When we walk the journey of life, the way is not always blue
skies with green meadows. Often, there are twists and turns, rough or blocked
pathways, and pounding rain with threatening circumstances. Many times, we are
challenged beyond our capable minds, which compromise the reflection of our
hearts. What do we do? Who do we turn to? What will it take to get back to safe
ground?
Memoirs of
a Challenge was created to reflect life challenges from all areas of circumstance
as a means to connect or reconnect with ourselves or the people we live with
and love in our world. It is written in the first person point of view, in
order to give a voice to an individual, whether it is a child, a teenager, or
an adult reflecting on a particular life challenge. This concept of creating a
voice for a challenge has the power to be straightforward, poetic, or symbolic,
depending on the voice, the issue, and how it speaks to the reader. By creating
a voice, we are painting a piece of life for someone who can relate to what is
written.
The goals of this blog:
to
create a space where people feel validated
to
share universal emotions that may hinder our true selves
to
understand we are not alone in any challenge we face
to
find support upon connecting with others who relate to the content
The concept of “I am” is a strong statement. If we say that
today we’re angry, then we are going to be angry. If we say that today is grim,
then it will be grim. But if we think creatively and try to find light in those
dimly lit places that we’re not sure of, chances are our “I am” statements can
transform into more positive ones. We cannot control much of what happens to
us, but we can control the support we find to help us through so that we can
feel better, live better, and love better.
We all have a light. Sometimes it blazes like the sun, while
other times, it’s barely lit. And let’s not forget the times when we think our
light is completely gauged, never to return again. We are here to help you
maintain your light so that you feel supported, treasured, and loved.
September 02, 2010 -The Constant of Loneliness
As I sit nestled in the comfort of my home, my heart digresses to those who may be lonely, rejected, outcast, or simply lost. There have been many times when I felt these things, and I remember the pain. Loneliness can make you feel deflated in so many ways. You can’t seem to get out of your hole and get off the ground. Worse yet, you don’t want to or you don’t know how.
When I think back and wonder about the reasons why I felt lonely in the first place, I see how I pointed fingers or literally buried myself in an avalanche of unmet expectations. But since then, I have grown a bit, and I am less lonely during times when I am alone in my life.
We all have periods when we go it alone, seemingly friendless, misunderstood, or simply flat-lined with everything in our lives - stale points where we don’t seem to move and we wait, uncertain of what’s to come. These times are difficult, and many of them seem like eras or eternities rather than just moments.
When I say I’ve grown a bit, I mean that I have found something that helps me during these times. My own, personal loneliness has graced me with valuable lessons about how I view myself. Self image is the most important defense I have against loneliness. It’s the way I feel about me; the way I view me; the way I treat me.
Do I drift according to what others think of me or how I relate myself to others, or do I live as a constant – one lighthouse against all the storms that come to my shores? If I live with expectations that may not manifest, then chances are I am depressed or worried, and definitely less than my true potential. But, if I live to find happiness in the smallest of things – things I can grasp to get me through, then those are the stepping stones I use to hobble along on my coarse roads.
Self image grows from defining myself through things that make me happy. Taking a walk, not because I am alone, but because I want to breathe the air or appreciate what’s around me. Or doing something nice for someone else, not because I want to be noticed, but because it helps me feel better about life. All the while, I am feeding my self image positively, not worried about the future, and pushing out that lonely feeling. Security rises as my self image is positively attended to. Independence blooms a little bit brighter.
Rather than being someone who must be loved by others, love yourself first. Take pride in the smallest of things. That’s when you will discover your gifts and talents. That’s when you will be okay with your loneliness when it happens. That’s when you will shine in the dark like a beacon – a constant. Others may not notice, but you will be okay, because that light will be your own aura to get you through.
There’s a force in the air. Its dark blanket wants to hold me, smother me, and make me suffocate. It seems that I feel it in too many places, and most of the time when there is a crowd. The energy from this force radiates off of many, mixing in the air like a toxic brew. It dissipates and meanders around the vulnerable, the innocent, and the oblivious, enticing and tempting. I wonder about its unique power as it seems to spread and fill up in seemingly insignificant crevices that have great stakes through time.
You ask me what this force is, but deep down you already know the answer. It lives inside every one of us. Some of us can control it, while others fall into its black pit and drown in it. Shouts, condescendence, rudeness, judgment, and hatred ALL linger in its forceful atmosphere,
pushing and pulling
swirling and staggering
dumping and dragging.
The word ANGER resonates like a replayed song that tortures, breaking us down to less than who we are. We can’t see it, but we feel it. Sometimes its quiet lulls and lurks until it is a storm that wreaks catastrophe on us and those we are supposed to love.
Regret, hurt, and discomfort are the aftermath of this great, dark force, and many times, it is all we have to show for ourselves. I ask you to look at your life and those who are in it. Where does this force creep? Where does it linger? And I ask you one more thing. Can you rid of it?
Throw your blanket of light over ANGER. Hold it. Smother it. And Suffocate it. Push it out, because ANGER is never who you truly are.
Jake is
cute. So what? He plays football, he drives a hot car, and he flirts with
cheerleaders. He is the epitome of the school jock, the homecoming star, and
the prom king. He keeps a messy locker, runs late to class, slouches in the
back looking bored, and never participates. I’ve even seen him smirk at me once
or twice because I am an active student who actually does the required work.
I’m sure
you guessed it. Jake and I are polar opposites. I read books, win science fairs,
and practice my morals. I’m not much for makeup or sizing my diets down to
green leaves, so many might label me as less than a girl. While Jake spreads cheer,
sews his social seeds, and shines in the spotlights, I am content in my quiet
corner surrounded by my other artsy smartsy friends. Like water and oil, fire
and ice, and light and dark – that’s who we are.
But I like
him, see. And no one knows it but me.
He has this
smile that lights up a room. And his eyes? Well, let’s just say they make my knees
buckle. There’s this thing that draws me to him. It’s something I can’t figure
out. On the surface, he is happy, but if I look really hard, I have to wonder.
Maybe it’s
my imagination, but I’ve caught him a few times looking my way, though I don’t know
why. I am ordinary compared to the long legged daisies that flock all around
him, puckering their lips and batting their eyes at him. I have no business
even trying that hard for a guy. Oh, who am I kidding? I’m just not that
coordinated. I’m not that good, you know?
Oh well,
the music room is open and no one’s around. I’ll just go and sing my blues
away…
“That’s
really good,” he says. I am startled when I see Jake at the doorway, listening.
There’s
something in his eyes like a longing I can’t place. I even think I see a tear.
“It’s the
song they sang at my mother’s funeral,” he said as my heart suddenly skipped a
few beats. “She always loved it, and I haven’t heard it since.”
“Jake, I –
I’m sorry,” I say. “I – I didn’t know.”
“There’s a
lot you don’t know about me,” he said. “You only know what you stereotype, and
even that’s not the truth behind anything.”
Boy, did he
grab me by the heart and twist it real good, but he was right. I had nothing to
argue. I was guilty. I labeled everyone, including myself, always prejudging
and never giving anything a real chance.
“You know,
I bet I could beat you at Geometry proofs,” he chuckled, moving closer. “And I
bet you would look really cute on a date.”
My throat
went dry.
“Are you
asking me out?” I said.
“Only if
you promise not to label anything, and give me a chance. You’ll see I’m a good
guy,” he said.
And then it
hit me. That strange thing that drew me to him, remember? It was the
unexpected. A lesson learned from an unlikely candidate who would soon break
the rigids of my labels. Labels that stifle, blind, and hurt.
A beautiful child sits near me in the park. His sunken
eyes are lit with wonder as he watches the boys and girls playing ball. His
bald head is gently shaded by his pin-striped ball cap. His hardy giggle
transcends into the breezy air as rustling trees dance above us.Fluffy, white clouds interrupt the azure from
the sky, carving out fields of heavens that are reaching.
My eyes turn back
toward the boy whose body is minimized to bones as he rests on the wheelchair
that carries him; guards him; envelopes him. His frail hands are wrapped
tightly around the arm rests, eagerly waiting for the next boy at bat. The
pitcher releases the ball, and he holds his breath as the batter moves to
swing. Crack! It’s off. It’s whisked. It spirals out of sight, bringing three
runners into home plate.
“Game over,” he
says. “Whew! That was a good one.”
“Yes,” I say,
getting ready to wheel him toward the car.
“I miss playing
ball like that,” he says.
“I miss watching
you,” I say.
“Mama, I’ve just
had a thought,” he says, suddenly concerned. “You won’t be able to watch me
when I die.”
I gulp, feeling
the pain of our reality weaken me. I fight its force and I manage a shaky
smile.
“No, but I believe
I will feel you, my love. And I will always remember the way you were and the
way you are now,” I say.
“How am I now?” he
asks.
I kneel down
beside him with tear-filled eyes. His gentle face calms my restlessness, and
the feel of his embrace hugs my sorrow to its quiet.
“You are the most
beautiful person I’ve ever known,” I admit to him. “You’ve suffered. You still
suffer. And after everything, you still smile. You still find joy in others’
happiness. You still love the world too, only more now. It’s like the thing
that’s inside you works so hard to break your body down, but it can’t touch
your soul. You get stronger. You grow more beautiful, and you teach me to be
better.”
“Really?” he
smiles the giddy smile of a thirteen year old.
“Yes,” I sniffle.
“Homerun then,
huh?” he asks, making my heart break further as he winks at me.
I hug him, wishing
I could lock us in that moment, knowing that one day soon I wouldn’t be able to
hug him anymore. And here he is asking me if this experience is a homerun! But
somewhere in my miserable sadness; my unfathomable fear; my desire to retaliate
against the cancer that consumes him, is my faith. I am suddenly humbled,
deafened by the sound of my boy’s resolve, and all I can say is…
“Homerun, darling.”
Responses: Chrishawn:
Tear-jerker....I have a hard time containing my emotions when I read this. Brava!
Someone
once said that one can never have too many friends. But what happens when those
friends become nothing more than a computer screen or a photo in a box?
Suddenly, their facial features become remote. Their familiar antics disappear.
The sound of their voice turns into clicks on a keyboard. People fade, and a
computer takes the limelight. Conversations become text messages – lower caps, fragmented
thoughts, no punctuation, no emotion. Everyone is flat-lined, and we’re all
guilty.
Some may
argue that this isn’t such a bad thing. Technology is inevitable in our
society, and no one can fight it. Besides, it’s better to talk to someone
rather than no one. Computer access
increases social networks, obvious, instant outreach, and immediate thought
satisfaction. I admit to my support of these truths. There are major benefits
to computer communication, and I take advantage of its easy access. But I can’t
help missing the old ways of talking on the phone with someone or catching up
one on one over a cup of Joe. There are many times when I want to slow down and
communicate with someone eye to eye. After all, nothing can replace a person’s
smile or a person’s presence.
So, what do
we do? How do we maintain personable relationships with people who matter in a
world where fast-paced technology takes over?
Slow Down
Take the time to pick and choose the people you want to see
or be with in the midst of your busy schedules. Make an effort to approach them
on a personal note either by a phone call, a personal message on Face book that
is just between the two of you, or if you’re lucky, an actual meeting where you
can chat like real people.
Be present
Step away from the temptation of a quick word here and
there. Visit someone. Be together with a friend. Presence in a friendship
speaks louder than any words one can type or speak.
Don’t Make Excuses
It’s a fact. We’re all busy! But are we really too busy to
take an hour or two every few weeks to be with someone; to share our point of
views, our families, our support?
Monkey see; Monkey do
If you want your children or your own friends to be
personable and have strong people skills, you have to show them this. Trust
me….these skills will not be learned from a computer!
Be Consistent
Real friendships and relationships are rarely about dropping
a line here or there. They are a constant testament to your integrity in a
natural way so to speak; a way of life; something that you are a part of
actively and regularly.
Know When to Quit
If you’re living in the same area and you’ve tried and tried
to get a relationship deeper than just a computer status, move on. Bottom line:
You’re worth more than that, especially if you are a personable person needing
more than your keyboard. Relationships are so much more than a one way street.
Find those who feel the same, and make the effort to build your friendship from
there. Reciprocation is a MUST in a friendship.
When we’re
young, making friends seems easier because we are constantly revolving around
social opportunities. As we get older, making friends can be more difficult
when life is pinpointed to overworked jobs, crazy kid schedules, and isolation.
Let’s not forget that once you have children, appropriate friendships become a
serious issue! Either way, at ANY age, maintaining a friendship is always the
tougher task. Are you really satisfied with minimizing a friendship to your
computer screen? OR Are you and your friend willing to commit to move beyond
the keyboard and being present in each other’s lives? Stay connected to what
counts!
The world is a giant puzzle, connected in one way, shape, or
form.
Moving pieces scattered all about, wondering where they fit.
Alone, they are unique and seemingly insignificant to the
larger picture
But together, they are a masterpiece of the greatest art
that ever was…
Life.
I am a piece of the world’s puzzle,
And I am very small compared to some other pieces.
My edges are jagged, but just the other day I met someone
whose were frayed.
We shared something in common…
Longing.
Some pieces fit, and others are still scattered.
Many force themselves to fit, while others hide until they
understand their form
Some are lost, and some get found
But all the pieces, no matter how small are important to the
message…
Love.
Without me, this great puzzle is incomplete.
I must value the piece I’ve been given.
Fill it with the colors of my life
Plotting my way. Understanding my shape. Balancing my form.
So that I may find where I fit.
Belonging.
Responses: Chishawn
I fit! I love how this blog basically instructs you to get off of yourself and realize it is not about you but how you can compliment someone else. Beautiful job! :)
I sit
comfortably with a magazine on my lap. I flip through its multiple pages, each
one with a different girl who seems perfect. These full-lipped, no mess,
sultry-eyed, gold-toned beauties imprint on my mind. Suddenly, I’m not so
comfortable. I’m restless, feeling as if there is something I need to do –
something to make me look better, feel better, and be better.
The next thing I know, I am
watching a movie, and there it goes again. Images of a woman’s body are never
missed – some obscene and others tactful – but enhanced nevertheless. A perfect
shot of her here or there; a sensual smile, a provocative gesture; it’s all
there, personifying pleasure and accentuation the smallest aspect of who I
really am.
So many days I have felt the power
of ugliness; of being swooned and outcast; of being tried and spent; of being challenged
and misunderstood. I have second guessed the way that I look. I have
compromised my intellectual capabilities. I have failed to see the true beauty
that gets buried deep inside, like the goodness that I am or the compassion
that I feel for the world around me. Too many times, I am caught up in the
faceted world, which bisects my nature and turns it into something tarnished or
flawed. I realize that I am far from the kind of woman society hails, or Hollywood for that matter,
and there is a part of me that rebels, sometimes at the expense of me and other
times, at the expense of others.
Society is a loud place, and more
times than not I am humbled and quieted, struggling to keep face and knowing
the honesty I owe myself. Inside the folds of my skin, my heart beats for the
world to make it a better place. There is a soul within this body, aching to
help and to inspire anyone who will listen. I am the very breath of the space
that is around me, which in and of itself is gold. These are the things I have
to remember – the things that I must cherish in order to rise above nonsense.
I am woman, worthy of respect. I am
your mother, your sister, your daughter, your wife, your best friend. I am a
creator, a thinker, a fighter, a nurturer, a powerhouse; second to nothing, and
in that, I am significant – worthy of every wonderful thing this world has to
offer.
What if I was told I was dying? How
would I muster the strength to move toward that ultimatum? More importantly
though, how would I consider the life I already lived? If I were to go back,
then like the seasons, my memories would change. Some would bring joy where I
would feel warmth all over. Others would cause pain and perhaps regret. Either
way, all would have colors and characteristics of their own, awakening my
senses and stirring my soul. My body would be slowing, but my soul would be
invigorated. Suddenly, faded memories might be clearer, and everything I ever
was would be vivid before me.
To face
death is to directly face life. What and how did I feel at certain times? Which
things did I savor, and which things did I disregard? What rules did I follow
or make up as I went along? Was I one of those people who never cared, never
changed, or never got better as I got older? Or was I one of the lucky who
found my center and connected every fiber of my being to the world given me? Though
my life was worth it, did I show that it was so?
I try to
imagine the moment of my death – the one right before I close my eyes forever.
When I think of that moment, I hope to be free. Free of worldly things that do
not matter. Free of feelings that cripple my heart. Free of sour thoughts that
hinder the good things I’ve done or the good things that are. I want to let go
of a world that I’ve loved so deeply to see the universe I believe in.
I imagine
my heart’s beat as it slows. The fluid within me dries. My senses falter. My
body is tired as it becomes motionless, but all the while something inside me
stirs. No, it is buoyant, dancing as it detaches. It is ready. It is alive. It
is beautiful. It is vivid more than ever as it moves to be freed of its earthly
shell. And in that moment, when my physical eyes close, my soul is energized. I
have not left myself, only my body, and I am flying. I am fleeing. I am
traveling to paradise.
My little girl is mesmerized with
herself in front of a mirror. She toys with her pigtails, smiles at what she
sees, and even pays a kiss to herself. Her beautiful face brightens the room,
and her joyous light radiates everywhere she goes. She unknowingly wears the
cloak of innocence, not yet weighed down by pressures, worldly things, or ideas
that could sabotage the feelings she has for herself.
It is a
scary thought how one day she may look at herself with a different opinion. Her
eyes may have shadows cast upon them or worse, a psychological or social
blindness, keeping her from seeing her beauty on the inside and the outside.
She may compromise all the good things about her in order to fit in. Perhaps
she’ll even grow apart from me so that she can hide all the wonderful things I
know she is and will be. It is a reality that is quite possible for her and to
all young people out there.
The choice
to fit in or to hold tightly to one’s true self will be her greatest challenge
as she grows. Will she be strong enough? Will she be keen enough to see right
through the nonsense? Will I be? If she chooses to fit in, then she will be a
pawn – open, mislead, and eventually taken over. If she chooses to stand
against all the things that could hurt her, then she’ll be the chessboard –
rooted, strong, yet alone as all the pieces are taken and maybe one, true
friend is left if any.
With
strength comes loneliness – a singling out or a setting apart from the fast
paced society which forces a loss of respect and a leap into danger. With
loneliness may come sadness, confusion, or anger – things that will walk with
her on her journey of growth. She’ll need support. She’ll crave companionship.
She’ll demand to understand.
The road of growth will not be
easy, but I have to be strong for her and she has to be strong for herself.
Through it all, I promise to talk to her. To be there for her. To hold hold her
just enough where she will not feel stifled – all the while adjusting as we go.
To stand behind her, giving her the voice of reason. To walk with her,
straightening her wings and readying her flight so that she can grow into
someone who will soar.
Saying the words, “I’m sorry” is as
common as saying “I love you”, yet both are not about the words. They are about
the process. Once an apology leaves your mouth, it never stops there. It
becomes part of you – a piece of you that you must stay attuned to. It is a
testimony that you must live by once you’ve committed to apologizing to
someone.
I am not
talking about rolling out the red carpet or kissing someone’s feet after you’ve
messed up. I speak of a kind of fuel or power behind the words, which can
rebuild relationships when a “sorry” is taken to heart. I am talking about
effort, commitment, and the deliverance of your apology. If you say it, you
MUST deliver it. That is, you must mean it, and live by it for the rest of your
days.
Some might
say it’s an art. Others might say it’s a science. I say it is spiritual. Being
sorry is being vulnerable. It is an open, conscientious act to admit a self
flaw. It is nothing short of a power driven by one’s heart – to reveal, to
repair, to reassess, to reinstate, and ultimately to reaccept in a new kind of
light.
When love
is the basis for a relationship, being sorry has a chance. Suddenly, it becomes
more than just words. It becomes the envelope that wraps what counts and keeps
it protected and cherished. It is the constant ingredient that allows the
savory aspects of a kinship to come to the surface.
If
apologies are seen in this type of approach, then like a diet, it becomes a way
of life so to speak – a constant effort to never allow a relationship to repeat
the hurt, the sadness, and the disconnect. The process of this type of apology
makes a person grow better, stronger, more deeply and more in tuned to how the
other needs and wants to be loved.
So, the
next time you say “I’m sorry”, don’t just say it. Feel it. Show it. Live it!
Responses:
Christine
I really love the fact you wrote about the meaning of sorry. So often in our society today, people use it as a crutch, say the words which sound hollow and without meaning to "be polite". I feel a lot of times the meaning of an apology is lost and that is something I try to instill in my children- to really mean and take to heart an apology. They shouldn't be just words, they should be the start of a journey. Thank You! Jenny It means so much that you appreciate this! As a mother, wife, friend, and coworker, I am really big on saying sorry. I too am adamant about teaching my own children the meaning and commitment behind a sorry. In that, we are connected, and I too thank you for your words of support.
I’ve found myself in crowded places
these last few days while on vacation. Roads filled with people from all walks
of life. Every nook and cranny packed with the sound of voices. While music
filters through the giant space of air, I watch; tired and hot, yet tuned into
the world around me.
In one
spot, there’s a family carrying on with laughter, chatter, and energy. I can
see the smiles and twinkles in their eyes as their happiness connects to others
that feel the same way.
In another
area, there are two people sitting quietly, pondering their surroundings.
Perhaps they are taking in the well tended gardens or the clouded castles in
the sky. Whatever they are thinking, it’s peaceful and they are content.
And then
there are the ones having a moment with their spouse, holding hands or maybe
even having a spat. Children here, there, and everywhere are wearing joy, contentment,
exhaustion, or utter frustration.
In this
place of amusement, families gather to be with one another. And in those little
spaces, there are moments, good and bad. Through it all, there is a bond of
history between each one. Roads and times they’ve traveled on. Situations and
dilemmas they’ve stumbled upon. Seconds and snap shots they’ve treasured. And
in the midst of everything, there is the foundation, which is love.
Love that goes with them.
Love that carries them.
Love that takes them home.
Responses:
Chrishawn: Great read. Simple but complicated reality. When families gather nomatter..they will go through a range of emotions but usually end up back 'home'so-to-speak. Loving each other through the roller coasters.
Jenny: Thanks for chiming in:) I feel encouraged by families who can be together, go through the motions together, and come out still loyal and fond of each other in their likenesses and their differences:
Noise from this world can often be my source of inner
pollution. Television, computers, cell phones, music, children, adults, barking
dogs, unfriendly tones, and overwhelming news flood the earth’s spaces until it
bulges, bursting at the seems. My insides constrict and I feel the pounding in
my head. Like the tide, anger can rise within, crippling me.
I can’t eat. I don’t sleep. Even when the noise is gone it
runs through my mind, flashing images and screaming thoughts.
I make a great effort to stop the noise. I try to be still.
I look for solace. I focus on the quiet things, which are hidden or simply
drowned out.
To be aware. To have a still mind. To be true to myself. To
be expanded to where my heart is open, identifying and listening to all the
things that bring joy, is to be alive and fulfilled.
To have a still mind in the midst of a chaotic world is next
to near impossible, but it is essential in order to have a productive life.
Inner peace is the root to a person’s potential. It brings a calm clarity that
can endure anything. If I can find the things that bring me peace, then I can
break the tension that’s constantly threatening.
Perhaps that is my test. Perhaps that is why I am here to
begin with – to be able to face worldly noise and hear the music of my soul,
which sings a steady peace that moves forward humbly and with a smile.
For now, I
grieve. I breathe in my sorrows and turn them into tears of acceptance. I move
onward, slowly watching as the colors of challenge paint my life. They form a
shape – a thing I can grasp. Is it a dream? Is it a person? Is it my place in
this universe? I do not know, but I believe in fate. I believe in purpose. Somehow,
someway, light will spill onto my darkness – my fears – and my hurt will fall on
the wayside. Beyond these shadows is something beautiful – something that reflects
the person I was meant to be.
Reflection
Sometimes we just
feel sad, or tired, or just plain defeated. Occasionally these feelings
overrule our optimism, our strength, and our determination. Though we may not
see it, these struggles are the very keys to our true selves. Rather than
pushing them away, sometimes it is important to surrender to them – to listen
to them for a while – so that we can see our journeys more clearly.
The obscure path stretches before
me. I can see the twists and turns up ahead. I wonder about the crossroads, the
forks, the dead ends, and the long stretches of nothingness. A hint of fear
creeps up my spine as the possibility of hardship stifle my optimism. Will
there be darkness? Will there be storms? Of those, I am sure.
Still, the
road set before me is bordered with green pastures. The blue sky holds the
light of promise. The wind surrounds me as its invisible tines push me, revel
me, entice me, and keep me from turning back.
I am mostly
alone on this journey, but I feel the support around me. Like a fortress, I
move with it as it is my first armor. And if the path I choose strips that
armor from the likes of me, I have my second one, for it flows beneath the
surface of my skin. It is my very own – my belief, my energy, my heart. When
beaten down, it rises again. When thrashed about and severed, it regenerates.
It is my soul, connected to something bigger than myself and the driver of my
everything. And so I move forward, vulnerable and yet invincible at the same
time.
Change forces us to move beyond
what we are and perhaps what we want to be. Our comfortable paths can often
times veer towards mysterious ones that either lead to magic or even more
challenging places. Not knowing can make us disregard opportunities or lead us
to insecure discomfort, making us resist change.
But let’s
think about the beauty of change. It’s as if our souls metamorphosize into
something wiser, greater, and much more spiritual. As the hand of fate
surrounds us, once we let it in, fate steers our steps. And as we travel
through change, we become different. Perhaps struggles become rested, pain
turns into tolerance or revelation, and fear grows into courage.
Regardless
of how we look at change, it is an iconic, individual process. We are never the
same person no matter if we keep moving forward or turn back to start again. Awake
to the changes blowing through our beings. Believe in change. Believe in the
unseen. Believe in who we are as beautiful spirits with room to grow.
Questions for this week: What is your challenging change?
How have you grown thus far? What are you still struggling with?
With dreams aglow in
the darkest of night I see the shaft which
brings hope and light.
These two, left feet
feel the rhythm of chance
And I make them
listen so they learn to dance.
Engendering will that
drives and sows
Till it exhausts and
revives wherever the wind blows
Today
I am a leaf, but tomorrow the stalk
Growing my roots
until I can walk
Above and below,
over, under and about
This heart rises up
and begins to shout
I was, I am, and I
will be
The part of the song
that sings about me
I live, I love, and I
strive to see
All the wonders that
are and that may come to be
But now, in the quiet
of solemnly ode
The path sets before
me, my lifetime, my road.
Reflection: The subject of growth is broad and most of the time,
subjective. Ultimately though, the concept of growth, the process of growth,
and the consequences of growth are nothing short of freedom.
I think about that night when I
lost my mother. I swore the moment she closed her eyes was the moment my world
went dark. It wasn’t just a silent eclipse either. To me, it was as if a giant
meteor crashed inside my world, sending storms, floods, and poison into my
spirit. For a long time, I was crippled, and there were many days when I
thought her death killed every inspiration within me.
I often
surged between loneliness and anger, and then there were many times when I
washed up on bargaining shores.
“If I could
just have her back, I would be a better person,” I often said.
Deep down
though, I had no control over the fact that she was gone, and bargaining would
lead me to nowhere every time.
My
aftershocks included angry bouts of unfinished business, to crying spells of
regret, to day long silences that humbled the functioning parts of me.
Fragments of her face appeared in and out of my mind, whether I wanted them to
or not. Remnants of the way things used to be haunted me. No matter how hard I
tried to piece myself back together, I was stuck, coexisting with a grief I
didn’t want or couldn’t handle.
I lived in sadness. I let it eat at
me as if I was the last thing left in my world, all the while feeling the good
things about me disappear. Somewhere in my depression, I became small and lost
in my tragedy, drifting the way a leaf does once it falls from its core.
In time though, I learned to acknowledge
the mess that my mother’s death caused me. There was no order to it, no planned
events that I could prepare for. I just rolled with my emotions, never really
knowing where I would end up. Thankfully, I got through the days where
emptiness threatened to keep me, and I clung to the days that gave me strength
to keep moving.
Through my hardship, I learned that
it was alright to feel these things, and though these emotions were loud and
impinging upon my life, I came to understand just how deeply I loved her, how
dramatically she touched my existence. And now, I often wonder, since I am
learning to be better without her, if she even knows how much she teaches me in
her death.
To this day, I learn to listen to
myself compassionately. I strive to take initiative over my life and seek
support to help me find hope or validation. Most of all, I learn to allow
myself to remember, to be sad, and to be happy. She has taught me to carry her
memory, but to carry myself first, since I must go on. And though there is a
crater lying deep within me, the signs of life bloom everywhere around it with
her voice whispering through it all.
Responses:
My mom always sang this song called A Bushel and a Peck to Collin. It goes, I love you, a bushel and a peck and a hug around the neck. You bet your pretty neck I do, doo doo doo doo doo doo doo
I saw a card at the store today in the mother\'s day isle that played it. She was speaking to me. God allows pain in our lives to remind us how much we will be spared of it when we reach him. Until then I have decided that when people say life is hard, they are wrong. Life is not hard, death is. Death of a person, a dream, a goal, a harsh word when it could have been softened. That is all death, and on earth we daily die a little bit each day. When we choose to live, we realize that is our goal. Eternal Life. And therefore life is not hard, Life is our abundant destiny.
The loss of a pet
provokes serious emotions within children. Sometimes they cry out loud, while
other times they cry on the inside. It is important to address this type
situation to all family members if a pet has been lost. The Loss of Duncan was
written to help validate a child’s voice during this tough time. After all, to
many families, pets are just an extension of one another. They are our family
too.
The Loss of Duncan
by... J I Avis
"For the first
time ever, I am alone in my room," I said, as tears swelled in my eyes. My one, true friend
was gone. Duncan
was taken to the vet to be put to sleep, and though it was the best choice for
him, I still hurt. I tried to think about all the days he didn't feel so
good, and I pushed myself to understand. But I missed his softness. I
missed how he wrapped his neck around me when I gave him a hug. And I would have
given anything to hear the whip of his wagging tail and the short flicks
of his tongue as he kissed me good night. When I woke up this
morning, Duncan
couldn't walk. He had just enough strength to lift his head and look at
me. I will never forget how his sad eyes told me everything - that it was time
for him to rest. And though it was hours since he'd been gone, I couldn't help
but feel a bottomless hole deep in my heart. "Honey?"
asked Mama as she gently opened the door. She tip-toed in,
carrying something, though I could not see its detail in the dim light. Once
she turned the light on, I saw that it was a book of some sort. As she sat on
my bedside, I couldn't help but let my tears fall. "I know this is
hard, but you are not alone," she said. "We all miss Duncan. He was a part of our family for a
long time." "But I want to
hug him, and be with him," I cried. "Here," she
said, sighing. "I made this for you." She placed the small
book on my lap, and I saw more details as I wiped the tears away. There on the
blue cover was the title Duncan and Me. When I looked inside, I
saw Duncan and me as babies. We were wrapped around each other like two
pups in a pack. With each page, a new memory lit up my heart. He was my
dog. He was my friend. He was my brother, and I loved him all the way. "This will help Duncan stay close to
you," said Mama. "Though you have to go on, you don't have to forget
the ones you love." I still felt the deep
pain of loss, but I knew my mother understood me, and so I hugged her. And
when she left, the tears still fell as I grieved. I looked through the
photo book, and I found that it did help. I couldn't change a lot
about what happened, but I did learn that I could remember. And every time I
saw Duncan's
familiar face, I remembered his smell. I remembered how he greeted me. I
remembered how I loved him, and how my dog loved me. The last photo in the
book was the most recent one of us. Duncan
had been sick, and his eyes begged to rest. I studied the photo and knew we'd
done the right thing by letting him go. I pictured him running freely
somewhere in my heart - free of pain, free of sickness - the way he would have
wanted, and I smiled through my tears. "I will love
you forever," I whispered to the photo. "And I will miss you
always." When I closed the
book, I put it under my pillow. And when I closed my eyes, Duncan was there in my
mind, playing the way he loved to. And instead of falling asleep broken
hearted, I couldn't help but smile.
Mirrors – they were made to
reflect. When I look in the mirror, I see all the physical things about me, my
hair, my eyes, perhaps the flaws in my skin or the contours of my body. Some
parts I like, and others I can do without.
If I stare
a bit longer, I can move beyond the flat surface to places I cannot see, but
feel. I can feel the rush of my blood, the tingling of my skin, and the
attention of my senses. Perhaps I am fine, but perhaps I am not.
If I stare
even longer, I can see the reflection of my imagination and my feelings, the
very things that motivate or sabotage me. In those moments of mirrored images,
I am magnified, depicted, and exposed to my truths. More than just literal, I
am reflected from all angles and all degrees of light. I am present physically,
but also beyond that. I am a soul, endless, searching, and bountiful.
Look in
your mirror. Stare at what you see, then move beyond that. Find the mirror to
your soul. Is there a void, or an abyss? Are you restless with questions you
can’t answer? Or are you invigorated and hopeful? What does your mirror reflect
about you?
Responses:
Chrishawn Floyd My mirror reflects, at this moments, my silent wishes. It is good. Sometimes, 'hope' is the best tool for tempering fear and insecurity. Hope is a way out, even if just a little.
Sharyn Rogers When I look in the mirror, I am in disbelief. I can't believe that I am a wife and mom of two with another on the way. I wonder if I am doing what's best for family and myself. My many insecurities surface, but I remember I have God on my side. He will guide our family (and me) to lead our best life.
Christine My mirror is shiny and reflects back self-realization. I see the body I am left with after having 2 children. I see the green and gold flecks in my eyes that have seen miracles, horrors and everything in between. I see my heart which is always so full of love and hope and joy. I see my mind which is strong, harsh, has made rash decisions when it comes to friendships, has made excellent decisions when it has come to family, has made quick decisions in times of urgency and has been reflective when my environment allowed it. My mirror shows me who I am- a strong woman, a mother, a friend, a daughter, a veteran, an educator,a poet at heart and an always hopeful soul.
