Blue Thread

There's a built-in loneliness in my life.  A thin blue thread that is stitched through every one of my days.  I live with much kindness I dare not take for granted. I am blessed with it. But it is a kindness that does not and can never understand or love what I love.  We are oil and water.  Two paths along the river with few bridges between them.  Two sets of dreams that will never meet.

It has been a major reason for me to go through these months of Freedom Sessions.  About 5 weeks remain and I wonder if there's been any progress in my soul.  I look at our homework questions this week:

1. What do I believe about Jesus Christ on this issue? Do I believe He cares about this?
2.  Do I believe God can help me deal with this in a better way?
3.  How would a person who does believe God cares about this pain or issue respond?

I honestly get stuck at the question of whether God cares. Or rather what difference it makes tangibly in my life.  Sure, I can believe He cares, but if my life does not change, does it really matter or mean anything? I don't want to be irreverent.  I also cannot pretend.  Today I journaled and looked back at another blue thread season in my life.  We prayed 8 long years for a second child.  It was as if we lived in mourning for someone who had never arrived.  We offered faith that didn't understand anything.  It was all we had. From today I see the brighter thread that has since been tied to and stitched from the first one. She's nearly 10 now.

But how can this ongoing thing be redeemed? If I truly believed God cared, wouldn't I calmly trust that all this had a good purpose and outcome?  That something beneficial and even beautiful could come in the midst of this and eventually out of it.  Wouldn't I be looking harder and more eagerly for the daily evidences of Divine Love that knows me and takes care of my soul's needs in unexpected ways? I do see them.  Gifts that feed me along the path. Gifts I cannot lean on, but they sustain me.  I want to believe today when I cannot understand.  I long for the brighter thread I may see only in the next world.

  

Resurrected

      Ok, not quite back from the dead, but I'm feeling more "myself"since the last entry. A pretty low point in a low season.  Driving up to an object or event looks much different from leaving it again. A good deal of me never wants to look back.  Done and done. But, the tiny voice in my head says give it a quick review.  Something useful may emerge.

     Frankly I feel embarrassed at how depressive I actually was, and probably still can tend toward being at times.  Is all my writing about hard stuff? Moping? I am challenged by other people who are perpetually near drowning under their own lives.  They gravitate toward me.  I find it somewhat draining long term and don't want to be like that for others. This is less consideration and more my excessive fear of seeming weak or needy.

      A few discoveries along the recent way to healing physically and otherwise.  Not rocket science, but the whole trouble started with a very hard season of life, not surprisingly for me around music. Someone else took over the piano completely several years ago for some months where I normally played with a band. Back then my music was me.  I felt annihilated.  No separate sense of self.  No long term perspective on the situation. Almost immediately I needed two root canals.  Things went steadily down hill from then on.  Rejection, stuck literally in my jaw.  Eventually broad scale deterioration on a few levels. Me rejecting myself.

     A holistic practitioner excavated more foundations of self-rejection that I had to renounce. Literally had to, to survive.  Recently, there are more glimmers of my objective identity.  My unconditional worth. This gets tested all the time.  Some people's opinion matters far more to me than most.  Some really see, know and even like me.  When they are preoccupied or even move out of town I can't be leaning on any of it.

Tooth Fairy

I wish.  The once over with a magic tooth wand would be lovely.  Reality, though, has me scheduled for fairly major dental surgery in a week and a half which even includes bone repair on my upper jaw. Sigh.  Trying to focus on the positives and be grateful.

My thankful list in all this:  My suspicions about old root canal trouble never went away despite lack of pain.  An acupuncturist two weeks ago immediately referred me to a dental specialist when I mentioned said suspicions.  I got in to see the specialist. His detailed scan laid it all out.  It's the 11th hour and counting for severity, but not the 12th.  If I'd waited even a couple more months I don't know what I would have turned into.  A pumpkin? Or something more macabre.  In truth I can't explain how I've had such good physical energy and lack of obvious sickness for the last 5 years, even if lesser symptoms kept suspicions on life support.  Another mercy.

In a way it's worse now to know what's going on while I wait for surgery.  The curtain is pulled back. My body says,"Finally, you get it!" and is relaxing its iron grip on survival mechanisms.  Not sure where that extra energy is going now.  I feel the lack of strength.  I realize more than ever that my mental and emotional efforts to be "normal" every day for years have not been.  It's an unpleasant reminder of early years with chronic unwellness.

Not even sure how to close this post.  Feels like even "talking" is an effort right now.

"I can do all things through Him who strengthens me."  Philippians 4:13

"He is before all things, and in Him all things hold together." Colossians 1:16,17

Pathway To

     Today we visited friends staying in the city, right on the water front.  So summery and sublime to walk with them along the inlet bounded trail interwoven with bikers and walkers moving peacefully down the path under the gift of sunshine.  And then a lady fell flat on her face in front of us.

     After a shocked stare several of us moved toward her.  We each offered and did what came to mind. Moments later she sat on the sloped grassy side, paper towel pressed to bleeding eyebrow.  A jogger calmly called 911.  I sat next to the fallen lady, hand steady on her shaking back. Otherwise she seemed surreally calm.  It was like suddenly being in a movie about a lady who fell on a path. We fell into our roles as if we'd rehearsed them.  Time moved barely but softly.

    The paramedics were on their way.  They arrived.  Three clean shaven, strong men in efficient navy blue who seamlessly took over. They assessed what paramedics assess and we didn't think to.  The 911 phoning jogger turned out to be a stewardess. She put in her earphones and continued her run.  Our friends and we mumbled a few more words to each other about the incident, then walked on into new topics and out of the mini movie.  It was like another story decoupaged or cut and pasted onto the regular one of visiting friends staying in the city, right on the water front.

Winds of change

     Today as I write this entry a good friend is driving her earthly belongings from one home to another, hours and ferries away from here.  It sounds like a dream destination for her family.  The past few years we've grown an honest friendship through her several challenging local job and living moves.  I'm relieved for their answers to prayer and feeling quietly bereft.

     Last evening we hosted a backyard gathering for church musicians which I'm a part of and said the almost last goodbyes to two of them going far away, likely for good.  Another one inadvertently mentioned the desire for a big change too.  This being a rare kindred spirit whose departure I would dread.

     I truly hate goodbyes and impending departures.  I'm feeling generally short of time with people who are stimulating two-way conversationalists, who really like me for myself (not just as a listening post) and who have a passion for the same things I do.  Now the already arid land of true friendship is looking like the beginnings of death valley.

    I feel the familiar fingers of depression closing around my throat and I have push them away forcefully.  I ask God to show me His good plans for me.  To widen and deepen my circle of fellowship. To affirm my life purpose and confirm divine dreams that are nothing more than a dry seed in the ground.  I want to choose faith and hope when my current life seems to move away again and again from so much that I long for.  All I can think of is to write out my heart.  To "talk" to someone, even if they don't respond or receive this today. To sit at the piano and chisel away at my soul songs.  Pour my spirit into melodies and rhythm.

   This is not the path I would choose.  Not the story I would write for myself.  The way of thorns.  The princess locked in a castle.  I sit here with open hands, palms facing upward.  This much I know I have to do.

Recycled Medium

I've been thinking about what to do with long term personal challenges that have no foreseeable end in sight.  It's too easy to get obsessed with disappointment or any other form a particular pain can take.  It's also such a draining way to live. The church lady part of me is tired of pat answers.  Those familiar verses about suffering aren't comforting lately.  I don't want to be irreverent about Scripture but it's the way I feel.

Been considering again how a friend once said they loved how I made the most of everything. A treasured affirmation.  Today I'm wondering how I can make the most of hurt instead of passively letting it chip away at my soul.  Can I pick up the pain like a brush, dip it into some paint and make a picture with it?  Can I deliberately and even aggressively bring the pain to the piano and use it to write songs? Is this a way I can receive God's comfort and even meet Him in an especially personal way?

Somewhat along these lines, I encourage you, even if you're not artsy,  to look up some artists featured at RiceGallery.org.  Especially the ones from poorer countries.  It's inspiring to read about those creators who grew up with very little and yet made the most of it. Now they're making art with the simplest of materials, even discardable ones.  Their work has an appeal that is almost tangible.  

Dissociation

Here's a term I've heard a lot in my group since I've started attending Freedom Sessions, a nearly 30 week 12 step program.  Dissociation:  The disconnection or separation of something from something else or the state of being disconnected.  In psychiatry:  The separation of a group of mental processes or ideas from the rest of personality.  Extreme cases are amnesia, some forms of hysteria, or multiple personality disorders.  In situations of severe trauma, being able to dissociate or separate yourself temporarily is actually a gift.  A necessary tool for survival.  The disorder part is staying this way long after the crisis is over, when separating becomes the new normal.

What's interesting to me are the milder, subtler and more socially acceptable forms of dissociation. Really, any activity, thought or emotion can be misused to avoid facing part or all of whatever is uncomfortable or worse.

I'm humbled and awed by those I've met who have survived horrific things and are now bravely reconnecting with reality to move on in life.  They make it easier to deal with my own, less dramatic stuff.  I'm more willing to look at and admit how I've dissociated for decades.  I see that I've taken exercise and generally moving fast beyond fitness to removing myself from experiencing, thinking or feeling what isn't easy.  When I'm not speeding around physically, I've given excessive mental energy and space to reading,  to possible futures and to theoretical problem solving instead of being fully in the present.  I've also elevated my verbal wit to such a heady form of entertainment that I can avoid having to trust being loved, enjoyed and valued apart from being amusing.  And this is just the beginning.  For today, though, it's all the honesty I can serve up.  Thanks for "listening", whoever is reading this out there.