and should get on with life. Oh, she'd "poor baby" me, but if I wasn't completely incapacitated by the illness, I should be ok to keep doing what I should be doing. Now, my mother knew what it was to be sick, because when she did get something it GOT her. I've never seen someone as sick as she had been. But when I'm feeling crappy or cruddy as she would say, I just wanted to call and cry to her. She'd listen to me and then tell me to sleep it off. So then I'd call my dad, who'd let me cry, and tell me what I should do, go get medicine or go see the doctor.

When the tears started this week, and I knew I was dealing with more than just a case of ennui, I had one of those moments where I missed my mother so completely that the tears became more insistent. But as soon as they started, they stopped, because I could feel her presence, and the assurance that I was going to be just fine. Yes, the cold would keep me low for a few days, but nothing will keep me down for long. I'm meant to soar, and even from the Heaven my mother is still showing me how to use my wings.

What Comes First

I was recently asked a question that I currently have some strong feelings about. The question was: What is one that thing that helps a relationship be successful? My response was quick, and in my mind very important. I in turn asked the questioner what their answer was. While I still believe that my answer (communication) is vital, the response I received has opened my eyes a bit more. The reply I received was simple but layered, and in short, living a Christ-centered life.

In the few days since this conversation, I've pondered what that really means. The query was in reference to a romantic relationship, but I believe that it can and should be applied to all associations we have. A marriage isn't just about a man and a woman. A true marriage involves God, so why wouldn't that apply to other relationships? By putting God and Christ first, and letting Them lead us, we cannot go wrong. That's not to say that there won't be hard times, but we will be blessed for our obedience. By putting Christ at the center of our dealings, they will be more honest, sweeter, and more fulfilling.

This principle is something that I do inherently. It's not something I really think about, and I'm not perfect, but I do my best to let myself be led by the Spirit. I try to listen intently to what I'm being told, and to act accordingly. Not long ago I was made to feel bad for doing so. For weeks, I've felt horrible because someone was hurt because I wasn't putting them first.  Well, it took a stranger's words to make me see what I already knew. I was not at fault, and I shouldn't be ashamed. I'm living my life the best I know how, and my Heavenly Father lets me know in a very unique and special way that I'm doing what is right. I'm moving in the right direction, on the correct path, and in the end that's what truly matters.

The Truth About Lies

I hate lies. I despise them. They are like Lay's potato chips, you can't have just one. You tell one, and then you have to tell another to protect the first, and it just spirals out of control, until you're drowning in them.  Occasionally, the little white lie can help more than hurt, but that's not a very common occurrence. In my opinion, it's very rare.

Even more than lies, I hate being lied to. I'm pretty intuitive, and I can usually tell when people are lying to me.  And I just get angry as evidence of the lies stack up, and shine a spotlight on them. It's infuriating. And what's more, it feels like the lie is eating away at me. Then I start wondering why it bothers me. I still don't understand it. I'm not the one hiding the truth, so why am I the one twisted up inside?

I'm a big girl. I can handle the truth. I can be trusted with it. And in the end, everyone will feel better when the lies stop.

Bottled Up

I find that each week as I try to decide what to write about I spend quite a bit of time pondering the various aspects of my life, and how best to put them into words.  More than anything, it helps me work through whatever I seem to be hung up on for the moment.  It's cathartic, and somewhat soothing.  Even so, I find that this week I'm at a loss for a single topic to write about. There just seems to be too much that I'm trying to come to grips with, and my emotions are still a jumbled mess that to even begin committing them in writing is beyond my capabilities.

But I have made some revelations. I'm not always as together as I'd like to be, and it's ok to fall apart. I hate feeling the weakness of heartache that lingers. The tears still come after being struck with the bittersweet memories that like to pounce on me in unsuspecting moments.  But even though the snippets of the past are painful now, they are precious, and I pray that they will never be forgotten. I wish there was a way to permanently etch those inside of me, so they never fade. I wish there was a way to bottle up the smell, the taste, the sound, the feel, the essence of every one. I wish I could place them on a shelf for safe keeping, so that whenever I wanted, I could take it down, and twist the lid off, and relive the moment in perfect replication anytime I wanted.  I know it can't be, but at least they are still inside of me. So, I am the vessel, the protector of my past. The memories live on in me.

Let It Go

I've spent some time recently thinking about pain and anger. It's amazing how closely the two emotions are related. They can coexist. One can cause the other. They can create a vicious circle that spirals tighter the longer they are allowed to reign. It's not always easy to let them go, which can only exacerbate an already bad situation.  In some cases they can turn into resentment, and in the words of Malachy McCourt, "Resentment is like taking poison and waiting for the other person to die." It doesn't hurt anyone but you.

I don't like to hold a grudge. I don't even really know how to anymore. I used to, but I was never very skilled at it. I think that the only reason the rift between an old friend and I stayed around for as long as it did was because I didn't take the time or energy to do anything about.  It started with a childish argument that escalated to years of indifferent behavior. Even a few weeks after the fight I couldn't remember what it was about or how it started. All I knew was my best friend was no longer my best friend. We shared a few classes for the rest of our schooling, but our bond was never renewed. It took the nostalgia everyone seems to experience at graduation for us to talk about it. She didn't remember why she was supposed to be mad at me either. It still saddens me to think of the time we wasted. It was time we'll never get back. Even now, though we are on good terms, we aren't close, all because of momentary anger, pain and eventually pride.

Anger, and especially pain, can make you do strange things.  They can impair your judgment, and reactions to any situation. Intense, prolonged pain can interfere in every aspect of life. It throws you off-balance, so you're looking at a skewed version of the world. Nothing looks or feels quite right. There is only so much your mind, body and heart can take before it's too much. There's a reason people say not to make any major changes or decisions when feeling grief or anguish.  You aren't in your right mind, and decision making skills are reduced, if not completely missing.

There are things I've said and done as a result of pain that I desperately wish I could take back, or somehow mend. Emotional distress caused by several different sources had turned into an actual physical ache. When life seemed to start spinning out of control I reacted blindly. The consequences only caused more grief. And not just for me, but for someone I care for.  I don't know how to fix it now that I'm back in a more stable, though not painless, existence.

 I do pray that, one day, I can be forgiven for the hurt I caused. I'm not trying to make excuses for them, but I wish I could adequately explain that my actions were a product of the insane person who had taken over me, because I had mentally checked out due to the overwhelming anguish. What I did was wrong, I know.  I have to wait, now, for the other person to work through their feelings. I don't want to lose another friend to emotions that only cause more heartache by holding on to them.  But I will be here, waiting for the opportunity to do whatever I can to make it right.

Words Speak for Themselves

Occasionally, I have these spurts of inspiration. Words flow in my head and whirl around, mixing themselves up and in essence, they torment me until I write them down. Giving them life with paper and ink, and yes, I do still prefer long hand to typing. There's a certain romance to it, it seems more intimate, making the words more real. I created it, instead of tapping it out with a series of key strokes. I think it has something to do with the movement of my fingers, hand and arm as I write. There's a certain fluidness to the physical act of writing. My mother was always fascinated by how I used my hands. I never understood why completely, but she said I had a grace in the movements, a delicacy even though, as she knew, my fingers and hands are quite strong. Years of piano, flute, and the dreaded typing keep them toned. But what they, my hands, love best are a fresh sheet of paper and pen with blue ink. These two simple items join and help unleash my imagination, weaving tales that I can hardly keep up with. They give voice to my hopes and dreams, document my fears and heartache. They give breath to the words that live inside me, screaming to get out.
These sparks of creativity come and go, and I never know how long they will be around. Sometimes, it's barely long enough to write what needs to be written. Other times, it's like a series of dominos. I finish one project, and then there's another, and another, and another. Then just as suddenly as it came on, the words are gone. I don't always have control over it, and I confess, I kind of like it that way. I can force myself to continue writing, but it doesn't feel the same. Others may not be able to tell where I pushed the words out of me, but I can. I can feel the struggle as I read over the things I wrestled into being. So, I let it rest. That's when I wait patiently, watch, listen and keep the pen and paper nearby. Inevitably, it starts again. I live at the mercy of the thoughts in my head.
Alternately, I have times where I don't want to know. I would prefer my thoughts to stay hidden even from me. And I can do a pretty good job at keeping them quiet. I fill my time with things that muddle the brain, things I don't always enjoy. I fill my time with the mindless things, television and video games. I listen to music, heavy and loud. I avoid reading, and I keep the pen and paper safely tucked away. Unfortunately, these plans and techniques are never effective for very long. Sure, they keep the voices in my head quiet for awhile. Well, not really quiet, they are still there, but they usually aren't strong enough to compete with the distractions I've given myself. However, the voices get insistent, until they are all but bursting out of me. If I won't give them the attention they are calling for, they will claw their way out of me, one way or another. It isn't pleasant, and it's never convenient.
For a few weeks, I've felt the stirrings. Snippets running through my head, a word here, a phrase there. Something was beginning to take shape, but it's been vague. I haven't needed my trusty instruments yet. And, quite frankly, I've been scared of what would appear when I did use them. I find myself in a precarious position these days, both physically and emotionally. Having just one of these elements off-balance makes for some interesting creations. For both to be shaky is frightening when I feel the vocabulary wheel in my head starting to turn. So, I did what I could to tune it out. I tried not to taste the words as my mind would pair them up, group them together, and roll the results around like I do when I try to coat my tongue with a piece of chocolate. But, like a piece of chocolate, the pull was irresistible.
Predictably, the words that had been growing inside of me chose the most inopportune time to need to be free of me. I was driving from Orem to Idaho Falls slightly over the speed limit, crossing the state line, when I couldn't contain it anymore. It's obviously not safe to write while driving, especially when the creative process isn't finished. But I had to do what I had to do, and the result was surprising. It definitely wasn't what I expected. I thought it would be dark, or sad, and painful to write. Like I said, I've been emotionally compromised for a couple of months now. I braced myself as I let the lines flow through me, and what I got was a poem that made me realize that I'm not in as bad a place as I think I am. If this little blossom of a poem can sprout through my trial weary heart and mind, I'm going to be just fine. It'll probably be sooner than I expect, too.
So, here's the poem. Don't judge it too harshly, because I cherish it. It's pretty simple, and I'm not always one for rhyme, but this is what I needed right now. I've yet to give it a proper title, so for now I'm calling it The Invitation.

Hold your breath,
Close your eyes.
Make a wish
To the skies.
Throw your arms up,
Give a shout.
Spin around and
Blow it out.
My wish is for you,
And all you are.
It lives in you
Whether near or far.
The dream's alive,
Burning bright.
It's the cause
For which I'll fight.
More than that,
I'll tell you this.
I live and breathe
For your next kiss.
For your love
I'd give my all.
Because the gain
Is worth the fall.
I've glimpsed the happiness
We would share.
The choice is yours.
Jump if you dare.
Nurtured well,
The joy will grow.
Take us to heights
We've yet to know.
The path ahead is
Uncharted and new.
Take my hand,
I'll lead us true.
Side by side
We can't go wrong.
Forever together,
Steady and strong.

Now, I know how this would be interpreted to some people. It's not about what you think it is. To me this represents hope. Even though my heart is battered and bruised, it's a fighter. I still have the capacity to love through the ache inside of me. The eternally optimistic hopeless romantic still lives in me, and she's struggling to take back her place from the wounded pessimistic wraith that has taken up residence for the last few weeks. As they battle, the words will come in a flurry that will leave me dizzy. And when it's over, and Hope has won the day, I'll have something tangible to show that I survived.

Dull It Down

I really dislike the dentist. It hasn't always been so. The dentist I went to as a child actually wasn't that bad. I even remember looking forward to going because they had an awesome train set in the lobby to play with, and I usually came away from the appointment with a toy. But one unfortunate day changed it all. It was this very same dentist that started drilling on a tooth without any numbing medication. Now, I'm a pretty tough cookie, but I'm not the type of person who at the young age of twelve could handle that. It's a scary thing. So, for years, I've done my best to avoid the dentist.  Well, I've tried to avoid any doctor. And now I'm paying for it. I have a series of intense dentist appointments ahead of me. But luckily, my dear father has found someone who is doing their best to not freak me out. And so far, it's going well. I had an appointment last week that was well over five hours long, and thanks to some wonderful medication, it felt like forty-five minutes. It was a double root-canal and an extraction. That's quite a traumatic experience.  And what's even better, I don't remember anything, but vague bits and impressions.

After sleeping all of the drugs out of my system, and I tried to piece things together, I realized that I was blissfully unaware of what had taken place the day before. Even my pain level wasn't that bad. That's when I started to think about how nice it would be to numb the pain of trials in life and sleep through the rest. Now I know this is unrealistic and unhealthy, but some experiences seem unnecessary to me.  Especially the ones that I seem to live over and over again.  It would be nice for Heavenly Father to say 'Ok, you have to do this hard thing. But I'm going to give you this medicine, and we'll get through this. You won't remember a thing, and you won't feel that bad on the other side.' But that's not how He works. You need to feel the pain and let time act as Novocain, slowly dulling the ache. There is some lesson to be learned, or if nothing else, it makes you stronger.

Strength doesn't make you invincible, and it doesn't make you feel the pain any less. But I think it might make you a bit more graceful through the storm. However, grace doesn't mean you don't want to throw a kicking-and-screaming fit, which I have actually done recently. Life isn't fair, and I don't like to take it sitting down.  I just had my heart broken, and I know I didn't handle the situation with as much poise as I would have liked. It's a story I will tell, but not for awhile. And I know in the eternities, these trials that seem to stretch on forever are but seconds.  Time is slowly working its healing magic on the wounds I have sustained. They won't be completely forgotten and the battle scars will remain, but in the end, the experience won't be as traumatic as it seems….well, hopefully.

 

Stormy Weather Ahead

I am not a drama queen. I'm more like the eye of a drama storm. I am calm (well, I'm usually calm,) surrounded by the terrible forces beyond control that wreak havoc on my life. Like a hurricane, it starts calmly, but with a little disturbance, things get crazy quickly. Pretty soon, the craziness is spiraling around me, and I'm powerless to do anything but get pulled along and watch as the terrain of my life changes right before my eyes.
Living life with purpose is all well and good, I suppose. But I've learned to be pliable with my purpose. I like to think that the purpose I've given my life is to be content, and even happy with where I'm at and what I'm doing, because it's never the same for very long. Life is certainly about change, as nothing can stay the same forever. But my experiences for the last few years, and most of my life now that I think about it, are step by step instructions for how to not make plans. At this particular moment in time, I'm almost frightened to make any plans too far in advance. Anything planned with any measure of certainty more than six weeks early has been picked up and ripped to shreds by the drama storm.
I should be a little more specific, any important plan is in danger of becoming a casualty of the turbulent atmosphere. Sometimes, I wonder if the plan itself causes the storm to develop. As it is, the frivolous things need not apply for the Life Gone Awry pounding. So what sorts of things are we talking about that should have been more careful? Well, it's the big decisions. Where to live, and with whom. Employment, and career opportunities. Matters of the heart, including a wedding.
Now, I hope I don't sound cynical or bitter. I'm trying my hardest, as I'm currently recovering, and quite frankly, still reeling from another attempt at taking my life in my own hands. But then again, maybe I am a little jaded by the lessons I seem to be learning. Either way, I've decided that I'm going to record the ever-changing landscape of the journey the Lord has me on. Some of these stories are down right hilarious, and some are truly heartbreaking, but each has helped shape me into who I am today. I wouldn't trade one experience for anything. I take that back, I would give anything to have my mother here with me in more than just spirit. But the others, they may have sucked while wading through, but I'm stronger because of them.

For You, Mom

I dedicate this blog to my dear, sweet mother. She may have sparked changes, caused changes, or inspired them, but she was and still is a constant supportive force in my life. Without her, I don't know that I would have learned to look for the positive even as my courage was failing, and my heart was breaking. She was my best friend. I miss you, Mom, everyday.
With love, always,
Shelle Belle