Sanctity of Life On Everyday Terms

My 9 year old grandson will tell you that I am a freak and he may have a point. We hang out together quite often. As a result he has fallen privvy to some of my deeper belief systems and, as I had hoped, has adopted them as his own despite his frustrations.

I do not arbitrarily kill anything. If I am not in danger and if my home is not invaded I do not intentionally kill anything. My grandson has learned this through repetitive admonishments from me sounding much like this: "Boy, do not tear that spider-web down! Is it hurting you? Do you have a way around it?" "Yes, I know it is a spider. The spider is important to our eco-system and, more importantly is alive. The fact that the web so creatively woven is in our way does not give us the right to destroy this small creature's home and, in the process, kill it."

We have had this conversation numerous times over the past two years. Grandson happens upon a live something or other and prepares to smash it, drop kick it or create a new way to destroy it. Grandma steps in exclaiming the sancity of that life and asking what on earth has that creature done to you. Doesn't he understand that life in any form is important? Poor kid must be confused because I do eat meat. I am considering stopping that but not for any militant back to the earth reasons. I just prefer not to send my grandson mixed messages.

Anyway, I never know how much I am impacting that child until something happens to demonstrate it. Several nights ago he and I were walking up to my mother's home. There is a ramp and there are stairs. Spiders frequently weave intricate webs in the area of the steps. Leaving their home undisturbed means walking back out into the driveway and around to the ramp. For a nine year old 100% boy making that change to leave the steps and walk around to the ramp illicits heavy sighs and mumblings with general references about me, about God and how stupid (indiscernible mutterings).  On this particular night he jumped out of my car and headed for the steps. He stopped in mid-stride, took one look, spun on his heels and headed for the ramp loudly exclaiming,  "Darn spiders!" My heart jumped in a little joy leap. I did not mention the incident to him. A grandma needs to know when to speak and when to be quiet. Inside I was having a small parade of gratitude.

The sanctity of life extends into acts of kindness, respect for older people and people who are disabled. And, well, people.

So hours have passed since I began this post. My husband is in the emergency room. He has a lot of blood in his urine and was in incredible pain when I called 911. The emergency room at our hospital is absolutely packed full of people waiting to be seen. My husband is in the hall on a bed and, last time I went by, was sleeping soundly thanks to modern painkillers. I am babysitting three parrots for my girlfriend. They have set schedules, set procedures, hierarchy...fascinating. 

Life is strange. I find myself walking around saying, "Pretty bird!" and "Hey, baby" as if birds were all around. I am eternally grateful that God does not give us the agenda for each day. I would run like blue blazes in the other direction. What the heck are "blue blazes" anyway? I gotta go. A parrot is nibbling on my ear and ready to go to bed. I am talking a distorted form of my version of bird language and it is time to gather myself together for the rest of what will be a long evening. A hearty "Night-Night" to all.

Powerless

I remember the days, and not so long ago, when I believed that I could exert enough energy through my anger and sense of injustice to remedy any situation that posed a threat to my loved ones. Foolishness. Folly. Of my ownself I have no power at all. I am impotent. Though I may yearn to be the harbinger of justice I am, in truth, able to identify injustice, hate injustice, experience the angst of watching life bring its' tough lessons to those I love and that is all I can hope to accomplish. I can pray. Of course that is not a trivial response although in the middle of my own suffering praying sounds a silly choice meant for those who cannot make the grade. Shocking to admit my response to prayer when I find myself in the thick of formulating multiple solutions to multiple problems. Yes! Yes! I will pray at some point but I do not have time at the moment. I must worry. I must despair. I must conjure up the old and unfaithful sense of righteousness I have created time after time. Lonely, defeated, broken against the futility of imitating the Giver of Life, I surrender. Not well. Not wholeheartedly. Grudgingly is a better word for my first steps towards my redemption. Even that frame of mind, that arrogant sense of defeated self, as it comes in an act of surrender, experiences release, relief and freedom. Exhausted by my attempts to lift the weight of heavy burdens; I surrender. I am powerless. I am in need of rescue. I am not the rescuer. A child-like sense of  love enfolding me with tenderness replaces my false bravado. I am home again. My Father is in charge.

A Brief Interlude

Lost For Words With So Much To Say

I have a desire each time I begin a post to find a song or a picture or a quote that adequately represents what I want to write. At times I search for a couple of hours and, finding nothing that fits, I shut down the computer. My thoughts have fallen flat as I sought representation.
I have a heavy heart tonight. I feel as if I have swallowed a stone that will not move. Yesterday I replied to a facebook post. My reply is below:

I have, at one point in my life, internalized non-verbal shaming and, through a process I don't fully understand turned that shaming into feeling ashamed of myself. I began to feel less than, apart somehow, and, in time, I did not need to experience shaming to stay in that frame of reference. I was at once my shamer and the shamed. I grew up in a culture where morals and value systems were based on religion, culture, fear...pretty much as they are now. All of it came under the headings of who was right and good and who was wrong and bad. It could hinge on the color of your skin or your faith or even on the sins of your family. I don't know about other areas of America but in the south it is entirely possible to be shamed for belonging in a family with a "history". So, I became angry, fiercely opposed to authority and full of low-self-esteem and shame. To make a 63 year old story much shorter...it was the very attitudes Lynne pointed out that began to bring me out of that darkness. There were, along the way, people who loved me without judgement, in fact they delighted in me. I remember them vividly. Their love and acceptance actually hurt. Yet, the acceptance planted seeds of self-acceptance and I began to evolve. Having people love us exactly as we are without effort or attempts to change us is powerful beyond anything I can think or describe. Judging others is incredibly dangerous. Wisdom is awesome. Compassion minus condesencion (sp?) is delicious. Grace sets us free. The difficult part of this approach to life is that I must act in this way with each person I meet, including those who do not give grace or acceptance, and that is when I know I truly grasp what I have been given.

Lynne is my daughter. She had written about judgementalism and a form of love that prides itself on loving what one considers the unloveable resulting in a particularly brutal form of shaming. Silent shaming. A loud, insidious silence wearing a smile while giving a hug. The unspoken smugness of  the "I love you anyway." The echoing of shame as it is absorbed into the shamed one's psyche. The indelicate shiver of pleasure the shamer secretly experiences as shaming is hidden both in the giving and in the receiving. Even now as I write these words I have a visceral response in my own body. What has me momentarily paralyzed is that someone I love as much as I love my own life is in a position to experience this loathsome gift of shame and from those he loves so well. And I cannot step in and take the bullet for him or scream out to him to run. For this I am full of angst at the moment. I would cover my darling one with my own body and take the pain for him if it were possible. It is not possible. I want to hate anyone who brings harm to this precious one. This is my challenge. If I am to ask for mercy, I must give mercy. The unloveable in me must bow to the love that set me free and choose to forgive as I have been forgiven, to fill the emptiness in me with the love I have been so freely given and pour it back out on those I love the least. Oh love that will not let me go, grant me strength, my Lord! Create in me a new heart. Allow my love for You to love the unloveable and, in so doing, point the way to You, the Alpha and the Omega, who died for me so that I might live and live to follow You. Amen!

I Hate It When The Shrink Makes Sense and Corporate America Can Take A Hike

Lately I have been challenged to lose weight and to eat different foods designed to help me avoid diabetes. I have also been advised to change my sleeping habits or my lack of sleeping habits. I am told that my habits are a viscious cycle destined to bring significant harm to my mind and body. I agreed, with my customary enthusiasm, to the challenges and the admonitions. I agreed to set goals and strike out onto a new path. My mouth said yes. My heart said, "Hell No!" Before I left the dietician's office she suggested I talk to my shrink (he isn't actually mine. i rent him.) about my tendency to eat to cope with my emotions. Just to clear things up: I feel sad and depressed when I think of planning meals and changing habits. I want to be healthier and I sabotage that desire at every turn. Same with the sleep only I don't really want to change my sleeping pattern. The problem is that I am not sleeping and that is dangerous to me in a multitude of ways.

So, I go to the shrink and I tell him the deal and he has heard it before from me and we talk about my emotions and the satisfaction I get from eating rather than allowing my feelings to be exposed. I have real life situations that require me to sacrifice some pretty cool areas of life. I do this willingly and by choice but, per his shrinkness, I pay the piper by supressing and denying vital parts of my make-up. The end result is that I eat. Pretty much the same with sleep. It sucks.

My shrink painted a picture of my future if I choose to continue on my current path. It was not pretty. I tend to live exactly where I am at any given moment. I rarely plan for the days and weeks to come. This response to life has cost me a dear price yet I seem powerless over it. But I want to be healthier and to be around for a much longer time and to enjoy life. Same with sleeping habits. My shrink's advice?

SUCK IT UP AND JUST DO IT!

His word picture of my future got through to me. Tomorrow I begin sucking it up and doing it! I will see him more often and he will see less of me as I begin to lose the weight, eat better and exercise a bit. Behavior modification. No fancy words of wisdom or plans other than "do it". With my heart and mind on my future self I will make the changes. All of my life I have sabotaged my opportunities and taken advantage of my own self. I do not want to reap from that harvest anymore. I have to suck it up and just do it!

As far as corporate America...BAH! HUMBUG! I work from home. I had an additional job opportunity. I took all the training, checked frequently to ensure I was eligible and yesterday was told that I did not complete the training. For a month they have been telling me that I completed the required training and would hear from them soon. Now they tell me they have no record of me completing the training and I am no longer eligible for the opportunity. Working from home is wonderful and it is frustrating. There is no office with the boss sitting at his desk. My bosses are on chat or e-mail or phone. A personal connection is difficult to build in that environment. So I have sent an email to the "establishment" stating the truth and I hope to hear a positive response. It is as much about the principle of the thing as it is about the job. I have never ever, never ever done well when someone exercised authority over me. Not an admirable trait but it is mine until I build a trust in someone.

Tomorrow is a new day. My first step towards my future starts in the morning to come.

There is an old saying, "Take it easy, greasy, ya got a long way to slide."  Ready! Set! Go!



The Sunny Side of the Street

This simply must be my response to the state of affairs in my little corner of the world. Direct my feet to the sunny side of the street is excellent advice in and under all circumstances. Frank Sinatra is cool. My feet are trying to march me straight into a glum place. There are a number of reasons why this is the natural bent of things at the moment. But, I swear, everywhere I look things are challenging for so many people. I can't afford to go chasing after a melancholy mood. They are difficult to dig out from and are selfish journeys benefiting no one. Still the idea of hanging my head and appearing defeated is appealing. Appearing defeated is the truth as I am not defeated. I am far from defeated. Lord knows that my entire life has prepared me for times such as these and I do not want to do these times with my head squarely up my "you know what"! Isn't it strange how the dreadful places of self-pity and rampant self-will appear comforting just at the time they would be most harmful?

Do I qualify for the, "Wow, you have it tough" club? Yep! You bet'cha! Am I qualified, with the help of God, to thrive where I am planted. Yep! You bet'cha! But I come from a long line of melancholy people with dark visions of the future and mental sickness running through their veins. Swimming upstream from this legacy requires constant vigilance and the willingness of trusted friends to, with a stern hand, redirect my thoughts. I suppose I can take credit for wanting to live my life in the light of grace and faith. I cannot claim that I gain that lofty goal alone or that I always act as if I want it. No! There are days when I allow myself to slowly descend into morbid thinking. Funny, that is exactly what the alcoholic part of me loves to do as often as possible. Morbid thinking! What a comfort! Surely someone will notice and ask me what is wrong and feel sorry for me. HA! HA! Not on your life or mine! God does not allow for it and my friends won't stand for it so I am left in the pit of morbid thinking all by my lonesome. I climb out. There is no fun in high drama if no one at all pays attention.

The sunny side of the street beckons. What the heck? I think I'll cross over.

RUMINATIONS

It is hot. It is as hot as I remember it being in a long time. The evenings are warm. The breezes in the evening are warm. This kind of heat draws stories out of folks. People my age, from the south and who had farming grandparents can swap stories from dusk till dawn about hot summers, long tobacco rows, bathing in tin tubs in water warmed by the sun. Our common ground soothes us. When we are drawn by a sound, a photo and even this kind of hot weather, memories come flooding back.

At one time I talked about Mr. Owl who I saw on the top of the water tower at times. We developed a relationship built solely on my imagination and need for Mr. Owl to show up. At times he would hoot from the nearby woods. I would hoot back. Not well. I am sure I did not have him fooled. Mr. Owl began to show up less and less frequently last year. I  believe he did not cotton to the development going on around him. It has been months since I saw him or heard him.

God fills a vacuum. Enter the whipporwill calling from the small bit of forest near my mom's. My papa talked back to whipporwill's as they sang out in the evening. He could call up a whipporwill, which, if you are not familiar with "call up" means he could get a whipporwill to come to the nearby trees and commence to sing, "whipporwill! whipporwill!"

Between the heat and the whipporwill snippets memories of hot days on the farm during tobacco season began drifting through my mind...we got up before sunrise, often at 3 a.m. or 4 a.m. Outside the mist hung in the trees and, in places, on the ground. People would be coming later to help take in the tobacco. Chores for set-up had to happen..toting jugs of water to the barn, setting up the tobacco horses where women would string the tobacco onto sticks that would later be hung in the barn. As we worked the sun began to melt off the mist. We had a huge breakfast that will live in my memory until I die. Granny would make eggs, bacon, biscuits, gravy...there was no holding back. Work was gonna happen. It was gonna be hot. We needed our strength. My papa ate a huge plate of food. He would be in the fields with the men, walking the rows and pulling tobacco. No women did that job on his farm We worked at the barn. Lunch would be a sandwich and iced tea. My grandparents saw time as money when folks were working for them so we got at it fast as we could...granny muttering if I slowed down..."Time is money!" The depression stamped an indelible sense of the value of a penney on people that lived through it.

There is so much more. Maybe I will think on it again another day but I gotta go for now. They say that many a farmer's child went to college to keep from working tobacco all their lives. Motivation at it's best. Later!