Darkness & Light

Anger is a complicated thing and it always seems to be fighting to take over my identity.  It courses through my veins and vibrates in my cells.  I keep trying to give it permission to leave, but it won't.  I think there is a part of myself that withholds permission, holding the anger captive in an unsuspecting heart.

I had a dream last night, where someone was hurting my child and I felt that anger over take me.  The abuser stood in front of me with the most ugly disgusting look of..."yes I am abusing your child, and you can do nothing about it" on his face.  I walked up to him and looked into the deadness of his eyes, then I looked at my sweet daughter who was afraid and confused, not only by the actions of this man, but by the emptiness that this kind of evil brings into a room.  I hated him for giving my daughter this experience and I hated him for knowing how much I hated him....and reveling in it.  I was sick.  My fists were clenched, my heart pumping.  He looked at me and I looked at him, but I couldn't do it....I couldn't pound  his smug look into the ground like I so desperately wanted to.  I felt so weak....physically weak....and I hated myself for it.  I was afraid of what he could do to me, or my sweet daughter if I tried and failed.  I didn't want to put her through any more trauma, so I stuffed my anger down, took her by the hand and we walked away.

I didn't know how to react with anything but anger and hate.  I wanted him to feel pain....any kind of pain, but I couldn't inflict it and that bothered me.

This is a familiar scene in my life, and I knew this man represented everyone who has hurt my heart over the years. I have known far too often the feeling of being hurt by others and stuffing it down until there is so much hate, anger and resentment inside, I feel like I am going to explode.

I feel like a Jekyll and Hyde torn between love and forgiveness and hate and resentment.  I was created with a gentle heart.  A desire for peace.  The thought of hurting someone else has never felt right or appropriate, no matter how much hurt they are causing me,and yet all of that unexpressed emotion is eating me alive.

I remember my brother constantly beating on me and teasing me as a child.  I hated him for it, but I would just take it and cry.  I remember my mom getting so tired of it all, she would say, "Michelle just get up and beat on him, give it back to him....show him he can't do this to you", but I couldn't.  I knew I was physically weaker than him and I didn't want to be mocked for my lame attempt at "fighting back", so I just laid down and took it.  I also couldn't stand the thought of hurting him...what good would that do?

I don't want to be weak anymore.  I don't want to walk the planet, handicapped by anger, too weak to defend myself and those I love.  I don't think I have ever realized more than I do this morning, how small and powerless I am without my Savior.  When I woke up this morning, with the sickness of my dream aching in my body, I knew I needed Him to take my burden and make it light.  I think I have tried to carry it on my own for far too long.

Sailing

I feel myself sinking and rising, sinking and rising.

Like a little sail boat pushed out to sea, straining to angle herself against the wind.  

I get caught up in this crew of internal and external voices shouting above the wind, calling out orders, pulling and hoisting.  It is frantic... this movement inside and out.  Everything working toward a common goal.  A direction.  

A destination.

My breath always catches in that moment just before the sail is set and the mighty wind and this tiny vessel become one.  It never ceases to amaze me how quickly chaos turns to peace and power. With a roaring rip like thunder, the sails expand, the course is set, and off she goes. 

This little boat is pointed, moving swiftly to her home.

If you really know me...you'll know this about me!

I come from a culture where our worth comes from our work.  This isn't God's viewpoint, but sometimes it becomes ours.

We honor those those who pioneered our home towns (as we should).  Those who traveled from distant lands.  Built from the ground up, by the sweat of their brows. 

We celebrate industry...INDUSTRY!  Being anxiously engaged in a good cause...that kind of stuff.

Please don't get me wrong, I get that work is an important part of life, but I've also recently learned that prayer is a form of work that I am very good at...I am frequently talking with my creator about the things I desire for those I love...Is that not industrious too?

You see, I don't move in a fury of purpose through my home, polishing, vacuuming and dusting.  Folding, pressing and washing.

I don't get up at the crack of dawn, to run 5 miles or pull every weed in the garden.  I rarely even fix a hot breakfast for goodness sake!  

I guess my question is, how important is it that I be the one to do those things?  Is it important?  I'm just curious.  I know it's important that they get done, but does it really have to be done by me?

I love order...I crave it, but creating it in the physical world is not my gift, and to be honest I am tried of feeling guilty about that.

I am a planner, a dreamer, a thinker and a writer.  I can explain and describe the world as I see it and as I wish it to be.  I can take a message I believe in, and teach it with my heart.  I can offer warmth and purpose....passion and praise, but I am not a mover and a shaker.  no.

I love, LOVE being surround by beauty and cleanliness, but it seems I have too many beautiful things to think about and plan, and they get in the way of keeping things tidy on the outside.

Oh, I know it's a problem.  

The reality is, I don't live in Downton Abby, or a Royal Palace with a staff to keep things orderly while I entertain guests and create oil paintings.  I live in a home with a staff of two and two little halves (who are way more into creating disorder than order).

I'm just not good at being busy on the outside.  I want to be, but I am distracted by dreams and ideas.  

I'll keep chipping away at it...practicing, but someday I hope to hire someone to create order around me, so I can spend more time doing what I love...thinking and planning.

Love Letters to My Life

I've really neglected my blog this year (obviously) but a piece of my heart has ached to return to this familiar place.

The need to come back and scroll through old posts and photos.  

A need to remember. 

As I read my thoughts and looked at the images of my life as it used to be, I felt so grateful!  I could see how far we've come, but also how much more complicated things have become.  I missed the simplicity, but appreciated the new adventures we are currently facing.

There is a lot of awareness to be gained in keeping a record of life.  It pleases me so completely to know that life has been, and will be beautiful in every phase.  "Beautiful" isn't always pretty mind you...things can and will be messy and painful, but I've found it's in the looking back (sometimes from a distance), that we are finally able to see a more complete picture and purpose in the madness.  A chaos touched by divinity!

When you have evidence...a record of some sort...it is easy to see how gradually you've become who you were always meant to be!

*image*

This one goes out to the ones I love

I have two great loves (in the photo above),

One great lover (wink),

and roughly 3.58 billion little loves.  

By little loves, I am of course referring to all of those little things that make my life sparkle and cause my heart to swell and burst.

There are far too many to list in a letter to Santa, or even write in a gratitude journal!  I couldn't even begin to shout them from the rooftops, or sing them in an anthem of favorite things.

Life is brimming with love.  Things, people, experiences, places.  God knows how to show me love.  He is the teacher of eternal love, and the giver of every good gift.

I like to picture him smiling down on me as I savor the things that bring me warmth and offer me peace.  I'm sure he is there when I pull my favorite sweater over my head and around my shoulders.  A wool embrace intended to comfort me in my moments of bitter cold.  

I can sense him there as I walk down the quiet roads of my desert home, my eyes lit up by morning sun, my cheeks touched pink by the fading chill.  I am alive and I know my life is due to his undying need to create life and encourage life.  He eagerly seeks to teach me and then send me down the paths of my greatest purpose.

I know he waits patiently as I interact with my many, many loves.  He waits as I lose my patience, my trust, my passion and then he waits as I work to rekindle them over and over again.

I have found when it comes to love, it is difficult for me not to love God above all other things, because, after all, he is the one who makes it possible to love everything else.