I've been sitting by the fireplace knitting while my new CD of piano Christmas music music plays in the background. As the dusk began to settle around the day, I stepped onto the porch and clicked on the Christmas lights for the first time this year. Thanksgiving gives way to a magical season, a season filled with nostalgia, of warm Christmas' past, of hope for a fulfilling future and just a sense of peace. This is my third Christmas alone. I've toned down the decorating inside and out and have begun my own style of being. It feels good, but also I feel a quiet stirring deep down, that doesn't want to let go of everything that we previously shared. That's ok, for I know I can move on yet hold dear to the sharing, warmth, laughter and love of all those years. Life is like that...it gives us blessed memories that we can tuck away in our heart, yet life also encourages us to go forward and seek fulfillment and an abundant life that our Lord so wants for us.
I settle back down into my chair, purposely leaving the lamp unlit, feeling the warmth and coziness of the fire and the soft beautiful music playing. I can see the reflection of the twinkling lights up front...ah yes, the Christmas season is upon us. Savoring the moment, I sigh, and whisper a prayer of praise to the One whose name we celebrate,..Jesus, Jesus, precious Jesus.
Friday, November 27, 2009
Saturday, November 21, 2009
And Then it's Over..
This time I believed we could be. In retrospect I should have known it wasn't too be.
Too many ups and downs, to one-sided, to much distance, and one who did not have the ability to move on to a new life following his wife's death. Holding on to guilt, supposed shame and memories as if they were actually part of life today, equals the inability to go forward.
But I need to claim fault for this parting, at least for the most part. I pushed and pushed and even tried to disentangle myself from him after it was evident that he had no real feelings for me. He just wasn't ready...and even when he did profess love for me, I should have listened to my inner feelings and just let it be. But I didn't. My heart wanted to believe we could make a life together....I, however, was wrong and I forced myself on someone who was not emotionally able to reciprocate.
That leaves me with a desire to search for why he is stuck with his demons and could not lay the past aside and move into a promising future. Bear with me as I share my thoughts.
I learned early in my grief process, that at some point I would need to say good-bye...I mean really say good-bye. That came approximately a year and a half after Dennis died. I wrote a letter to him and really, really hated reading what was written, but it had to be done. In essence it said that I could no longer involve him in my life, I could no longer solicit his input or wonder what he would think of this or that, but I needed to let go of the relationship.....good-bye needed to be good-bye, or I would be stuck in a grief cycle that would never end. There were many feelings of past guilt, of things left unsaid or done, but they had to be left behind.
I'm assuming he hadn't done this, that he hadn't dealt with his perceived guilt and things left undone...that he just couldn't move on due to that. My question is...if he is clinging to a perception of guilt, is it just clinging to a memory? As if it were right now, instead of in the past? Yes, I believe I have read somewhere that all our problems in life come from our memories. That we carry with us accumulated burdens, disappointments, fears and falsehoods...in other words memories. Shouldn't we be much more than our memories? Shouldn't we let go of memories and grieve those memories that trouble us so very much, but then move on. Shouldn't we appreciate life as it is and not as we wish it were? I believe that then we can find the peace we seek. I believe that the moment I let go of wanting to continue my old life when I knew it was impossible to dwell there, I found my peace.
Therefore, perhaps I had journeyed farther and faster than he. I rushed him....his steps were small, I outran his expectations and closed the door to what could have been. So, being true to my reality, I won't let my life be my memories...I will move on and perhaps at this time, being completely drained, I will finally have ears for what God wants to say to me...that I can finally realize that I am loved by Him, and that "I" can be enough.
Too many ups and downs, to one-sided, to much distance, and one who did not have the ability to move on to a new life following his wife's death. Holding on to guilt, supposed shame and memories as if they were actually part of life today, equals the inability to go forward.
But I need to claim fault for this parting, at least for the most part. I pushed and pushed and even tried to disentangle myself from him after it was evident that he had no real feelings for me. He just wasn't ready...and even when he did profess love for me, I should have listened to my inner feelings and just let it be. But I didn't. My heart wanted to believe we could make a life together....I, however, was wrong and I forced myself on someone who was not emotionally able to reciprocate.
That leaves me with a desire to search for why he is stuck with his demons and could not lay the past aside and move into a promising future. Bear with me as I share my thoughts.
I learned early in my grief process, that at some point I would need to say good-bye...I mean really say good-bye. That came approximately a year and a half after Dennis died. I wrote a letter to him and really, really hated reading what was written, but it had to be done. In essence it said that I could no longer involve him in my life, I could no longer solicit his input or wonder what he would think of this or that, but I needed to let go of the relationship.....good-bye needed to be good-bye, or I would be stuck in a grief cycle that would never end. There were many feelings of past guilt, of things left unsaid or done, but they had to be left behind.
I'm assuming he hadn't done this, that he hadn't dealt with his perceived guilt and things left undone...that he just couldn't move on due to that. My question is...if he is clinging to a perception of guilt, is it just clinging to a memory? As if it were right now, instead of in the past? Yes, I believe I have read somewhere that all our problems in life come from our memories. That we carry with us accumulated burdens, disappointments, fears and falsehoods...in other words memories. Shouldn't we be much more than our memories? Shouldn't we let go of memories and grieve those memories that trouble us so very much, but then move on. Shouldn't we appreciate life as it is and not as we wish it were? I believe that then we can find the peace we seek. I believe that the moment I let go of wanting to continue my old life when I knew it was impossible to dwell there, I found my peace.
Therefore, perhaps I had journeyed farther and faster than he. I rushed him....his steps were small, I outran his expectations and closed the door to what could have been. So, being true to my reality, I won't let my life be my memories...I will move on and perhaps at this time, being completely drained, I will finally have ears for what God wants to say to me...that I can finally realize that I am loved by Him, and that "I" can be enough.
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
Another Memory
When the night seems to stretch out forever, the mind tends to play reruns in your head. Last night was one of those. It was a strange memory, pulled from a time that by all means and purposes should be suppressed and not remembered. It goes like this:
The house my family made home, is now used as a storage shed behind someones lovely residence. My young mind never thought of it as small, nor did I mind that it was basically a shack. It housed all that I knew in life, my parents, my brother and sister and my best friend Toby, the mongrul dog. Basically it was mostly a big kitchen, containing a black cast iron wood stove where my mother cooked, baked, heated water for our weekly baths in a big galvanized tub, .... heaven help the last one to be bathed! The kitchen sink had a pump handle to dispense our water, the single bulb light fixture hung forlornly from the ceiling in the middle of the room. The 'living room' was a long narrow room with sparse furnishings. A beatup couch with an equally beatup matching chair at one end, decorated with grandmothers crocheted doilies. A single picture graced the wall, shear curtains covered the only window in the room giving an attempt at prettiness. The elephant in the room, so to speak, was an old, old pump organ that had long ago ceased to play beautiful music. It sat huddled in shame, with large scratches, broken pull tabs and foot pedals that hung uselessly with only a vague memory of a former musicians touch. My mother had dreamed that one day it would be restored to it's original beauty and that she could bring it back to life once again. That dream was not to be.
As my mind wandered over the old memory, it took me to the only small bedroom in the home, which was for my parents. My dad had created a makeshift stairway at one end, for us kids to climb into the attic, to a room which housed two beds, or if you will, our bedroom. The ceiling was rafters, often covered with frost in the winters, and the floor was made up of plywood sheets which placed many a sliver in our bare feet! My memories of this room are vivid. There was a hinged wooden 'window' on one end which was propped open in the summer for coolness, but produced very little of that, only an abundance of mosquitoes! Cold wind blew through the pourly insulated walls and around that window during frigid winter months. The bright spot in all this were mother's quilts, which she had sewn out of old wool pieces and lined with ragged old blankets. They would be piled up on us during those long winter nights, so heavy we could barely breath! Mother would make the trek up the stairs each night before we'd retire and place hot water bottles in our beds so we could climb into some semblence of warmth. More often than not our breathe could be seen in the air. Laying still each night, we could hear the skittering of critter feet. My dad would put well placed rat traps along the wall to discourage those nasty things from entering our beds. Generally those traps would produce a nice end result!
Are these bad memories? Never! I did not realize until many years later that we were poor, you might even say living in poverty. After all, we had each other, clothes on our backs, new shoes to begin school with, a place to call home and amazing memories....even trekking to the outhouse during a midnight 'necessity' visit! Who could ask for more!!
The house my family made home, is now used as a storage shed behind someones lovely residence. My young mind never thought of it as small, nor did I mind that it was basically a shack. It housed all that I knew in life, my parents, my brother and sister and my best friend Toby, the mongrul dog. Basically it was mostly a big kitchen, containing a black cast iron wood stove where my mother cooked, baked, heated water for our weekly baths in a big galvanized tub, .... heaven help the last one to be bathed! The kitchen sink had a pump handle to dispense our water, the single bulb light fixture hung forlornly from the ceiling in the middle of the room. The 'living room' was a long narrow room with sparse furnishings. A beatup couch with an equally beatup matching chair at one end, decorated with grandmothers crocheted doilies. A single picture graced the wall, shear curtains covered the only window in the room giving an attempt at prettiness. The elephant in the room, so to speak, was an old, old pump organ that had long ago ceased to play beautiful music. It sat huddled in shame, with large scratches, broken pull tabs and foot pedals that hung uselessly with only a vague memory of a former musicians touch. My mother had dreamed that one day it would be restored to it's original beauty and that she could bring it back to life once again. That dream was not to be.
As my mind wandered over the old memory, it took me to the only small bedroom in the home, which was for my parents. My dad had created a makeshift stairway at one end, for us kids to climb into the attic, to a room which housed two beds, or if you will, our bedroom. The ceiling was rafters, often covered with frost in the winters, and the floor was made up of plywood sheets which placed many a sliver in our bare feet! My memories of this room are vivid. There was a hinged wooden 'window' on one end which was propped open in the summer for coolness, but produced very little of that, only an abundance of mosquitoes! Cold wind blew through the pourly insulated walls and around that window during frigid winter months. The bright spot in all this were mother's quilts, which she had sewn out of old wool pieces and lined with ragged old blankets. They would be piled up on us during those long winter nights, so heavy we could barely breath! Mother would make the trek up the stairs each night before we'd retire and place hot water bottles in our beds so we could climb into some semblence of warmth. More often than not our breathe could be seen in the air. Laying still each night, we could hear the skittering of critter feet. My dad would put well placed rat traps along the wall to discourage those nasty things from entering our beds. Generally those traps would produce a nice end result!
Are these bad memories? Never! I did not realize until many years later that we were poor, you might even say living in poverty. After all, we had each other, clothes on our backs, new shoes to begin school with, a place to call home and amazing memories....even trekking to the outhouse during a midnight 'necessity' visit! Who could ask for more!!
Saturday, November 14, 2009
Can it Be? Will it Ever Be?
Life does not always give us what we want...or what we were sure it would. It just doesn't happen. Perhaps we're given a second chance....perhaps not. My heart can still dream. It can visualize a fulfilling future, a path leading into a new love, a fearless walk into that enigma called old age, holding hands with the one who has promised to be there, to share my soul, to laugh and cry with, to face uncertain times....just being with me..drowning that fear of dying alone.
My mind can make plans, my heart can imagine taking a leap of faith into the unknown but my soul must be open to the will of God and His plan for my life.
Do I dare say the word 'trust?' Trusting in God's plan..not mine? Somehow that word ignites a feeling of hope...hope in the future,.. faith that even if He chooses to be the only One walking beside me, that I can fully lean on Him and dissolve any fear of journeying alone.
Life can be a disappointment at times on so many levels. Expectations can be smashed down, love can go away, friends can desert, children can disappoint,...but I need to ask myself..'how much effort did I put into these things? Was it life that disppointed me or was it me that caused the disppointment?' There is no time to park in the past, there is just the future to look toward,..He has our days numbered and safely tucked in His bosom, but until the day He calls me home, I want to forget disappointments, forgive where forgiveness is needed, and love where it is needed.
The Psalms declare my plea to my Lord and Savior: Teach me to number my days and recognize how few they are; help me to spend them as I should.
I do not want to live a life of regret, but of hope, trust and faith.
My mind can make plans, my heart can imagine taking a leap of faith into the unknown but my soul must be open to the will of God and His plan for my life.
Do I dare say the word 'trust?' Trusting in God's plan..not mine? Somehow that word ignites a feeling of hope...hope in the future,.. faith that even if He chooses to be the only One walking beside me, that I can fully lean on Him and dissolve any fear of journeying alone.
Life can be a disappointment at times on so many levels. Expectations can be smashed down, love can go away, friends can desert, children can disappoint,...but I need to ask myself..'how much effort did I put into these things? Was it life that disppointed me or was it me that caused the disppointment?' There is no time to park in the past, there is just the future to look toward,..He has our days numbered and safely tucked in His bosom, but until the day He calls me home, I want to forget disappointments, forgive where forgiveness is needed, and love where it is needed.
The Psalms declare my plea to my Lord and Savior: Teach me to number my days and recognize how few they are; help me to spend them as I should.
I do not want to live a life of regret, but of hope, trust and faith.
Thursday, November 12, 2009
What??
Why can't things just be simple...I MEAN REEEEEEEEELY SIMPLE! Come on..things can't be that difficult can they? Life decisions are tough, but they shouldn't be that tough. If something is to be, shouldn't it just happen? Why is there second guessing? Why do we suddenly discover a multitude of reasons not to do something, when deep down we know it will be ok. Age? Fear? Anxiety? Change? Self confidence?
Come on...take a chance, step out there! Make a decision! Make a plan! Do something! Really...why can't life be simple!
Come on...take a chance, step out there! Make a decision! Make a plan! Do something! Really...why can't life be simple!
Sunday, November 8, 2009
Grief to Sorrow to Joy
Tomorrow a friend will be going through the third anniversary of her husbands death. Her journal indicates that she has journeyed from the bitterness of grief to the realization that sorrow will no doubt remain forever, but the hope of future joy is a possibility. For those of us who have lost a spouse, those steps come in very individual paces,..some faster than others, and some who seem to hold on to their grief because they feel it's all they have left. We can never compare our grief with another's. I, like her, feel so much gratitude toward my friends who joined me on Daily Strength as we shared our tears, our victories, our dips into depression, our triumphs, but most of all the deep friendships that were formed through the most difficult time a person must endure. Although I've moved on from the DS site, I will forever cherish the love that was shown, the compassion we shared and the friendships formed. I will gently tuck them away in a special place in my heart and perhaps pull them out once in awhile to remember that God truly provided a way through each one of them. We needed one another, we loved one another we helped one another.
My personal journey is leading me to the path of joy. I don't know what lies ahead, there are so many questions, so many hurdles, but God in His grace and mercy will clear that path for me , therefore I will simply follow.
My personal journey is leading me to the path of joy. I don't know what lies ahead, there are so many questions, so many hurdles, but God in His grace and mercy will clear that path for me , therefore I will simply follow.
Thursday, November 5, 2009
The Last Cleanup
There's a ladybug crawling up a forlorn looking hosta stalk just outside my window. Probably wondering where the heck all the leaves went so it could at least hide someplace instead of it's brilliant orange and black colors shouting for a wayward bird to snatch it up! Just a few short weeks ago the tree's were bathed in awesome reds, golds, and maroons, boasting of their beauty. Today they stand naked, exposed to the world with branches like bony fingers reaching to the sky. The carpet of dried up leaves seems to be their message of revenge for the embarassing position they are in.
Isn't this an example of how our lives tend to unfold? We bud out in the spring of life, then in our summer explode into fullblown leaves, not only showing our strength but having a meaningful purpose, and then comes the fall. We strive for that last big hurrah, our fullblown beauty is exhibited, all our hard work is screaming to be noticed before the winter sets in. Nothing more to prove...we're proud of where we are now and our colors show it. Then comes the winter.
How stately and proud we stand, even though our outward appearance is diminished, our roots go deep within. We spread our gnarled fingers outward and upward as if in prayer, hoping our influence and legacy for our children and grandchildren will be remembered apart from what is displayed in this old body. Yes, we still have a purpose...and regeneration will take place.
Isn't this an example of how our lives tend to unfold? We bud out in the spring of life, then in our summer explode into fullblown leaves, not only showing our strength but having a meaningful purpose, and then comes the fall. We strive for that last big hurrah, our fullblown beauty is exhibited, all our hard work is screaming to be noticed before the winter sets in. Nothing more to prove...we're proud of where we are now and our colors show it. Then comes the winter.
How stately and proud we stand, even though our outward appearance is diminished, our roots go deep within. We spread our gnarled fingers outward and upward as if in prayer, hoping our influence and legacy for our children and grandchildren will be remembered apart from what is displayed in this old body. Yes, we still have a purpose...and regeneration will take place.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
