recovery

it has been an interesting week. i am recovering from surgery. the first 3-4 days were emotional and somewhat unexpected in nature, but now i find myself peaceful and rested. i hate hospital life, the care and attention i received were of the best kind with relatively nice and caring people, but you can never truly rest there. going home to actually sleep for longer than two hours without interruption was an incredible blessing. i guess i am now relating this to my spiritual life.

my husband and i were deeply hurt numerous times by the church. deeply. we have been seeing a counselor who specializes in pastoral trauma. he insisted we stay home from church, disconnect from any body of believers. the reason? we could never get rest there. we would immediately want to minister to others when our wounds were too deep to heal in an atmosphere of constant need. the body of christ has so many needs, so very many, and we have nothing to give to others because we have been so wounded. it feels as if i have had nothing but bloody stumps on the end of my arms, nothing to offer others help with and these are all i have had to offer in praise to god. i have gone through such a time of anger and even hatred towards the body of christ. i am so thankful to have had a wise counselor, one who has walked this path before. i will post some of my past thoughts soon. i was too wounded to share my true feelings for so long, unable to even allow others in.

maybe soon i can look at the bride of christ again, feel some what safe to be there, some how able to be unafraid of being hurt there, or at least able to receive minor wounds or infections again. i am grateful to those who have reached out to us and ministered to us. if only you knew how thankful i am and at the same time how scary some things are. it is hard to return to the place where your wounds occurred...

recovery? yes, slowly. my body and my heart are recovering. health, now that will be a happy day...when health returns in full.
n

a year

so the chapter closes while another begins its unfolding. it is amazing. sorrow, yes, but not the overwhelming kind. life is beautiful. i asked the Lord to prune me long ago. i told him i wanted to bear fruit. so, perhaps now i may reflect while my hand is still on the plow. it is rather like stopping for a cool drink of water while wiping the sweat from your forehead. i imagine me removing the working gloves for a moment, placing my hands on my hips and looking over the furrow planted . it was a good row...straight and deep. now the test...the fruit that will come from the seeds that were sown. i am thankful for the hard work, it was worth it all. but, as the direction shifts and changes to create the field of my life, may i continue as he leads.
time to plow again...


n

birthdays

yesterday was my baby's birthday...he's eighteen now. eighteen years ago i was watching the news reports of the incoming hurricane and looking down at my baby boy. he had flipped just hours before he came and i later heard those dreaded words...c-section. as i cradled him a few hours later and stared at the radar screen i secretly hoped they would allow me to stay an extra day...didn't want to jump in the car to outrun a hurricane. but they released me the next day to evacuate with the crowd. it was, i have to admit, miserable. but not my new fella, he was a wonderful baby...quiet and happy. i was so overjoyed to be home with him when we finally got back to our place. wow...that was eighteen years ago.

happy birthday, ken. i love you.

light battles

This morning we left the house just a few minutes early. As we pulled out of the driveway I looked up and saw a waning moon shining down. From behind me slowly creeping over the horizon came the pinks and reds of sunrise. Simultaneously these two beautiful lights filled the sky, each glowing as one began it's resignation to the other. Then the clouds got into the act as they surrounded the sun, only the glow was evident suppressed by thickness...for over twenty minutes the battle raged. When I exited the scene the moon glowed on, though somewhat diminished, the sun still battling for its rightful position.

I have felt that way in my heart this week. It is more than a transition in life, it is a spiritual transition as well. Since the unexpected blindsiding of emotion Sunday and the constant desire to quell and push it away moment by moment as I feel it rising to the surface, comes that 'not quite there' fresh new life. It has not apparently arrived...not risen to its place as if held back or covered with a cloud mass that won't allow its rays to warm and illuminate. Spurred on by the encouragement of my friends, I try to see the coming light, searching diligently within my heart...damn the moon and well meaning clouds.

And so I wait. Wait for the Father to part the sky...to reprimand the moon and slap the clouds. Joy comes in the morning...but on mornings like this, patience is a virtue I long to possess.

Yesterday a good friend shared something I needed to hear. Encouragement is an incredible thing...somehow it helps to bring clarity and balance to a situation. There have been times over the last few years when the words of others hurt too deeply and the accusations dug deep. God, in his infinite wisdom, however, undermined even my own criticisms of myself and brought me something I needed...friends. Not just friendly people, but those willing to go deep, love on a level many are afraid to venture into.
I hope I am a friend like that...someone who delves into matters and loves with openness and without fear. My imperfections scare the hell out of me...and that makes me put up walls. Somehow God brings along the right person at the right time...one of his own, to help bring them down again and see myself as he sees me. Lovable...flawed, true, but loved to my very depths.

Thank you, my friend. I am glad that your love returned home today. I hope your reunion was sweet.
n

The dog pooped...no, crapped, in the art room(it became far too messy to just be considered poop). Not in the hallway, not in the workout room, but in my newly created “space of my own let me dance and enjoy being Nelda here” art room. The first time I just rolled my eyes. It was not a big mess to remove. The second got worse. And the third was on my new art books and on some of my work under the architecture table. Yes, he ate something that apparently did not agree with him. Yes, he knows to bark at the back door. No, he did bark for some odd reason and yes, it was messier at each shot.

My dog is a Golden Retriever Mix that I love dearly…he is a great companion and will not let anyone in my home who would harm us. He is gentle, friendly, and ferocious at the same time. He knows people…he can read them in some way and to date…has never been wrong about the character of a person. He has never done this before but he has certainly made a mess of things this time.

I just shampooed these carpets last month. I am certain there is some great spiritual lesson here…maybe you could add it for me!! In the meantime…ummm, I’m busy.

My husband drives me nuts. Not in a bad way, really, more like in an unnerving fashion that is a little difficult to understand. He does the dishes. Constantly. He rarely waits on the dishes, even when more pressing matters are at hand. I don’t get it. Here is this guy with a master’s degree in public policy who loves the mundane task of doing dishes. He also has a similar response to the laundry. What is up with this guy?

Don’t get me wrong, I love the fact that I never have to do the dishes. I rarely do laundry…this is good to my thinking. I feel a bit selfish at times, and guilty in short waves, but overall I do enjoy having more free time on my hands. I do, however, wonder why all of life seems to be preempted by soap suds in one form or another. Perhaps my problem is that I would gladly wait for the clothes to overflow their perspective hampers and literally wave at me from their forgotten state until the job had to be tackled with a sort of enthusiastic loathing, as it should be done. But no, I am married to a man who must rescue the clothing as soon as one load can be accomplished.

My darling husband also makes my coffee while I shower in the morning. This I love. So why, why my adverse reaction to the dishes and laundry obsession? I wish to declare that I would not allow the dishes to stack up…I do love a clean kitchen counter. I just have an aversion to him doing them all the time. Does he not trust me? Is the very action of doing the dishes a passing shot at my procrastinating nature? Am I over analyzing this?

I just don’t know. But, I think I will go dirty up another coffee cup about now, and create another dirty towel…wouldn’t want him slacking off today.