Brave, Anyway

Tag: healing

  • Freedom

    Freedom

    One of the unexpected interesting things about WordPress is the analytics. The countries site visitors are from, and then being able to find and communicate with other people with similar writing styles and interests. These pages are part of my journal and I never thought analytics would be of any importance to me. And yet it’s curious how many times a day the same couple of people hit this site.

    A couple hundred times over the weekend, and more than 60 times since about 9 last night.

    Seriously, move on. Live your life. Actually enjoy it. Two little girls have cried countless tears and been to countless doctor appointments as a result of actions you took to presumably find happiness. So find it, and spend your time and energy on that. Live lives that add something positive to the universe, not lives where you have to constantly worry about what other people think. That’s when you’ll find true happiness.

    My daughters deserve nothing less than your total commitment to living lives that make you worthy of them. And you know what I deserve? I deserve to turn on my computer or open up my app to write, and not be greeted by analytics that connect me to you. I deserve freedom. I don’t care if you read what I write, and you can sign up to get the posts via email if you want. But, I deserve freedom from you.

    I deserve freedom, and frankly so do you. We’ve all been through a lot of pain to get it.

  • Closet Space

    Closet Space

    One of the best experiences in the days when your house becomes just yours is that moment when you realize that the closet belongs wholly to you. No sharing. No things hanging haphazardly and with no real organization. Tie racks become scarf organizers. Purses and shoes reside just above their corresponding clothes.

    The closet is all yours.

    All. Yours.

    You hear a little hallelujah chorus, and that chorus grows into full-on thank you, Jesus, worship.

    There’s been only one thing hanging in my closet that doesn’t belong there: my old wedding dress. Almost two years ago now, I pulled it out to throw it away only to discover that others were not quite ready for that step. Since then it’s just been hanging way in the back, taking up space.

    Over time we’ve talked more about the dress, and my firm belief that the girls should never wear it or even use the fabric. I’m a faith person, but I’m also a bit of a superstitious person – and if they ever decide to get married I want everything associated with their day and their union to have positive energy.

    Over time we’ve all become more comfortable with the idea of that dress not hanging in my closet for all of eternity. Over that same time I’ve become significantly more light-hearted, and laughed about the variety of things people do with their old dresses – everything from playing paintball in them to having a bonfire with them to mailing them to an ex’s office (now how funny would that be?).

    Until recently, I had every intention of simply throwing it in a dumpster. But I happened to catch a bit of a news story last week about brides who can’t afford gowns, and I was struck by their faces when they encountered dresses they never would have been able to get otherwise.

    And that made me think again about my dress, purchased from Karen Eagle on Laskin Road more than 20 years ago. A dress stored following exact instructions, and likely a dress in perfect condition.

    It seemed wrong to donate a dress that was worn on the first day of a marriage that was filled with lies and ended in complete disaster. It seemed like some poor girl would start off her marriage by wearing a dress that had really bad juju, and her marriage would subsequently be destined for disaster.

    And yet, what if a dress is just a dress? What if it’s just fabric, and the energy associated with it has nothing to do with its history? What if something good came from it? What if God could make something beautiful from ashes?

    My late night musings became a prayer over the dress. A prayer for the next girl who will wear it. A prayer specifically for her marriage.

    • May you decide each day to choose happy.
    • May your partner actually be your partner, with the same values and focus on family.
    • May you both keep and honor your vows, to God and one another.
    • May every I love you that you speak and hear be heartfelt and full of truth.
    • May you know deep in your heart that you are not a person in relation to someone else – you are whole and beloved and perfect all on your own, and in marriage you’re a whole person alongside another whole person.
    • May all the dreams that are good for you come true.
    • May God save you from dreams and hopes that you don’t know aren’t right for you. And then may you have the wisdom and courage to not chase that which God has saved you from.
    • When dark days come, and they inevitably will, may you and your partner always look to the Light together.
    • May your marriage last until death do you part.

    This morning on the way to work, I stopped at Goodwill and I laughed with the young man at the center about whether or not I should take the tax deduction receipt. It felt really, really good to make that donation, to get rid of that baggage, and to free up that space in my closet and in my spirit. And yet just a few minutes up the road I started to have second thoughts about whether or not a prayer for some unknown girl unknowingly wearing my cursed dress will really make everything work out okay for her.

    I know God has to be so tired of me asking for signs. I am the worst kid, always demanding: show me a sign, I just need a sign. How do I know this was the right thing?! Was this the wrong thing?

    And then I looked up as the traffic light turned green and noticed the car in front of me. It’s license tag, my sign: G Is Good.

    God is good.

    God is good, so I can trust that the girl who ends up with that dress will be just fine.

    She might be a young bride; she might be an old bride. She might be a formal wedding bride; she might be a JOP bride. She might be a first-time bride; she might be a second-time bride. Or she might just be a girl who needs a Halloween costume – and that’s a pretty fitting ending in this case, too.

    To whoever ends up with the dress, may blessings chase you down.

  • One Corner Piece

     

    Regret and Accountable.

    These two words have been running around in my head for months. Some days they are louder than others, but their noise is an almost constant hum in the background of my life.

    I didn’t behave inappropriately with someone else, I didn’t and don’t hide from all the people who might judge me or hold me accountable, and I didn’t and I won’t ever make excuses for behavior that is inexcusable.

    But you know what I did do? I ignored all the signs that something was very, very wrong in my marriage. I dismissed my ex and attempts to discuss issues because I just didn’t have any more effort to give to anything. I chose to focus on other people and things as the top priorities and that, in part, resulted in my divorce.

    When you have to suffer the consequences of your choices, it sucks – but as adults we do that and then pick ourselves up and move on. When you have children, and those children suffer the consequences of your actions and inactions, it’s the absolute worst feeling of failure and regret and accountability, and you just can’t shake it.

    Good parents can’t prevent chaos of all kinds and protect their children from everything, but they can stop themselves from creating chaos in the lives of their children.

    Regardless of how angry I have been and can still sometimes get at other people, the truth is that two people are responsible for the challenges my children have faced. Me and their Dad. Because as their parents, we are fully accountable for everything. Until they’re adults, we are the CEOs in their life. It was our job to provide for them and to protect them and to do our best in all things and to give 110% to family each day. It was our job to carefully control the influences in our lives. It was our job, and our job only, to set the example for them.

    I suppose all Moms and Dads have regrets. And secrets. One of my secrets is that I don’t regret getting divorced. Is it wrong to be happy about something that caused pain for your children? Is it wrong to feel free?

    I have known for a very long time, since the beginning really, that if I had to go back I wouldn’t make different choices. I would prioritize the people I prioritized. But I realized something new today. Something important. Something life-changing, really. A corner piece in this giant puzzle. One of the people I really need to forgive in this whole mess is me.

  • Lessons While We Wait

     

    I witnessed a hit and run last week.

    In a span of about 40 minutes, I saw slices of the worst of humanity and the best of humanity. The worst was an angry young man, screaming and cursing at the man whose car he hit. The best was a soft spoken older man, determined to put peace out into the world instead of more anger.

    After realizing he was physically OK and calling the police to come, we stood under a large shade tree and talked about humanity and peace and water and reciprocity.

    If we do not focus on our peace and put peace out into the world, we cannot ever expect to be filled with peace.

    Water purifies and it baptizes and it cleanses and it is a blessing.

    We get back what we put into things, and our investment of time or money or peace yields greater time or money or peace in our lives.

    It’s amazing how many core beliefs a Muslim man and a Christian woman have in common.

    Since that encounter, I’ve been thinking about reciprocity and how what we invest is what we can expect to manifest. At times in my life I have given with the right intentions and a pure heart, and at other times I have given with the secret expectation or hope of getting something specific in return. Perhaps that’s human nature or perhaps I am selfish and superstitious. Or perhaps all of it.

    When Audrey was just a few weeks old, I saw a commercial for St. Jude. I don’t remember the content exactly, but it had beautiful little faces and parents with expressions of both hope and worry. What I do remember vividly is exactly where I was standing in my bedroom when I saw that commercial, then sitting down on my bed filled with a feeling of absolute certainty that I saw it at just that moment for a specific reason. And I had a very strong desire to invest in something that helped others, specifically in an area where my child needed help.

    I have no idea if that commitment had anything to do with Audrey’s outcome. Logical Beth who consumes data thinks that her doctors knew what they were doing, and giving is not related to healing. Superstitious Beth will not ever stop supporting St. Jude becomes it seems like bad juju/karma/luck. And Christian Beth really wonders sometimes if that decision was a game-changer in the spiritual realm.

    I’ve thought about it over and over and over again in the last 8 years – every time I am at CHKD, every time I see a commercial for St. Jude, every time I sow a seed of any kind. Are the things we invest in little seeds we’ve planted for a big harvest later? Is it really that simple? And if it’s that simple, why doesn’t that principle override all others? Is there a seed some folks have sown or not sown that results in sickness within themselves or their families? Why are some people healed while others are not, seemingly regardless of their seeds?

    I don’t have any answers. I have only questions that lead to more questions, I have a gut feeling that the seed I sowed that day made a difference somehow in the lives of others and in Audrey’s life, and I have a lingering sense of disappointment in myself for the superstitious parts of me.

    Audrey’s annual oncology checkup has a number of traditions. She plays at the big wave on the second floor. She finds her favorite tile – the art project of a bravo kiddo from long ago – and she runs her fingers over the words Hope, Faith and Courage. We walk through the butterfly garden and have some quiet time. We get Starbucks when all of our checks and talks and papers are done.

    Loading the pictures to complete the order for my photo album, I really noticed the other tiles in the art display. There’s A Giving Tree and there are flowers. There’s one that says God will make a way where there seems to be no way. There’s another that says Bring People Together. And those brought my mind back to my friend from the hit and run. We parted with smiles and thankfulness, grasping hands and offering blessings.

    If we’re open to it, I believe we can find goodness everywhere. If we’re open to it, I believe some of life’s most important lessons come in the time of waiting. Waiting for the police to arrive. Waiting for help. Waiting for a therapy to work. Waiting for healing. Waiting for good news. Waiting for the answers to our prayers.

    Or perhaps simply waiting for the seeds we’ve planted to break through the earth.

  • Thoughts Throughout a Day

    …in no particular order, all over the place just like my brain this week.

    An apology without change is just manipulation. (credit: unknown Pinterest person)

    Some people are more worried about what others think of them, how they are perceived by others, than they are about what kind of people they actually are. These people will never be committed to anything or anyone more than they are committed to self and their narrative.

    If you’ve built a narrative for a situation, you are the villain and not the victim.

    Intimacy requires spiritual unity. I had forgotten this.

    Politics and policies are argued by the privileged, who, because of their resources, largely don’t have to live with any of the consequences of their stance. They don’t worry about not having health care or what they’ll do if their daughter becomes pregnant because of a rapist – they have the ability and access to “fix” those things. The masses, who have limited or no resources, are left to live with the results of the discussions of the privileged.

    The Redemption Project with Van Jones really moves me.

    Click Here for a Redemption Project promo.

    Some people deserve the death penalty. It is unfairly meted out in our society, and until or unless we can fix that it shouldn’t be imposed. There are more people living in suburbia who deserve the death penalty than there are sitting on death rows who will be impacted by it.

    Collateral damage is the “unexpected, unintentional, and/or unavoidable losses accompanying or following an accident or failure.” In real life it is a nurse at urgent care, seemingly tending her own old wound that still needs healing, who grabs your hand and says, “People just don’t think.” In real life it is a child’s friend who is now afraid when her parents argue, and it’s also the parents of that child.

    Still thinking about the validity of this thought: People who can’t really look at themselves in a mirror are the ones who most often post selfies.

    Why are SO many people running for President?

    Hospitals see humans at their absolute best and their absolute worst. At birth and at death, and in all the messiness in between.

    There are really good people filling hospitals all around the world. People struggling for breath even though they’ve positively impacted the lives of thousands of people. At the same time, there are people who’ve hurt others that are making plans for the weekend. This life is sometimes seemingly unfair – “seemingly” because people who’ve hurt others and whose lives are filled with narratives can never really rest in security. Not in this life or the next.

    Healing happens in hospitals, but it also happens on country roads, when your windows are rolled down and your music is loud.

    Freedom…Freedom…You got to give what you take…Freedom. Hold on to my freedom…

    Writing in a gratitude journal is an important exercise because it keeps me focused on the most important things. Going back to read old entries in my gratitude journal is even more important because it brings equanimity to my thoughts in a matter of moments.

    I recently found the Bible I used during my teens and twenties. It’s filled with highlighted lines and earmarked pages. The forty-five year old me scanning what’s underlined easily sees this was the resource of an anxious young woman who made many, many mistakes. I am so thankful to find a book with pieces of my story – pieces of me – that I’d forgotten. It’s documentation of my progress in some areas and my lack of progress in others.

    When I’m a big girl, a real adult, I want to publish a book. I’m writing pieces now, but they need to get much, much better. The pieces are like the daily training runs in preparation for a marathon.

    Should I change my kitchen cabinets from white to blue?

    Fatigue caught up with me today. That always happens when danger passes.

    I’m going to keep being me. She’s not perfect, but I like her.