Textures and Smells

Sometimes I see little old ladies with grey hair wearing the same kinds of clothes Mom used to wear and I get transported to random moments of being with her. I see her slightly-stooped posture. I smell her favorite perfume (Cotillion by Avon), and I feel her hand reaching for mine – for steadiness or for affection, it doesn’t matter which. 

I never was one to want to wear my mother’s clothes, at least not the polyester pants with the elastic waistbands. There were one or two of her blouses that I might try to commandeer, but it never felt right for me to utilize her wardrobe. It was the stuff of mom-ness, and I was just a child. For so many years, I have been just her child. Now that I have been catapulted into the realm of raising grandchildren that I inherited through my husband, I have skipped typical motherhood altogether and have to navigate the combined realm of parenting and grandparenting the same children all at once. I am often at a loss for how to proceed through this new maze I’ve wandered into, but slipping on a pair of Mom’s socks or one of her hand-painted t-shirts or sweatshirts can somehow make me feel like I know where I am going. She would probably laugh at that, because she did not believe that things held any power. Maybe the only power in it is God using those textures to jog the memories of times when I saw Mom model the loving ways of caring for others. 

I wish opening a bottle of Mom’s old perfume or brushing up against some fine polyester would bring her voice back with answers to any one of my current problems. For now, just know that if you see me asking a little old lady for a hug or inhaling deeply when one walks by, I am not stalking. I am remembering.

Bound and Gagged

It started with a phone call. Bad things had happened and more were coming. We rushed to be rescuers, but the damage was done. Life as we knew it was gone. 

The changes were huge and came at me quickly. I, who had so much solitude, suddenly was surrounded by others and had no place to hide. I, who was not a mother, was all of the sudden called to mother many. I, who had as a professional helped others through crisis, was suddenly in the middle of crisis. As much as I was prepared to help others through trauma, my own trauma left me feeling adrift. 

And almost immediately I lost my voice. There were no words to write. I could not even form an idea, much less find the words to express it. I used to lay my heart bare on a page and then share it with those travelers who stopped by. Now there was almost too much to share, but I had no voice. 

Had I even still had my voice, it could not be my own anymore. Every one of my words would have a profound effect on those who now wholly depended on me for safety and support. My story was no longer my own. The story of one had become the story of many. There was no way to separate any of us out from the plot line. 

How would I use a voice if I had one? The very ones that I must speak for are also the ones for whom I must also be silent. How would I use my voice for them if it came back? I cannot begin to imagine it.

There are some who view this as a necessary season of silence. Necessary or not, I feel bound and gagged. I wonder when this season will change. How will I recognize it? Will it start with a phone call? 

Post #200

I thought I would never have a family. I would end up living alone, except for a pack of little yappy dogs running around my ankles. I would talk back to the television just to have some company. Junk mail would be welcome just because at least somebody out there knew I was alive, at one point anyway. I would have to remind people of my name, because I was so utterly forgettable. There would be no help in time of need unless it was paid for. 

The only part I got right was the pack of yappy dogs. Instead of my low expectations I have...

...little arms that reach out to hug me...eyes that light up when I walk into a room...voices saying, "I love you" and "I'm glad I have you in my life"...beautiful cards that come in the mail...and boxes of toilet paper anonymously delivered to my house every month...

And now every time I wipe my butt I feel amazingly loved by my God and His people. I never knew that God could show up in the most common everyday things. How awesome.

***

Linking up with people who live wonderstruck in the everyday.

Getting Lippy

"Be not forgetful to entertain strangers: for thereby some have entertained angels unawares." Hebrews 13:2 

The other night our family was reading from Luke 1, where the birth of John the Baptist is foretold. The passage says that John’s parents, Zechariah and Elizabeth, were “righteous in the sight of God, observing all the Lord’s commands and decrees blamelessly.” Yet when Gabriel, who stands in the presence of God, tells Zechariah that he will become a father, Zechariah questions him. A man who is seen as righteous in the sight of God back-talks one of God’s angels. That takes real chutzpah. 

I could not get that out of my mind. A priest who was burning incense in the temple getting lippy with an angel. My first thought was that Zechariah should have known better. He had been trained to be reverent. Why would he do such a thing? 

And then God moved His hand over my eyes. Things got a little bit clearer and a voice in my head said, “Haven’t you done such a thing?” What if I have been unaware of being in the presence of an angel? What if I – a woman who is surely unrighteous save for the cleansing blood of Christ – have been in the presence of one of God’s messengers and have been sarcastic, rude, snippy, indifferent, willful, or faithless? Just the thought of some my arrogant behavior made me want to crawl under the table and hide. Who has been watching this? Who have I been getting lippy with? 

The thought of my past behavior in plain sight of God was quite sobering. I have a feeling that I will be much more compassionate towards Zechariah the next time I read Luke 1. I surely cannot cast the first stone. 

Have you entertained an angel? If one appeared to you now, would you believe what he told you? Would you question him like Zechariah?

Incidentals

So here we are again. It has been so long since we shared this space together. So much has changed. There are so many things I should have told you, but the words have slipped through my fingers. 

<^>

I, who have never been a mother, have been told to mother four children. However, I am supposed to always keep in mind that I am not their mother. Being without a mother myself, I am often at a loss when I find myself needing motherly advice about mothering. I need to know how to keep from smothering. 

<^>

I don’t hear God, but I know He is there. This could be a comfortable, companionable silence or it could be something else…

<^>

My new favorite new phrase is "fractured intentions" (from Still by Lauren Winner). What is your favorite new thing?

A Bad Country Song

Many moons ago, I had a college Speech professor who made everyone in the class answer a "question of the day" before we could move on to that day's lecture/activities. I always thought that hearing all of the different answers was fairly interesting.

The only question I remember after all this time is, "If you had to write a love song, what would you call it?". I don't remember the other answers, even though I recall most of us thinking that the married couple in our class got kind of mushy. However, I do remember my answer. 

My love song would be entitled, "Romance In A Blender". I do not have a way of explaining that now. You just had to be part of my life at that time to "get it". I never specified whether the song would be rock-n-roll, pop, rap, etc. I just knew the name.

For the sake of any small children around, I will not go into specifics on how my life after college began to resemble a very bad country/western song. In so many ways, I was the woman who did some poor ol' cowboy wrong. My redemption song would not be sung for a very long time, even though I had accepted Christ into my life as a young girl. 

I don't actually remember what triggered these memories today, but as I was thinking about it all, I wondered what the current title for a song about my life might be. This is what I came up with: "Some Families Are Blended, But We're Pureed". 

Do you have a song title that would describe part of your life? Please do share.

***

Once again I am joining up with Jen and the rest of the Soli Deo Gloria Sisterhood over here. Why don't you come see what the rest of the girls have going on?

We Need A Hoot!

Many of you know that my husband and I have a very, very full house right now. For the uninitiated, we have my father, our youngest son, my sister, and my brother-in-law filling up all of our rooms. There are also ten dogs involved (we run two separate packs and never the twain shall meet). 

This is, of course, the type of situation that requires creativity and humor to survive. So far, God has blessed abundantly with both. I pray that He continues to do so.

A little ritual that my sister and I have developed to keep a positive, humorous outlook is giving our household new "mottoes". When we first all converged together and were trying to develop a workable family dynamic, our motto was simply, "Go team!". Whenever one of us did something helpful for the rest of the group, my sister and I would throw up our hands and yell, "Go team!"

Some mottoes have been so fleeting that I don't remember them. However, I do remember that we say, "that should be our motto" quite a lot. The day my sister was telling me about a show she and her husband watched about dumb criminals, our motto was "brilliance abounds". Imagine us saying that with plenty of sarcasm.

Today I was telling my sister - who has still not found gainful employment - about a job listing on Craigslist that seems to be a good match for her Human Resources background. The job happens to be in the music industry (which as the wife of a former DJ, she really loves). She looked at me and used that tried-and-true Southernism: "Wouldn't that be a hoot?" My answer was, "Yes, and we could use a hoot right now!". So for the next few hours, at least, our motto is, "We could use a hoot!". 

I desperately hope that God is listening. I do not know why His plan seems to include our whole family's finances becoming more and more precarious. While a job in the music industry would definitely be a "hoot", at this point a job in plastic-mushroom farming would be a "hoot" for several of us. We aren't trying to get rich. We just want to pay all of the bills. 

So if you think about it, please lift us up in prayer. All you have to tell God is that my family needs a hoot. He'll get the joke. 

My Soundtrack

Since I was very young I have watched musicals - plays and movies. I have sung along with the Seven Dwarfs, The Bee Gees, Kenny Loggins, The Beach Boys, and The Smiths. ("You've Gotta Get A Gimmick" from Gypsy just started playing in my head. Oops.) For a very long time, I hoped that when I finally "arrived" in life that my very own soundtrack would start playing for everyone to hear. So far, the music is only in my head. 

Music is really the only poetry that I consistently like, and I find a certain type of quirkiness in the parts of the verse that stick with me. Most of my favorite songs are mainstream, because I have never put forth effort to go find the independent and lesser-known artists. I was angst-ridden enough as a teenager that you would think I would have raged against anything mainstream and "conformist", but I didn't. I was lazy, so I just took what came across my path and collected up the parts that caught my fancy.   

As I've gotten older, I've come to appreciate more the warnings I received as youngster about being careful with what ideas I put into my head. There are things that I will never be able to un-see, un-hear, un-smell, or un-feel. I cannot ever completely undo the damage. The music I listen to falls under that warning, doesn't it?

Even as I have been sitting here typing, a friend has sent me a daily email that she subscribes to. The title for today's email is "Sing A New Song". Here is an excerpt:

What are you speaking; what are you singing? Are you singing songs of self-pity, gloom and doom or songs of joy, peace and love? The choice is yours. Speak out to others in psalms and hymns and spiritual songs, offering praise with your voice and making melody with all your heart to the Lord (Eph. 5:19) You begin by loving the Lord your God. Choose to be joyful in him and be in high spirits. If you are feeling down, if circumstances are holding you in depression, if you are in the midst of a trial choose to sing a new song to the Lord, and your feelings will be lifted, and you can go on your way holding your head high because the joy of the Lord is your strength. Praise goes before victory!

I will freely admit that I do not always follow that advice. There are many things that I feel - dark, melancholy emotions - that I do not find expressed in Christian music. I'm not saying that it isn't there. There are heavy metal and rap Christian artists that might have expressed some of these things, but in my laziness, I have not gone looking. It's much easier for me to listen to songs link "Coming Undone" by Korn. That song captures the complete inner chaos I experienced right after Mama died. But if "as a man thinketh, so is he", what am I doing to my heart by listening to music like that? What if my inner soundtrack is hurting me?

What is your inner soundtrack? Do you make a conscious effort to control what you are listening to?

***

Once again I am joining up with Jen and the rest of the Soli Deo Gloria Sisterhood over here. Why don't you come see what the rest of the girls have going on?

A High Class of Problems

Many years ago, someone said to me, "I have a higher class of problems these days." I did not immediately understand that comment. I was very sure at that time that my problems were dreadful and dire. What could be worse than the fact that I was suffering? What a melodramatic diva I was...

Today, I do understand that I have a higher class of problems. I have learned to be more grateful for what I have. I have come to understand that many people have far worse problems than I and that I should show them compassion and help when I can. Even so, I end up stressing out and loosing all sense of proportion sometimes. For example:

*Myself and several family members have found ourselves unemployed or under-employed. We are all squeezed together in one house trying to weather the storm safely. What do I end up stressing about? Whether I should use the green purse or the red purse (I picked red, in case any other divas care).

*My "adopted" son in Rwanda (sponsored through Compassion) has no way to refrigerate his food. What do I end up stressing about? The grocery store did not have my brand of yogurt and this other brand "tastes funny". (We have two refrigerators, by the way.)

* I worry about having to get rid of our extra car. I worry about having to wear sandals without a pedicure. I worry about not having money to buy more books when I have about 50 of them sitting here that I still haven't read. 

Yes, I have a high class of problems. Lord, deliver me from myself before I hurt someone with my whirling mass of ingratitude.

Thoughts, anyone?

***

Once again I am joining up with Jen and the rest of the Soli Deo Gloria Sisterhood over here. Why don't you come see what the rest of the girls have going on?

My Anorexic Blog

I am hungry for words. Ravenous. But I won't let myself have them. And so my poor little blog is starving to death. 

What would happen if I would just allow myself those words? Would my blog be too "fat" or "heavy"? Would it not look as lean and healthy as other blogs? What if my words do not look as good as some others? Would it matter to anyone but me that I somehow failed in the comparison? Does it matter?

And so my "art" imitates my life and becomes disordered... maybe there is some clinical diagnosis for not allowing yourself to write. Or maybe I am just thinking too hard.

Poor little starving blog. You need some words.

Truth

I don't have any earth-shaking original thoughts tonight. I just have something I want to share. 

I went on a cleaning spree this afternoon (the closet looks fabulous) and of course I found things that were laying there waiting for some attention. One of these things was a quote that I had printed out. It turns out it is actually a quote of one man quoting another (that really does make sense - I promise). It is a profound bit of writing, so I thought I would share it with you.

"Truth, like all the other pieces of armor, is in actuality an aspect of the nature of God himself. Thus to put on the belt of truth is to put on Christ. For Christ is 'truth' (John 14:6), and Christians are the bearers of truth. As Os Guinness explains, Christianity is not true because it works (pragmatism); it is not true because it feels right (subjectivism); it is not true because it's 'my truth' (relativism). It is true because it is anchored in the person of Christ. 'The Christian faith is not true because it works; it works because it is true. It is not true because we experience it; we experience it - deeply and gloriously - because it is true. It is not simply "true for us"; it is true for any who seek in order to find, because truth is true even if nobody believes it, and falsehood is false even if everybody believes it. That is why truth does not yield to opinion, fashion, numbers, office, or sincerity - it is simply true and that is the end of it.'"

-- The Covering: God's Plan to Protect You From Evil by Hank Hanegraaff

I'm hoping my proofreader will tell me that I have all of my quote marks correct on that one (' vs. "). Either way, I just really liked that quote. It makes life simple, which is how I'm sure God wanted it in the first place. No need to complicate things with trying to add to, subtract from, or outright change the truth. It is The Truth. Beautiful simplicity that I need to observe more often.

Blessings to all of you.

***

Once again I am joining up with Jen and the rest of the Soli Deo Gloria Sisterhood over here. Why don't you come see what the rest of the girls have going on?

Being A Good Blogger

When I started blogging about a year ago, I knew why God had me writing. I knew that He was holding me accountable for the lessons I was learning. My few readers were, in effect, my accountability partners. God was teaching me about mercy in all types of situations, and I was willing to share those lessons with anyone who had the time and motivation to read what I wrote. 

As I wrote about what I was learning, there were moments of joy, sadness, fear, and sometimes humor. I was in the midst of grief, and I shared that too. A small group of friends - some old and some new - encouraged me with comments and emails, and they shared their journeys with me as well.

Somewhere in the journey, though, I got distracted. I visited many blogging communities and was swept up in their enthusiasm for writing and their love of words. I read many types of advice on blogging: 

use bullet points; don't use bullet points; keep it short; write in a journalistic format; DON'T USE ALL CAPS; write poetry; don't use too many complex sentences; have giveaways; comment on other blogs so you can get more comments on your own; belong to this or that blogging group; use other peoples' link buttons on your posts; write from your heart; don't disclose so much about yourself; go to conferences where there is a lot of talking; blah blah blah; find a quiet space; read this book before you blog any more; care about what e-books are doing to the traditional publishing industry; don't overuse semicolons; know what your readers want; engage your readers with questions; use bold type for your important points; eat bacon-fried bacon on Tuesdays; add photographs to your posts; add YOUR OWN photographs to your posts; write about being a child sponsor; tout this cause; participate in this project; be a minimalist so that readers can fill in the gaps with their own imaginations; be wordy so that the reader has a sense of exactly what you mean; my head is exploding and I haven't even covered half of the blogging advice I've gotten...

Wow. That is a lot to take in, especially when you are the new kid on the block. I got so caught up in trying to figure it all out that I started feeling guilty for not doing it all. The guilt made me unable to even start typing. Thinking about being a "good" writer/blogger actually made me into nothing at all. I felt advised to the point of muteness.

I don't know if I am a good enough writer/photographer/artist/fill-in-the-blank to do all of those suggested things. I don't know what my readers want and I don't even always know what I want. I've already got so many books to read that I don't have room for them all in my house. I don't know if I want to follow all of this blogging advice and be a part of all of these projects. So does that mean I'm a bad blogger? Does that mean I'm not a "real" writer? Does it matter? 

I just don't know. I don't even know if I have the energy to find out. 

Let me tell you what I do know. God wants me to get up and go out and have a life. Sometimes just the getting up and going out is so hard that I lay paralyzed with fear while tears run down my face. God wants me to write about that. The times that I actually get out and participate in life, I learn so much about God, His love, His mercy, and myself that it just blows my mind. He wants me to write about that too. Sometimes God gently disciplines me to keep me from pursuing a path of destruction. He especially wants me to write about that. 

So here is what I intend to do:

• I will write long, wordy posts about what God is teaching me.
• I will write about the humor God shows me in life.
• I might have a few more giveaways because they are fun and I really like fun.
• I will be kind to any commenters I might have.
• I will not beat myself up for not keeping up with 35 other blogs.
• I will not keep up with the state of the publishing industry.
• I will not let anyone but God dictate my subject matter.
• I might USE ALL CAPS IF I'M FEELING STRONGLY ABOUT SOMETHING
• I will enjoy the blessings of sitting in my cozy little corner writing for God.

Does any of this make me a good or bad blogger? I don't know, but here I am.

He Is Risen!

INDEED!

Happy Easter!

Honor Thy Father

Children, obey your parents in the Lord: for this is right. Honour thy father and mother; which is the first commandment with promise; That it may be well with thee, and thou mayest live long on the earth. And, ye fathers, provoke not your children to wrath: but bring them up in the nurture and admonition of the Lord. Ephesians 6:1-4

I have struggled with deep, dark depressions for most of my life. Since my early years, I have been melancholy and had a hard time functioning at the same level as my peers. This means that, as an adult, I have often been living with my parents rather than on my own. I suppose having a roommate would have helped, but I never trusted anyone else enough to let them see the effects of the depression. In fact, letting my husband see the effects of my current depression fills me with shame and guilt. The only person I ever truly trusted to see me at my worst and still love me was Mama. 

Needing to be around Mama so much putting me in Daddy's orbit just as often. Living in his home came with the understanding that he could behave any way he wanted and I could like it or leave. Any rule he made was law. Any commentary he wanted to offer on my life was to be taken meekly. Any angry outbursts on his part were to be endured without fighting back. 

Celebrating Love

Today is our first Valentine's Day without Mama. This time last year we were taking stuffed toys and sugar-free chocolates up to the nursing home she was in. 

I know that Valentine's Day is supposed to be for celebrating romantic love, but Mama celebrated all kinds of love every February 14th. She sent cards to her grandchildren and nieces and nephews. She made us heart-shaped bologna sandwiches for our lunch. 

The biggest (and strangest) gift I ever got from Mama on Valentine's Day was an electric typewriter my senior year in high school. I think she meant to get it for me so that I could have it for college (Daddy sold office supplies, so she got it cheap), but it came in in early February, so instead of waiting for graduation, I got it February 14th. I was getting ready for school when she walked in to my room with a huge brown box and said, "Happy Valentine's Day". I think I was even happier about such a nice gift just because it was given on a day that my Mama really loved to celebrate. The kids my age were not all that impressed, but my shorthand teacher was jealous. 

This morning, every family member currently staying in my house (husband, father, sister, brother-in-law, and son) got a card I had picked out for them weeks ago. I got a really lovely card from my husband (and a promise of a date tonight). 

I've shed a tear or two over Mama not being here, but I am glad she taught me to celebrate the love God gives us for each other - not just on February 14th, but on every day.

I hope that you all are celebrating the wonder of love today. I'm sorry that I did not get a card for every kid in our class, but I'll say it here: Happy Valentine's Day from me to you.

I Heard It From Lou Gramm

I used follow

Yeah, that's true

But my following days are over

Now I just gotta follow through

-Lou Gramm, Midnight Blue

Following people has never worked. Trying to follow their prescribed scripts has almost killed me - literally. There is only One that I need to follow, and that definitely needs some follow-through.

Electric Moments

Have you ever been shocked? Literally, I mean. You've dragged your feet across the carpet and when you touch the person next to you, you both feel a pop of electric current. Or you think that your 110-volt converter actually works in the 220-volt socket, but it doesn't - then you touch the appliance you've plugged in and begin to understand what a "charged moment" really is. 

I wonder sometimes if I have had those types of physically jarring instances in order to be able to identify and feebly try to explain overwhelming emotional events.

Life is just full of shocking moments...moments so full of intense emotion that I can recall them with clarity and a jolt of electricity if I see something that reminds me of them. And the reminders could be anything. 

It could be seeing a new cupcake store that reminds me of my mother who used to bake cupcakes to celebrate my puppies' birthdays. And then all of the sudden I feel my body swaying and I hear that same buzzing in my ears that I heard as I was told that my mother was not going to live but for a few more days. 

It could be seeing a beautiful piece of Native American art that reminds me of my friend's amazingly talented husband who used to make wooden flutes. And then I feel my body somehow sinking through the floor like it did when I was told he was dead after a very brief, unexpected illness.

It could be seeing a group of young men playing basketball down the street that reminds me of the children in my life. And then I feel the rigidity that gripped my body as I read the email telling me that my friend's sixteen-year-old son had died after his battle with cancer. 

It could be seeing a cute photograph of children that reminds me of how I was as a youngster. And then I see a photograph of me actually standing in the very room where I was molested all those many years ago and I feel...I feel...well, there is really no appropriate description or adjective for that complex feeling.

With all of these reminders, I feel. There really is no "deflector shield" that will protect me from these unexpected moments. My body is snapping and popping with current from just typing that list. It is as if there is a complete circuit of electricity running between me and my computer.

I found an old piece of my writing yesterday that reminded me that I have never had...what is it? the talent? skill? education? I'm not sure, but I have never had some mystical quality that would allow me to convey to you the depth, breadth, or exact nature of these shocking feelings. I just know that there is electricity involved.

Hoping that your electric moments are less intense.

Desde el Monte... Find A Husband

Previous installations of Desde el Monte...

Preface

The Beginning

Joy Bus

The Streets

The Beauty

Prayer (and a Poem)

The Culture

The Violin

Philosophy

***

I had thought about just mentioning this couple in another post, but this story deserves a place of its own. 

Meet my friends Eduardo and Estela:

This lovely married couple was so nice to me while I was in Montevideo. I had come down to wintery Uruguay from the beginning of a hot Lubbock summer and managed to get a cold. It really was just the sniffles, but somehow Eduardo and Estela found out and brought me all kinds of medicines and comforts. That is how we actually met.

Somebody That I Used To Know

As people are getting settled into the new year, learning to write/type 2012 instead of 2011, and catching up with friends they hadn't seen over the holidays, I have noticed something that should be odd. I say "should" because it is familiar and wholly unsurprising to me, but my friends find it odd.

My friends have been talking about their holiday family gatherings. They mention seeing extended family. I hear about the traditions that they have been keeping since before they had memories. I have seen photos of several generations of a family gathered in a house you would not think could hold that many people. I have heard about my Northern friends' snowy encounters and my Southern friends' warmer pastimes. 

What seems odd to some of my friends is that I heard from almost none of my "close" family. A stark difference from when we, along with many members of our extended family, used to make a big deal out of Christmas. We even had a tradition of going to the Christmas Eve gathering of the whole community. This year there were very "close" family members that did not call, write, or text me. And to be fair, I did not call, write, or text them either. There just isn't much connection there anymore, except for faint, poignant memories of what seems like a different lifetime of a different person.

Second Chance Wednesdays - Part 16

Welcome back to Second Chance Wednesdays! It is once again time to turn to the People of the Second Chance's poster series, Never Beyond. If you are new to this campaign, you can read more about it and find links to all of my Never Beyond posts here.

***

I am sure that there are times when you have thought you needed or wanted a second chance. Have you ever asked for one, though?

In 2011, I asked for a second chance in a situation where I had made some grave mistakes. Considering how much grief the original situation caused me, I was prepared to be devastated if the answer was "no". The other person involved did not give me that second chance, but for some reason it did not bother me very much at all. I was very surprised. I guess it must have been more important for me to ask for the second chance than to receive it.

My old friend Kelly Marshall once talked to me about "wallowing in grace". I always wondered what that looked like but I have never dared try it before. God has been patiently waiting for me to take that dare - to give myself a second chance to "wallow" in His merciful love.

It is looking like 2012 could be a year full of second chances for me if I'm willing to take them. This second half of my life could be a great example of what grace in action looks like. I just have to be willing to step out in faith. I think I just might do that!

How about you? Are you willing to give yourself a second chance?