Eclectic Waters

Archive for July, 2006

You know me, your gift of mercy and gentleness that you extend freely to others but rarely to yourself. Well, I’ve been watching all the thoughts inside your head today. Yes, I know, many of them have involved **#(@()@ words and that you have been exceedingly angry. I saw you think about Pam, your counselor in the summer of 03, and her description of anger:

Distress + Blame (blaming another person, thing or God) = ANGER

and its true, and while much of your anger is justified it is not your anger I want to talk to you about.

Deanne, what I really want to tell you is that I am very proud of you and that you are doing so well. Even though you may feel like your anger is crippling and that the pain is too much, you are not stuffing it like you used to, and while you may wish for those days of numbness, you are alive! You hugged your sister and called your parents, crying freely to the sound of their voices. Good Job! Seriously! It takes courage to admit the things you did and to be still in the puddle of emotion that seems never ending.

I saw all the blogs you wrote in your head about anger, using swear words, and describing in detail exactly why you felt angry and betrayed, but you were able to speak those words to people and now there is room for me. Thank you. I, like you, enjoy blogging Thanks for saving me a post.
I also wanted to remind you to be kind to yourself; know that God is still unfathomably in love with you, holding your hand and caressing your face and back as you weep on his shoulder. You are His beautiful child. I’m proud of you for being still and for being honest with Him about your anger, even though it feels terribly “unchristian”. Believe me, He is happier with your honest nakedness before Him, than He would be with any memory verse you coldly recite and do not believe. Right now you believe in your anger and you do not see how God’s hands can heal the wound that seems to stretch across your entire flesh; but trust me, He will. Keep loving yourself, crying out to him, and taking those clumsy child steps you take so well. You are walking! and yes, even growing! you may laugh, i know you don’t even know what that means, ‘growing’, but believe me you are.

I also wanted to say that if I had to walk through this life tied to anyone, I’m glad it is you and I know God is going to use me, mercy, in you to touch others and lead them to His greater mercy and forgiveness. I love you.

Keep crying and screaming, whatever you need to do at the moment, and know you are loved by your Father in heaven, the God of all comfort, who comforts us in our deepest pain, that we may comfort others (2 Cor 1)

Be blessed friend, and thank you, yes even for all the negative thoughts of today, because they are you and you are beautiful beyond words
Your sister

Mercy

“The lessons of impermanence taught me this: loss consistutes an odd kind of fullness; despair empties out into an unquenchable appetite for life.” —GRETEL EHRLICH

Love, there are already cobwebs where you used to live.

She had never known how deep anger could feel, all the way to her toes, and so stunning she found herself beyond action and tears. But when she did dream, her dreams were unhappy. The clenching ended in her fists as she held them against her thighs, dreaming of hurting God knows what. She woke up sweating and with that dull heavyness in her chest, another day.

Last night laying on her bed she could almost see the sky laden with stars and she swore she felt her bed sway on the ocean. The tightness in her chest was the exact tightness she felt when she had moved, at the age of twelve, away from her school, four best friends, and home to this small piece of metal on which she knew no one. It stayed with her as she was swayed to sleep at night, the movement a distraction that disolved too quickly as she tried to sleep. Maybe it was because her feet were pushing over the side of her queen sized bed, the way her feet has pushed over the side of her narrow cabin bed. But she swore she felt the bed move, side to side, and back again.

Her face was not that unique, brown hair and eyes, while her body boasted a flat stomach and strong legs. She would walk down the ship hall with her unsure steps and people would say hello; it was part of the culture, but no one knew the secrets behind those common brown eyes. They would lie hidden there in little pools of stillness until she released them onto paper along with sentences that filled journal upon journal. If you read those journals now you will find those secrets hidden behind the sentences, outlining the places she visited, along with a thinly veiled pain, but like her conversations to herself and God now, they always ended in a prayer or a cry for God’s help, which is another form of prayer.

–
Picture a woman, floating on the water, arms and legs stretched out. I am the woman. God is the water.

–
Behind my cabin door, number 206, my life took place. I no longer hide behind doors; I now live my life before the world and those who love me, because I have nothing to hide. I dislike secrets. Each scrape of my knee and the tear that results along with each daffodil and the smile it evokes, are merely a reflection or connection to the smiles and tears of others. That is what I love about artists and writers, most of them are so breathtakingly human that I am drawn into greater honesty through their work, I have felt that too. I stare at Van Gogh’s starry night or the scream.

–
Life is a baton, spinning and twisting like gold in the sky. At times I wish I could keep the sharp edge spinning by the clouds, but to twirl the baton and to find healing and strength, I must allow the entire baton to fall near my body as my hand spins it – simultaneously wounding and healing me – I keep spinning it with the strength of my wrist, trying to stay in the knowledge that there is a greater wrist wrapped inside and around mine. That wrist is firm and broad, it envelops and molds gently into mine, I love you.

9 am — Awake and the house Rachael and I are housesitting is empty except for the dog and two cats. I putter around and eat some breakfast and realize while talking to my parents and beautiful sister Lyn, who are far away in South Carolina, that

unconditional love = my family

I wish everyone had a family like mine; my view of love and affection will never be the same. My Grandma, the family’s prayer warrior, has been praying for me again. If I could feel her prayers on my skin, they would feel like my favorite grey sweater that keeps away the cold.

10 am — Still waking up, hair matted, and sitting in a towel with a black and white cat pressed against my chest. It is purring and I think it is either the sound of life or the sound of affection, maybe both.

11 am — Lying back in bed with my hair wet against the pillow from my shower and dreaming about the future and smiling at the grandness of my dreams, not because they are too great, but because I know I am a dreamer and I am thankful that God has all the greater dreams and discipline and passion to give my life the purpose I lack.
The day was spent with two wonderful friends, Eric and Rachael, kind spirits, who kept me entertained and smiling.

9:30 pm — Driving home I was proud of myself as I danced to loud mexican music, a mixture of salsa and techno, simply because I could and because the night was dark and because I did not want a picture of sadness in my heart as I drove home; I wanted a picture I could smile at:

me – dancing – the car lights glowing – blowing a kiss at Rachael as I passed her on the freewaay – waving at Eric as he passed me – dancing – rythm – the picture of Jesus holding a little dirty lamb in my mind from when I was lying on the couch earlier – more dancing – and finally – a small smile playing across my lips – i knew it was there – hello

Charlie and I are no longer dating. I broke up with him this evening.

life continues in an ever-quickening dance to which there is no music and i just try to listen to the silence God seems to hide in and give all i have to so much of what i do although i am sometimes told i give too much

i have to trust that god will create something beautiful out of all the paint i am splattering on this already colorful life of mine…i just want to be art in his eyes, and i want his fingerprints to be visible in my clay being and his light to be reflected from my inner soul that lies within my chest like a silver plate of glass alternating its swaying on waves of pain and then of joy, as long as his light shines forth regardless…

i just want to know the way to go and how to walk in it,

i want to hear that voice whispering in my ear,

“this is the way, walk in it”.

i am confused by silence… all i want to know… all i want to pray

what do I say to you God?

i don’t even have words to offer to you… please hold me and tell me that’s okay; i long for you and even in that longing i realize that i do not realize the depth of my need and aching for you

heal me, again and again, in ever deeping circles, bring me through each layer of pain until i am refined like gold, and show me when to let go and when to hold tight… there is a time to rebuild and a time to tear down, teach me to rest… to trust and to enjoy the ripples that circulate away from the stones that are thrown into the calmness of my heart

there is so much i do not know; so much i am afraid to know; and so much i long to know… i see strong people as those who have all the answers… my hands are crawling with questions

which question is the one i should ask you first?

God?