I've been thinking. Well, thinking and discussing stuff, with a plethora of people. The best thing about my job is that I get to meet an endless array of personality types. People that come from a broad spectrum of childhood experiences, religious perspectives (or lack of), senses of humor (or lack of), and relational awareness. People fascinate me.
The theme of most of my conversations today centered around "people pleasing". It's interesting how themes emerge some days. My last client today is one that has taken almost two years to get to know with any depth. She's super polite, intelligent, well put together, gorgeous. I am her polar opposite as it pertains to initial presentation, but her perfect match as it pertains to the gears and guts of how we think and what makes us "tick". Both of us have a "people pleasing" bent to us, which greatly interferes, at times, with the "God-pleasing" directive we both desire to fulfill...
Anywho, she and I have had similar experiences pertaining to parents, in-laws, mothering and relating to "church people". As a side note, if you consider yourself a "church person", it's entirely possible I will offend you in this blog from time to time. I'm almost sorry, except not really. I've been one too, I'm afraid, so I feel pretty good about calling you out on certain stuff.
As my client and I talked tonight, I found myself once again feeling the familiar blood-pressure-raising, sick-to-my-stomach-knot, frustration-turned-pain, I ALWAYS feel when I hear, yet another, example of "church people" slaughtering their own while maintaining an air of piety and judgement.
Aren't we so glad God had mercy and grace and died for Ms. So-n-so so that she could then turn and point her fat finger in some wretched sinner's face and demand perfection? Oh, but don't forget Mrs. Sunshine-n-roses! You know her, she's full of bubbles and fairies. Isn't it suuuuuuuuuuch a blessing to be near her? "Oh, your daddy has cancer? Oooooooh, honey, God knows best! He'll be better off with Jesus anyway, let's thank Him for the fact that you HAVE a daddy in the first place, it could be so much worse." Or, "that sixth miscarriage just means the timing for a family isn't right yet, remember, God's timing is always perfect." Mrs. Sunshine-n-roses always has the ready-made bow to package up your "ugly" with her "pretty" to make it more palatable. God fits neatly in both Ms So-n-so and Mrs. Sunshine-n-roses box. Seriously, I have words- strong, vulgar words, that express more concisely how I feel, but you get my drift and I'm trying to be classier in 2013.
Oh, while we're on the subject, "religion" is a four letter word. I don't care what branch you're sitting on, religion seems to be merely man's way of controlling other men. (Not to leave you ladies out of it, women trying to control other women is the subtitle.) Okay, now that I've established how I feel about all that, I'll catch you up to speed. Twice last week, once yesterday and three times today, this very topic came up. It's safe to say I've got a little work to do in the area of forgiveness as it pertains to some specific "church people", but the ultimate frustration for me is this:
I want a BIG God. I have come to despise the god that so many of "His" people present and claim to represent.
I want the Guy that parted the sea to bring His people out of slavery. I want the God who fed thousands of people with a couple of fish and a little bread. You know, the one who put a little spit in the blind guy's eyes and gave him sight. I want the One who made the walls of Jericho fall at the sound of a trumpet, the One who delivered victory, over the giant Goliath, to a kid with a stick and a rock. I want the guy who called a decaying Lazarus out of his grave...
I am a slave to what I know, I am starving and needy and blind. I have thick walls of insecurity and pain. I'm small and insufficient but have giant battles that need a victory. I am in need of life. If God is not still that guy, what's the point? If He fits in a definable, palatable box that some pious, hoity-toity, perfect church person is comfortable with, I don't have time to waste on this.
I'm guessing a BIG God like that can handle my four-letter words, my doubting, my anger, my fear...
So, the incessant self-analyst in my brain has finally come to terms with the fact that I am the one I should be most frustrated at. I spent somewhere just over 30 years looking to these "church people", in varying degrees, to define for me who God is, accepting their definitions and understandings while never looking any further. Technically, I've only known God vicariously, not personally, for the vast majority of my spiritual journey. I've gotten angry and frustrated and disillusioned when leaders, teachers, parents, and friends contradicted each other or failed in their assessments or unfairly judged me. Maybe it's because of laziness or the "people pleaser" in me, but I finally see: I am the one who gave them the ring of keys to look for a way to unlock all that is such a mystery for me...
Good gravy, I hope no one is currently looking to me to unlock those doors. Please do yourself a favor and by-pass this hot mess of a blogger/friend for perspective or guidance. Let's both go straight to the Almighty Himself, shall we?
Oh and by-the-way, it's also only fair to give you a heads up... I've got more on my mind "as we speak":
Tonight, with all that in mind, along with a few wrestling thoughts pertaining to the "business" and "programs" and pressured "requests" for everyone to take-a-turn-in-ministry (as defined by the committee) mentality that has become church in America, I brought my swirling thoughts and the day's conversation remnants to bed with me tonight. The lights went out and, predictably, the whir of my mind's processor hummed louder...
Oh good, the topic shifts back to "Randy". I've told you about him already on here, research it if you care and haven't read it yet, but don't get too caught up in that, I have a whole different angle tonight anyway. This time, my mind has jumped out of the deep ruts it's worn in the muddy topic. Interesting, could I be finally gaining ground? I can't wait to see...
Last night I couldn't find a natural segue. If you missed the train of thought, you can catch up here.
The
idea of sacrificing my "Isaac" isn't new (yeah, it's a little awkward,
since I literally HAVE an Isaac, but he's cool... I think he'd even find
humor in the idea. His name means "laughter" after all). The
whispering urges to "let go" and "empty my hands" and to "wait with
arms high and heart abandoned" trace clear back, on this blog, to May for sure and possibly earlier in 2012.
Like Peter at the Last Supper, (If you missed it last night, see the January 4th
entry for My Utmost For His Highest), I have honestly felt like I
was/am wholeheartedly abandoning myself to God's plan for me. Just like Peter, I
feeeeeeeel myself reaching, searching, hoping, trusting, and losing sight of
my own agenda. I also find myself feeling love, gratitude, and, more than ever before, a deep desire to "lay down my life" for this Jesus I see... I've spent this past year with a bit of a strangle hold on certain characteristics
about God that I desperately want to be true. Loving, Faithful,
Pursuant, and Trustworthy are all concepts I am clinging to for dear life. But, like Peter, it seems I don't know myself as well as Jesus does...
Because
the "Let Go" theme keeps playing through my mind, I am aware that there
has to be something I'm supposed to release, but I have been unable to
figure out what, exactly. I sorta know "what", I just don't know what
parts of "what". The concepts of presenting my requests to God, praying
without ceasing, faith being the assurance of things hoped for but
unseen, and that he who asks, but doubts is double-minded and unstable
in all his ways... all have had me tripped up as they pertain to my "what". (See Philippians 4:6, 1
Thessalonians 5:17, Hebrews 11, Luke 11:11, Matthew 7:10-11, James 1:2-8
for starters...)
How does a girl pray boldly and without ceasing all the while "letting go" and sacrificing the dream called "Isaac" without it falling under the category of "doubt".
Incidentally, have I ever told you I get accused of over-thinking, often?
Okay, soooo with the Friday (Jan. 4th) Oswald Chambers entry still fresh on my mind, Sunday came. I was in a less than "godly" mood that morning. My youngest sister is visiting, so she got to be my pre-church sounding board. The experiences and conversations and nightmares and heartaches of the last two weeks had reached a boiling point. To say the least, I was ready to tap out and surrender to the fear, doubt, distrust and disappointment. After I vented, she gently told me a few of her frustrations as well as a few of her realizations about herself in the midst of them. We headed to church.
Oh good, the freakin' bulletin handout is splattered with bumper-sticker phrases! I internally rolled my eyes, then reminded myself that my pastor is one of the most genuine, big-hearted, deeply wise, spiritually grounded people I know. I'd stay.
"...And God has an abundance...in mind for you..." were the words that stuck out. "Abundance" is such a frustrating LIE, in my experience. I've never had an abundance of anything. Well, except shoes, and even that is debatable and certainly not God's fault.
I'm not a preacher and I certainly do not intend to parrot the good pastor's sermon here. I will say that he, without knowing it, had a verse of scripture that addressed nearly EVERYTHING I had been complaining to my sister about in the privacy of my kitchen an hour before, and those were just in his opening paragraphs. CRAP! Now, I have to listen...
What if I recklessly believed God when He whispered His promise to love me perfectly? What if I recklessly believed that God meant it when He said He has plans to prosper and not to harm me? What if I trusted His voice and believed His promise to fulfill the exact request I presented Him with, my "Isaac" if you will, and trusted that He would not give me a stone when I need bread or a serpent when I need a fish? Would that trust last long enough for me to haul that very same "Isaac" the entire three day journey, up to the mountain, to sacrifice it- all the while knowing, in the depth of my soul, that God would still provide the very thing I put to death?
What if I believed Him enough to stand, with arms high and heart abandoned- fists unclenched, while I waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaait, indefinitely, for Jesus to move first? What if that wait is 25, or 40 years? What if I gave up my dreams and my needs according to my own understanding, and in exchange, grasped the hand of my Abba (Father) long enough to follow Him to the viewing window, where dreams incubate, to catch a glimpse of HIS dreams for me and HIS understanding of my needs?
I remember the Sunday, not quite a year ago, when I made it through an entire church service without melting into a sobbing mess. That was a good day. This past Sunday was the first one since that day, that I couldn't get through one song, or one bullet-point on the handout without a river of tears washing my cheeks. I am being asked to give up even more. After all the loss and pain and devastation of the previous four years, I find myself at the alter again. Will I place the rest of myself on it?
I didn't come this far to stop here. The answer is yes.
As I worked my way through my heart and each of the things that are so dear to me, acknowledging my deep wounds and fears and hopes, I again remembered Oswald's Friday words: "...you will cause difficult situations to arise which will take years to
untangle. Wait for God’s timing and He will do it without any heartache
or disappointment." The, minutes-old, picture I took of my new baby niece flashed in my mind. She is me, I am her. I am not intentionally, rebelliously, gripping that which will cause heartache and disappointment. I am not intentionally sprinting past Jesus when He calls "come" and gives me a vision of His life for me. I am desperately reaching for Him clinging to His finger, crying out for His comfort, all the while pulling my own hair out and causing my own discomfort...
Father, help me let go of that which is causing me pain, while tightening my grip on the comfort that can only come from you...
My sweet niece meeting her daddy for the first time, reaches and screams for comfort, while pulling her own hair.
There were too many title concepts and so little space, so tonight
I'm going to do my best to weave this together. I'm wordy lately, but
I'll do my best to be concise.
Tonight is Part I
Hagar got a raw deal. I've thought a lot about her this
week and I want nothing to do with her! I'm sure she was nice enough,
but I've decided "nice enough" isn't good enough.
I'm guessing Ms. Hagar isn't front and center in your short term memory, so I'll do the catching up for you:
Back
before Father Abraham had many sons, many sons had father Abraham...
(you love me for getting that song stuck in your head, admit it)...
Anyway, God had given him a vision and a promise about those "many
sons". Abe was 85ish. He, being a communicative husband, left his
little moment with the Almighty and went home to tell his wife about the
direction their life was now apparently heading...
Wellllll, Sarah (Sarai) was intelligent. She had no problem with
the math or the biology and according to her own understanding, she
wasn't about to imagine her AARP eligible body cranking out any infants
anytime soon. She was also an economizing wife. She already HAD the
house-help in a maid (Hagar) and decided that she'd be the "safe bet"
pertaining to getting on with the dream. She, like only a wife can do,
gave specific instructions to Abe: “The Lord has kept me from having children. Go, sleep with my slave; perhaps I can build a family through her.”
Abe
obeyed. Hagar readily conceived. Obviously, because Sarah didn't do
much THINKING before she did her speaking, she was surprised to find
that she was jealous and angry. She pouted then got downright ugly
about it. Apparently she didn't want what she wanted. Wives! So,
Sarah was mean enough to Hagar that the maid ended up running away.God, the pursuer, restorer
of people and situations, sent an angel to Hagar. After a little
chit-chat that included some encouragement, a few promised blessings and
and a command to return to Abraham, the pregnant Hagar went home. Abe
was 86 when his illegitimate, firstborn son, Ishmael, was born.
Eventually,
about the time Ishmael started his junior high home-school course, God
came back to Abe and reminded him of His promise, lengthened his name
(from Abram to Abraham) and got then got really specific: “As for Sarai your wife, you are no longer to call her Sarai; her name will be Sarah.I
will bless her and will surely give you a son by her. I will bless her
so that she will be the mother of nations; kings of peoples will come
from her.”
Abe's reaction? He hit the ground laughing. Then he said: “Will a son be born to a man a hundred years old? Will Sarah bear a child at the age of ninety?”And Abraham said to God, “If only Ishmael might live under your blessing!” Then God said, “Yes, but your wife Sarah will bear you a son, and you will call him Isaac...
Long story short, God didn't stutter or mince words. It happened EXACTLY that way-- 25 or so years AFTER the promise...
Now flash forward a few
years. Get this: God comes back to Abraham and very clearly tells him
to take Isaac up the mountain, build a fire, and sacrifice him as an
offering to God. Uhhhhhh, what?! Yep, that's the request: “Take
your son, your only son, whom you love—Isaac—and go to the region of
Moriah. Sacrifice him there as a burnt offering on a mountain I will
show you"
By now Abraham trusts,
completely, that he legitimately heard and now recognized the voice of
God. He trusts that voice. He trusts the love of his God and he
responds the only way that makes sense to him anymore. He got up, got his
boy, grabbed a donkey, cut some fire wood and headed out. THREE days
later (I wonder if he did much thinking on that little three day jaunt
with his sweet, trusting, son...), Abraham reached his destination.
As he started unpacking
his wood and preparing his fire, Isaac asked: "Hey dad, what are we
doing? This looks a little like a sacrifice of worship, but I think we
forgot the lamb..." (A Collene paraphrase.)
Abraham confidently responded, knowing that he knew what he knew even after the visible evidence, once again, contradicted the promise: “God himself will provide the lamb for the burnt offering, my son.”
Abe continued
obediently. Alter built? Check. Fire started? Check. Knife sharp?
Check. Son bound? Check. He placed Isaac on top of the wood and raised
his knife.
“Abraham! Abraham!”
The shout came from heaven, an angel of the Lord.
Abraham answered, "Here I am."
“Do not lay a hand on the boy,” he said.
“Do not do anything to him. Now I know that you fear God, because you
have not withheld from me your son, your only son.”
WHEW! Abraham looked up and saw a ram caught in the bushes. God
provided a sacrifice, restored the promise and carried out His original
plan through Abraham's legitimate offspring, Isaac.
Unfortunately, as is always the case, there's a cost associated with
catching the "vision" from God and sprinting ahead to make it happen.
Ishmael was also blessed with a big ole family. If you like history,
look it up. Abraham's little sprint ahead of God cost him and continues
to ripple through the family.
We've all had that puppy, the one we call "come" to. He speeds to
you, but then blows right past. Where the heck is that dumb dog going?!
I am that dog. "Wait, isn't my master running after me? I had the
vision, I thought we were going!" My master is shaking his head in the
distance. "Collene, I'm the one that knows where we're going, come back
to me and heel..." It seems I still need more training.
My new woulda-been-a-friend-except-he's-dead, Oswald Chambers, put it a different way in his January 4th entry for 'My Utmost For His Highest'. I've probably read it a dozen times in the last four days. Like Oswald says,
"At first you may see clearly what God’s will is— the severance of a
friendship, the breaking off of a business relationship, or something
else you feel is distinctly God’s will for you to do. But never act on
the impulse of that feeling. If you do, you will cause difficult
situations to arise which will take years to untangle. Wait for God’s
timing and He will do it without any heartache or disappointment. When
it is a question of the providential will of God, wait for God to move.
Peter did not wait for God. He predicted in his own
mind...Peter...was honest but ignorant...(Jesus had) a deeper knowledge
of Peter than Peter had of
himself. He could not follow Jesus because he did not know himself or
his own capabilities well enough. Natural devotion may be enough to
attract us to Jesus, to make us feel His irresistible charm, but it will
never make us disciples. Natural devotion will deny Jesus, always
falling short of what it means to truly follow Him."
Good Lord! In light of that, I pray I
don't restlessly look for a Hagar to fulfill God's vision for me as it
pertains to my own understanding! I've experienced, one too many times,
the "it will take years to untangle" scenario Oswald warned about. I
sense the call to pack up my donkey, my altar building supplies and some
fire-starter and to grab my dreams and sharpen my knife.
We all have a little bit of insanity coursing through our veins. Today I intentionally accessed my full potential. Patience, prayer, distraction, intellect, anger and grace have not helped to force me over the edge of this muddy spiritual, emotional and intellectual ditch I still find myself spinning my wheels in. I feel like I've only dug myself in deeper. Maybe pushing an Insane Obsesser personality will slam a door, bolt it, chain it and steel reinforce it to offer me some kind of relief, give me understanding and reason...
Wrong.
Ultimately the issue has very little to do with the person I displayed my full potential with today. Quite honestly, there is no one THAT special. The problem, as it has been boiled down for me time after time, is the five letters that have haunted me since the beginning: TRUST
"Do you believe that God is in control?"
"He is, you just have to trust him Collene."
So here's where my frustration lies: Where does God's control and our free-will intersect? If He isn't a forceful god, then how does He ever solicit change or a desire for what's "right" for myself? How does He ever exercise His control? I need to know, especially as it pertains to me interacting with other people who also have free-will. I know me well. I don't naturally want what's "best" for me, I want what's easy or fun or safe or immediately gratifying. Sometimes my free-will might interfere with someone else's desires or rights or needs. How does God protect that other person from my selfishness? How does God protect me from the selfishness or the inabilities of another? What if the "other" is a sibling or parent or husband or child? Where is my protection?
How does a relationship, of any kind, ever work without someone getting mutilated?
I'm sad. I'm foolish. I'm hurting and because of that, I'm hurting people. I'm in a, mostly, trust-less state and do not know how to proceed. I'm mad at God for involving me in a painful, seemingly hopeless, stupid situation and for continuing to keep me here by refusing to show me the way out. I need answers that make sense. I need to somehow stop the madness in my head and heart, before I lose my sanity and destroy more relationships.
Until then, I'll be doing a little coping by burying myself in a sea of pillows. Pray for a dreamless sleep for me, would you?
January 1 is supposed to feel fresh and look different than all of the other days. I've spent an embarrassing number of days in the last two weeks, trapped in a relentlessly abusive train of thought: I feel like I am in EXACTLY the same place I was at this time last year. I don't mean the typical "I forgot to exercise more and eat better" or "I wanted to work less and play more" statements that proceed end-of-the-year self-evaluations. Yes, those are true too, but I don't care. If I gain five or ten pounds my world doesn't end. The topic that causes the most anxiety and distress at this time of year, and every day before and after today, is summed up in "relationship".
In conjunction with my self-loathing this week, there's been one of the year's theme songs relentlessly making it's way through my heart and head:
So, in light of this song and those frustrated thoughts, I kidnapped my fake sister-in-law a couple of nights ago. I forced her to sip a buttered rum with me at a downtown, cozy, restaurant while we assessed the year past and year-to-come.
She's the best. I giggle a little as I think about that conversation. We were seated nearest the kitchen, which is open, exposing the chef and his staff. My fake sister-in-law and I are, at times, loud and intense. Sometimes it looks like we're fighting, when we're really just digging wildly through all the b.s. to get to the heart of a matter. Sometimes there are tears, usually followed by insane giggling. We were the recipients of more than one concerned look that night!
Well, whatever, we talked about her stuff, then worked through mine. In the end, I determined I need to figure out exactly what my "dream" is in regards to the different types of relationships I currently participate in.
I cancelled a date tonight (you're welcome, sir) because I've finally reached a boiling point. I have to write.
Oh, by-the-way, this blog is going to be super-duper long too. I have lots to say and I've lost the ability to be tidy with my words since I told you about Randy. Incidentally, I should note: I also spent the last couple of weeks perfecting a "that girl" routine with Randy. I'm beside myself with a billion crazy emotions that I still have no idea how to put to rest. There's another song at the end of this blog that keeps being played randomly. I finally looked it up today because it takes me to my knees every time. The Randy situation is all over the lyrics... If you read that far, enjoy. For now, I've spent far too much time talking or thinking about him on this blog, in 2012, for a lifetime, actually. I have other business to address...
Here are my 2013 (and beyond) self-assessments and dreams for the relationships of my life:
1. Sister
The assessment:
As the oldest girl, second oldest kid in a family with eight kids (yes, that's a lot and yes, it was a busy life and yes, my parents do in fact know what causes that as well as what birth control is, and no we are neither Catholic nor Mormon. And no, I do not want a big family of my own and yes, I liked growing up that way- I don't know who I would have gotten rid of to make it any different), I have always had more of a motherly relationship with most of my siblings, excepting the two closest to me in age. The brother eighteen months younger than me was my best friend in my younger days, although the brother right under him in order, was his best friend. My older sibling is relationally reserved and relatively unknown, anymore, by me.
I work hard to maintain contact with everyone, and although we are scattered throughout the world, I do a fairly good job on my end. I love them all and would absolutely give anything and everything to any one of them.
As they get married and have kids, relationships in the sibling dynamic, get increasingly complicated. Aside from the obvious logistics, doubling, tripling, even quadrupling the number of personalities per household becomes a midnight trek through a tricky field of landmines. Bad moods, misunderstandings, differing personal tastes and thinly stretched shared "special moments" inevitably have caused hurt feelings. The last time the eight of us were all in the same room was in 2004. We have never had all of the cousins in the same room together, nor have we ever had all of the spouses together at once.
The dream:
I want to be able to undo 30 years of "mothering" my siblings. Although the role of "Second in Command" made me a strong, capable woman, it did rob me of certain aspects of childhood carefree bliss. At times I resent that and it's completely possible my siblings resent portions of our relationship as a result. I want a natural, equal-ground, kind of friendship with each of them. I want to be a trusted confidant in a reciprocated relationship with each of them as well as with their spouses.
2 Mother
The assessment:
I have spent a little less than 15 years reminding myself that I'm not a good mom. We all do it. Most of what I have drawn on to support that thinking, though, is the verbal confirmation I was so freely offered, for years, by a few of those formerly allowed way too far into my life. After they exited, I started seeing the truth. I am not a bad mom. I am not a perfect mom. I am a mom that does what she can and, although occasionally beats herself up for it, doesn't do what she can't.
I am not a dad. I never will have a father's skill set or input right or life experience to speak "dad things" into my children's lives. We will just have a fatherless household. Ours is not the first nor will it be the last. They have a dad, and although there are many, many experiences they deserve that a two parent household would offer, they have other things... like two Christmases, as my daughter so cheerfully reminded me. Someday they might even get a two-parent household experience, who knows.
They are who they are, already. If I was going to mess them up, the damage is done. Quite honestly, I'm starting to believe I have had very little to do with who they've become. I set boundaries early on, they responded and became who they are within those boundaries. They are such cool people. My only job now is to maintain those boundaries as we wade through life's options together...
The dream:
The most important thing in my relationships with my kids is to know them. I want them to be them, unfiltered, unedited. I want honesty, even if it's ugly. I need to work on how I respond when they try to be open with me as while they fumble through discovering who they actually are. I need to be careful that I don't shut them down and stunt our relationship.
I want wisdom to know how to transition from stage to stage and when to back off or step in. I want grace for myself, just like they give me, for when I mess all that up. I need to solidify the narrative I now have about myself. I am a good mom.
3 Daughter
The complexity of this role has me exhausted. I already told you I somehow took on the "second in command" role somewhere around kindergarten. Because of some of those experiences, roles as a 35 year old daughter feel muddy sometimes.
I don't know exactly how to assess where I fit, for now, but I do have a dream:
I want to be me. Unfiltered. Unedited. Acceptable. I want to be seen as capable. I want to know I make them proud, all the time.
4 Friend
The assessment:
I have a ton of acquaintances. However, I have only a few, intensely amazing friends. I am a good friend. I have never had a problem being a friend, I have had HUGE problems recognizing who is worth being a friend to. In 2012 I refined the definition of "friend" and now I can finally say I absolutely love this, and possibly ONLY this, about the otherwise uncomfortable desert I'm roaming through, called "life".
The dream:
Really, can you lengthen and deepen friendship too far? Doubtful. I do not intend to batten down the hatches with my few, intensely amazing friends. I want to maintain them, grow them and add to the number, if the opportunity arises...
5 Aunt
The assessment:
On Saturday I became "Aunt Collene" to a fourth niece, tipping the scales to 4-3 in the niece-nephew count. Everything about that day was incredible, unexpected, miraculous... But that's for a different blog. I love being Aunt Collene. My nieces and nephews have awesome parents and for the first time, I don't feel the need to "mother" anyone when I'm with them. The ones who are old enough to be aware of how they feel, love me. They even remind me often. A four year old nephew sent me a valentine last February and a four year old niece is constantly kissing my nose and telling me she "loves me better".
I was humbled to be in the delivery room Saturday when my newest niece came into the world. Four years ago I witness the c-section birth of my nose-kissing, mini-me niece. Seven years ago I was honored to be the labor coach for my sister-in-law when my oldest nephew was born. It was at my house six years ago, that his mother got pregnancy confirmation regarding his sister. I was honored to be one of the few people able to hold both my three pound niece and her two pound brother while they spent their first months of life in the NICU. I was so blessed to represent our family for another nephew's first birthday at their naval duty station thousands of miles across the water.
Those special moments are bonding and addicting! I dream of making memories with each of them that are lifelong memories for each of us. I love seeing their personalities take shape and measuring the growth that changes them physically, emotionally and even spiritually as the years pass.
6 Woman
The assessment:
"Wife" would have been a more accurate word, except it's not. I've thought a lot about my hysterectomy this week. Except for the "uterine envy" I had when my niece was born- which is part of this angst I carry all the time and really a "someday" topic for a whole different blog too, I really was relating my hysterectomy to amputation... You hear about "phantom pains" that the amputee feels for awhile after surgery, where the lost appendage seems to itch or hurt. My surgery was like that. I had labor-like phantom pain for a few weeks after the surgery.
"Wife" is my phantom pain. For a couple of years after the divorce I had such a hard time doing normal things like grocery shopping or paying bills or getting dressed... I would catch myself thinking like a wife, aaaaaaand now I'm not. I've floundered. A lot. I am less lost three years later, but I still have not developed past a few of the glitches...
I was a good wife. No, I was a very good wife. I am a natural team-thinking, relational, support-role, lover, room-in-my-heart-for-only-one-man-at-a-time, kind of girl. Instead of hashing the has-beens of my life I need to address the phantom pains and re-define "wife" as "woman". I may never be called "wife" again, so I am finding that THIS is critical, if only for the meal preparation and house-keeping aspects of my life...
Last spring I went flower shopping with my fake big sister. I wanted to enhance the curb appeal of my house, and although that was a total loss because of the lack of water, intense heat and my 11 hour days at work, I did learn something about myself. I had never gone shopping for my entire garden at the same time and quite honestly, had only halfheartedly planted anything before.
As I checked out with my friend, she said "Wow, Collene! I guess you never really get to know your friends until you flower shop with them." I was confused and asked what she meant. She said, "well, I would have never picked those out for you, I'm just surprised by your choices. They're beautiful and I love what you did." Okay, whatever that means. I guess she approves, but why she was surprised I still wasn't sure. I took the flats home and was unloaded them when my fake sister-in-law came by. "Oh, pretty! You got flowers!" She sounded surprised. I told her I had gone with my fake big sister... A few minutes later she commented, also, that she was surprised by my choices. Um, what the heck? So I asked what she meant. "Well, it's just that they are so dainty and feminine. I usually associate you with bolder colors and coarser textures." Um, okay... She went on to explain that even the clothing I had been buying lately surprised her. I was buying soft, lacy, feminine, pretty stuff. She liked it.
Because my fake sister-in-law is never surfacey, she quickly turned the conversation about pretty, fragile, soft flowers to the life choices in my past. Since she's known me forever, she's seen my home decor in multiple houses and my personal style (or lack of, really). She has been down-right irritated that even my wedding wasn't "mine". She brought that up again. "Collene, I can't wait to see you develop into the woman that you are restricting for the sake of everyone around you." Okay, wow, I'm going to think twice before I plant flowers again, but for the last nine months I've noticed in other ways that she's absolutely right.
Just this weekend, many of the "girl" things I naturally gravitate towards were referred to as "prissy" in a less than flattering way by someone I love. I sensed my protective walls go up. Well, if that's unacceptable in that person's eyes, I will edit myself around that person, so I can be acceptable, I thought. They can never know I'm, by that definition, "prissy" at heart...
I am discovering that I am incredibly soft internally. Soft does not equal weak, but I've been told over and over, in a million ways, that it does. To counter the perceived weakness, I've spent decades being unnecessarily harsh or guarded and now, I'm tired.
The dream:
I want to be real. I want to be feminine and strong. I do not want to be guarded and harsh. I want stupid flowers, for crying out loud. I love being a woman and I shouldn't be anything but. I will try to set aside my teammate intuition and figure out how to function fully, alone. I will never wear lots of pink, nor will I ever buy myself roses. Not because they're prissy, but because I hate pink on me and roses are cliche, bumperstickery flowers. I will, however, wear lace and quite possibly leather with amazing heels in 2013.
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