Anger

A couple weeks ago, I screwed up on Facebook.

Yep, it happens. It happens a lot actually. People say things they regret, or they get into pointless arguments, or they post drunken pictures of the party they shouldn't have been at because they'd called in sick to work that day. Facebook can be a minefield for the unwary and the careless.

I'm usually more careful, but I let my temper get away with me. When I get angry, words are my medium, my weapon, my outlet. If I'm angry with a person, I quite often write them a letter, though I rarely send those words spilled out in anger, burning through the page like acid. It helps me to get the anger out of my system, to pour it out and look at it with a saner mind, and quite often it helps me to put things into perspective.

Image by William Arthur Fine Stationary, courtesy of Flickr.

This time, in an impulsive moment, I poured my anger, grief and frustration out into a post, not meant to be seen by anyone involved, but I made a mistake. Well, I made TWO mistakes. First, I ranted publicly about an incident that made me angry and sick and sad, but that did not happen to ME. I had my facts straight, but the story wasn't necessarily mine to tell.

The second mistake was to make my post "Public". If you're unused to social media, here's a quick tutorial: you have the option of setting your posts to "friends only", "friends of friends", or "Public". There is also an option to put certain friends (like your boss, if you're prone to posting photos of your weekend exploits), on a "restricted" list. Those friends will then only see your public posts.

Image by Sean MacAtee, courtesy of Flickr

I accidentally made my harshly-worded post public, and made comments elsewhere, setting off a minor explosion. I responded, apologized, and removed the rant entirely, which is what I should have done in the first place. I did what I could to stop the drama before it went any further, but I couldn't take back what had been done. Blood spilled can't be recalled, which is why we must be cautious always, whether we wield a sword or a pen... a fact that I have been well aware of for a long time. The urge to defend, prove, and explain is still strong, but whether I was right about what I said or not doesn't matter. The fact remains that I shouldn't have handled it the way I did.

It took me some time, and some reflection, to understand the anger that propelled the entire incident. My fury was out of proportion, and it drove me to acting out in a way I normally wouldn't. I've spent years learning to control my anger, and learning to direct it into positive, constructive solutions. I learned many years ago that only bullies scream and rant and yell and assert their power over others because they can. Only bullies and cowards tear down or attack or are mean even in little ways, because it makes them feel powerful and in control.

Childish thinking leads to childish actions.

My father, by contrast, was the most gentle, easygoing person I've ever known. I rarely knew him to raise his voice, and even more rarely saw him argue or fuss. I don't think there was a mean bone in his body. He was one of the most respected people in our little community. His funeral was packed. A custodian from a little town, retired for over 15 years, and still former students, teachers, family and friends packed that church so that we would've been hard pressed to fit one more person into the assembly. My dad was a real man, something that I think we are lacking these days.

The more I thought about what happened, the more I came to realize that anger is always, always fueled by fear. My rant was fueled by fear. Fear that something like the incident I ranted about could've happened here, where I live. Fear of living in a neighborhood where I feel vulnerable as a single mom trying to raise two teens. We live in a rural area, in which kids run loose, much as I did growing up.

Image by Earthworm, courtesy of Flickr

 I've been afraid since last year, when some local scrappers took advantage of my letting them have the metal out of a bin out front, and came back to try and steal what they could find in my garage and barn.  It makes me nervous to live here now, with my ex's and father-in-law's extensive collection of metal miscellaneous junk laying around the property. To some, that looks like easy money, with the scrapyard paying well for scrap metal and hey, her husband isn't there, so it's free for the taking, right?

I'm angry that I've had to inform my ex, and my father-in-law, who I'm rather fond of, that they have to remove their stuff because I can't keep it here any longer. I'm angry that I can't take my time cleaning up the property myself, because I'm afraid someone will decide to simply help themselves. I'm angry that I should have to worry about this kind of stuff, on top of everything else that comes with being on my own.

Image by jbcwalsh, courtesy of Flickr

 On the flip side of the anger is the intense gratitude for the family, friends and neighbors who are good and decent people. There are those who've given me a hand up. My own family, of course. While I'm grown and they have no obligation to help me out, families take care of one another. I'm grateful for my brother, who came and put siding on and replaced windows. I'm grateful for my Mom, who has been a rock, and my other siblings who've helped when they can and who've been nothing but supportive.

I'm grateful for my neighbors who helped get my lawn tractor running again, and who have offered practical help with getting an old barn down. I'm grateful even to those neighbors who've done nothing but mind their own business and let us get on with life, without judgement or spreading gossip. There are those who call themselves friends, who are all talk and no where to be found when there's work to be done or a problem to be addressed, and then there are those who have stepped up and done more than I could've, our would've thought of asking for. I've been surprised at who's landed in each category.

Anger can be poison. It gets into your system and festers, like a splinter under the skin. Unleashed, it can only cause destruction. However, anger isn't the problem. Fear is the problem. Fear causes the lack of control that sets anger free, reckless, dangerous, and destructive. Anger needs to be controlled, directed, and focused, to be productive.

I'm working on that.

*~*~*

“Angry people are not always wise.”
~Jane Austen

“Anybody can become angry — that is easy, but to be angry with the right person and to the right degree and at the right time and for the right purpose, and in the right way — that is not within everybody's power and is not easy.”
~Aristotle

Emerging

Who wouldn't want such a handsome guy? Look at those stunning markings!

SMT (Single Male Turtle) seeks SFT for companionship and possibly something more down the road.
He enjoys long walks in the yard, slugs and terrorizing nosy kittens. Also pina coladas and walks in the rain He is not into health food, but enjoys the taste of champagne.
Call 555-231-KAME and leave a message after the tone.

Spring is coming, and Kame will soon come out of hibernation more permanently than he has before now. He has been teasing me with occasional forays out of his mulch and dips into his bathing pool. I know he's not finished with his long rest, because he hasn't started eating yet, but with every degree the temperatures rise, I hope he will soon emerge for the season.

Kame is not the only one who is in a transition phase. This blog started out as a record of the journey I was on, the attempt I was making to try to save my marriage. Two years later, the attempt has failed, but I am still here.

“She remembered the day vividly, for how can you forget the day your heart is broken? The funny thing about a broken heart is that it's not fatal. Though you wish in vain that it were, life continues on and you have no choice but to continue on with it.”
~Tracy Winegar

I have been continuing on, because really, what other choice do I have? Through frozen water pipes, a quadrupled electric bill that took three months and hours of fruitless and frustrating phone calls to sort out, no water for 3 days, no washing machine for 2 weeks... I have carried on. Through stubborn children and pets passing on, through financial and emotional crises.  Through the loss of a very dear friend, through the normal, and not-so-normal, ups and downs of every day life.

When I started this blog, I closed my first entry with a quote:

“I found a pen; another person found a scrap of paper; a third person, the words. “Dead End,” we wrote and left it on the side of the road for the next traveler to find and perhaps turn around in time.”
~For Sarah, by Annie Harmon

 I didn't know, when I shared those bleak words, that the road I was traveling down would turn out to be... not a dead-end, exactly, but certainly a detour, a deviation from the path I set for myself nearly 18 years ago on my wedding day. It was certainly not the road I wanted my children to travel. I wanted so much more for them, so much better... but life is not always what we choose. Sometimes, it takes us in directions we neither wanted nor expected and our only choice is to survive.

I am in the process of choosing some new paths to follow. College is a given. I will finish the course and earn my degree. I completed an associates last term and am on track for my bachelors. This is happening.
My career is the second fork I've taken in the road. Although I would prefer to write fiction, especially fiction for children, I am learning new skills to increase my value as a blogger and content provider. The market demands coding experience, so I am taking a class in basic HTML and CSS. I may never morph into a graphic designer, but I hope to at least gain a few valuable skills. And finally... This blog's focus will, indeed, it must, change. It will still be a chronicle of the journey, but now the journey has moved in a different direction and I, too, must move on.

It has been three years since I discovered my husband's affair. My marriage has been over for nearly two years, although neither of us was ready to admit it until a year ago when he told me he wanted a divorce. The final papers were signed two months ago. I am considering, just beginning to seriously entertain the idea, of re-joining the ranks of the truly single woman. I'm considering the possibility of dating again. Considering. Entertaining... cautiously sticking the very tip of my toe into the river, wondering if I dare step into the waters...

While I'm not ready to "jump right in" to dating at this point, I have allowed a male relationship or two to begin to grow into friendship, with very safe people. Both of my male friends are very happily married men, fully, completely and blissfully in love with their wives and their lives. I am learning, slowly, to interact with men as ... just me, without the filter of "I am a married woman" playing constantly through my mind. I recognize the change in myself and realize now that my insecurity up until this point when dealing with the opposite sex has been unhealthy.  I am also recognizing that I have a long way to go, emotionally and in healing, before I will be ready to enter into any kind of serious relationship. I also have my kids to think about. They will be my number-one consideration for quite a long time to come, and that puts any thought of a long-term commitment on hold for now.

So, when I say I'm considering dating again... What I mean is that I'm ready, after the maelstrom has finally begun to settle, to crack the door open just a hair and let a little sunshine in. I'm ready to meet new people. I'm ready to make friends. To open my heart to the possibility that one day, some day, I might meet someone special, someone who understands loyalty, commitment and honor. Someone who won't swoop in and "save" me from the difficulties, the frustrations and the day-to-day loneliness, but someone with whom I can laugh, someone who likes to read my stories and poems, someone who wants to know why I sleep with my door closed and my windows open at night. Someone I can trust. Someone I can love, and who can love me in return. Someday, I will find someone whose secrets will intrigue me, whose hobbies I find fascinating, whose efforts I can appreciate. Someone who makes me laugh with delight, who makes me smile. I will know he's the "right one" when I am satisfied to know he exists, and that he's thinking of me with the same quiet, contented delight, even when we're not together.
Someday.

For now, friendship is enough. I am learning, slowly, to embrace the idea that success is not in my lack of failure. It is in my ability to get up and move on.

Happy journeys, friends.
~Mary

“Success is not final, failure is not fatal: it is the courage to continue that counts.” ~Winston Churchill

Stuck

Did you ever just have one of "those" days?

Kame seems to have a penchant for hiding. And sometimes, getting into his favorite hiding spots proves challenging. Sometimes, he even gets stuck, while seeking a place of safety and refuge.
On this particular day, I had to rescue my little friend from where he was wedged between a laundry basket and the mini-fridge that was in our bedroom. The silly turtle was determined to get into that dark space and explore, but his shell just wouldn't let him fit.

I get stuck at times, too, especially when I'm determined to hide from the world. I spend hours, even days, sitting at my computer, cloistered in my little corner of my bedroom where I've set myself up with a makeshift office. Not long ago, I was well and thoroughly stuck. The loss of a marriage is a grieving process, one that I have been reluctant to share, here or anywhere else. I've felt a strong need to prove myself worthy and strong, to prove to my ex-husband and to everyone else that I don't "need" him, or any man in my life to be a complete person. The women in my family have a habit of holding on to unhealthy relationships. I am determined that my children will not pay for my mistakes.

Reading back through unposted drafts, I came across one I wrote soon after Ken made his departure official:

 

"This is the last picture I painted for Ken. I had been painting a picture for Christmas every so often. I had other paintings planned, but then life changed.

Since he left, I haven't picked up a paintbrush. In fact, I haven't written much... As evidenced by my neglect of this blog. I have been taking a day at a time, focusing on work and school and just getting through each day. By most counts... I'm doing pretty well."

 ~*~*~

"Doing pretty well" was a lie and I knew it... That's why this post went into the archives until now, along with the penciled outlines of the other paintings I had begun, tucked away in a folder. I didn't want to see them. I didn't want to write, I didn't want to paint, I didn't want to talk to anyone or do anything. I was stuck. I was hiding. I was in too much pain to do anything more than get through each day.

When a marriage breaks, it's like any injury the body sustains. A broken bone doesn't heal immediately. The sudden, shocking pain doesn't last, but the lingering ache does, even after the bone is set and in a cast. The healing process can't, and shouldn't be, rushed. Rest and care are necessary. Protection of the healing wound is critical. You don't break a leg, and go out and run a marathon the next day.

Lately, I've been wondering if I should be dating, or at least seeking out friendships with men. I miss the companionship of having someone to go out to dinner with, or to see a movie with. I miss the friendship and camaraderie that came with being married. I know that my ex hoped we could remain friends, but the betrayal was too deep. I am too angry, and too deeply hurt to see him as a friend. Perhaps, in time, we might achieve a lukewarm affection, but I doubt I will ever trust him enough again to call him a friend.

I even went so far as to join a Christian online dating club, taking the free trial membership to see if there might be someone out there like me, lonely, but not anxious to dive into another serious relationship, but I never made it out of the glancing-at-pictures from behind the safety of a free membership stage. The free membership doesn't allow for communication, so it's difficult to actually "meet" anyone without paying the monthly fee, a step that would bring the vulnerability of exposure I just don't feel ready for.

I know that, sometime soon, it will be time for the cast to come off. Healing is a balancing act. Left unused and protected for too long, the limb begins to atrophy. Once the bone heals, the cast needs to come off so that the work of rebuilding lost muscle can begin. I'm often frustrated in this stage of my life. Like an itchy cast, the protective shell I've built around my heart can be galling at times. I want to be out there, running in the sunshine, meeting someone new, taking new risks and building a new life... but I'm not ready.

I'm no longer stuck. I'm healing. I'm not ready, yet, to get up off the couch and come out into the sun, but I know that spring is coming and, like Kame, I will come out of hibernation, in time.



Until next time...
~Mary

~*~*~

 “And I felt like my heart had been so thoroughly and irreparably broken that there could be no real joy again, that at best there might eventually be a little contentment. Everyone wanted me to get help and rejoin life, pick up the pieces and move on, and I tried to, I wanted to, but I just had to lie in the mud with my arms wrapped around myself, eyes closed, grieving, until I didn’t have to anymore.”
-Anne Lamott (Operating Instructions: A Journal of my Son's First Year)

The LORD is my light and my salvation; Whom shall I fear? The LORD is the defense of my life; Whom shall I dread?
-Psalm 27: 1

Of Love and Loss and Moving On

My notes in church are often less.... lyrical, than you might think.

 Kame has once again slipped into hibernation mode. His torpor means that he disappears for days at a time, emerging only occasionally to explore the offerings of fresh raspberries and take a short dip in his bathing tub, before disappearing beneath the mulch once again. He deals with winter by avoiding it entirely, passing it half-asleep and hidden.

Not for the first time, I find myself envying my shelled friend's ability to sleep through the less pleasant months of the season. I, too, have been hibernating, in a way. I've been avoiding speaking out about many of the emotions rolling through my days as I move forward, because so many of them have to do with other people, and I have vowed that this blog will be about my own life, and not a clearinghouse of gossip about others.
It might not be possible for me to blog without mentioning what's going on in my ex's world, or in my children's, but I'm trying not to air anyone's laundry but my own.

So much has happened since I last wrote. October brought with it a shocking blow with the loss of a very old and dear friend. Laura Kim Eisele Curtis was one of the best friends I've had. She put up with my ramblings, my oddities, my failures and my quirks. She made me laugh. She made me less ashamed of my PTSD symptoms and helped me see it as a condition to be managed, rather than a weakness. She stood beside me as I walked through some of the most difficult times in my life, and she allowed me to be a part of her life as she dealt with her own losses, blows and failures. Her passing was devastating, and a loss to the world, though most will never know what they missed by not knowing her.

My beautiful friend Laura, with her dad, Don, being a goof in the background. She had a quirky sense of humor that she came by honestly.

There are many things that Laura shared with me that I will take to my grave, but I can tell you a few things about my dear friend. She was a great singer and an amazing mom. I will forever hear her voice singing "You Are My Sunshine" to her daughter over the phone at bed time on the occasions she stayed at my home. There is surely no sound more beautiful in the world. She was a good friend. I can't count the times she listened to me and let me run on. She gave me good advice. She was the one who encouraged *cough*dragged*cough* me into seeking out a college degree. She has been my friend, my support, and my confidant for well over ten years... and now she's gone. Just like that, in one dark night, she left this world and traveled beyond the veil.
And even now, she is with me.

I could hear her beside me, snickering, at her final service, as the Pastor's voice rose in song. He had a lovely voice, but Laura often attended my son's guitar lessons with me, and we had sat, barely containing school-girl giggles, through many voice-student's renditions of "New York, New York". Since her parents live near the Big City, and my favorite fictional heroes are rumored to occupy its sewer system, the song made us giggle all the more. I could feel her arms around my shoulders, even as I cried. I could hear her voice in my dreams, in the wretched days after her passing, laughing and exclaiming, "but Mary, I'm here with MacKenzie! I'm dancing... I don't hurt anymore..."

Her baby daughter who succumbed to SIDS was waiting for her, I know. And although she has left two other beautiful young women behind, I know the joy of that reunion will be complete when we all come together in Eternity's time. Laura knows no grief now, no pain. She has stepped out of time, and into the place where there are no more tears, no more sorrows. It is only those of us who are left behind who grieve for the parting. I could feel her presence again, more faintly, when I achieved my first college degree. I could hear her voice, quietly telling me "I'm proud of you, Friend. You did it."

Laura has moved on, and although I was not ready, could never be ready, to lose my friend, I know that this parting is a part of life. Death's pain is the echo of the separation Man took from God in the Garden, and it is eased by the knowledge that the gap has been closed by His son, that this world is healing. Death is a scar in the eternal tapestry, nothing more.

And now, it is time for me to move on, to move forward in my own life. I can not hold on to the hurts and worries and grief of the past year. I can not hold on to the man who was once my husband, or allow his choices to guide my emotions any longer. I must come to a place where I can see him building a new life of his own, and be able to smile and wish him well. I have not yet reached that place. I don't know how long it will take, but I do know that the only way for healing to begin is to remove the splinter of bitterness and anger.

A painting from my college Illustration class, with a quote that I hope, will define the new year.

Someone very wise once said that revenge is like a splinter. It festers and poisons the mind. The only way to heal is to let it go.

The river is moving on... and I must step into it once again, and find a new way.

-Mary
~*~*~

"Hope
Smiles from the threshold of the year to come,
Whispering, "It will be happier..." - Alfred Tennyson

Full

Introducing Akai. That's a saucer beside him, not a dinner plate.

We do seem to have a habit of acquiring pets around here. They're like potato chips... we can't stop at just one. Today, I'd like to introduce Akai. (Ah-kye). "Akai" is Japanese for "red", and although you can't see it in this picture, this little guy's sides and bottom are marked with bright scarlet. He's a painted turtle, a common species where we live. My friend found him on the road. Ordinarily, the right thing to do would have been to admire this beautiful little guy and move him off the road, but if you look closely, you can see the cracked shell above his tail.

A crack like this one is an invitation for infection, not to mention a serious structural weakness that could threaten Akai's safety if he were attacked by a predator. My friend thought it best for Akai to seek refuge for him with Kame, and I agreed. Akai is a bit smaller than Kame. His shell is about 5 inches from front to back. The crack takes up an inch and a half, making it a significant injury. He may have been clipped by a car.

Although Kame is nearly twice Akai's size, he was... somewhat ambivalent at first, about his new roommate. Once he discovered Akai would not hog his food, he accepted him readily. Turtles, unlike humans, are not especially territorial.

Kame: "Dude, who is this turtle and what's he doin' on my rock??"

 

.

 

 

 

 

I... am having more trouble sharing my space. Memories keep intruding, staying like guests who just can't take a hint. Emotions are also crowding me. Grief, anger, disappointment, loss... and anger keeps bubbling up in the most unexpected ways. Anger motivated me to re-paint my upstairs bathroom, adding color where Ken preferred white walls. Anger makes me want to remove every trace of my husband from this house... to assert my own sense of style I so often set aside in favor of his taste and feelings.

Even if I would give in to the urge, it wouldn't be possible. He and I have been remodeling for almost ten years. Our sweat, our blood, and our tears are nailed, spackled, and painted into these walls. I can no more remove his presence from this house than I can remove my emotions. And, when I think of my kids, I know I don't want to. Whatever my feelings are, he is still their father, and my job, first and foremost, is to love and support them through this transition. I will paint, and pretend it's just to make our home nicer for them. Passive-aggressive? Maybe, but at least I am doing no harm to my children's psyches this way.

My kids... They are the reason my friends keep telling me I'm dealing better with this entire situation than they would. They would get a jackal of a lawyer. They would take him for everything they could. They would toss his things in the yard, burn them. They would not stack his things on the porch. They would not wait patiently for him to create space in his new home (there's a big anger spike right there!- when I think of the work THIS house needs... OUR house, and that he is doing so much in another place...). They would not tolerate his nonsense! And I just smile and shake my head, because although I have anger, I can't imagine doing those things. I don't want to... not for more than a moment when I'm frustrated, anyway. There's simply no point. Being destructive would not make me feel any better. Inflicting hurt to "punish" him for hurting me, lashing out... Those are all the things I learned in counseling and parenting classes, years ago, to  avoid. The counseling that has helped me control and direct my emotion into positive action has left me unable to throw the temper tantrums I sometimes feel like having. The urge comes on me... and the voice of my counselor in my memory asks "Will it help? Will you feel better afterward, or worse?"... and the anger fades before the fire can be stoked out of control.

And so, I stack his things on the porch. I try to be reasonable. I don't e-mail HER and say "Are you happy now?" I try not to dwell on what's gone by, because time is a river... and you can't stop the flow. It moves on, inevitable, and fighting it will only leave you waterlogged, exhausted and drowned.  

I may not be dealing with this the "right" way. I may be too tolerant. I may, as some have told me, be "letting him get away with" too much. But, I'm keeping my head above water. Besides, in the end, who will be happier? Who, when this is over, will have "won"? Who, in the end, is walking away with more?

I look at my kids, and I know the answer.
With or without him here, my life is full, and I am blessed.

~*~*~

"Not leaving: an act of trust and love, often deciphered by children”
~Markus Zusak

 “Nothing you do for children is ever wasted.”
  ~Garrison Keillor

A Christmas Gift

Christmas... What a beautiful word. It brings to mind mistletoe and tinsel, sparkling lights and nativity scenes... like the one my mom gave me on Ken and my first Christmas together. I'd seen the nativity set in a Home Interiors catalog, and oh, how I coveted those beautiful figures!

I didn't think I would ever own them, however. Like for many newly married couples, money was tight... but Mom somehow knew how much I loved the Greatest Stories Ever Told figures I'd been collecting, and this set was the crown jewel of the collection. When I opened the gift at our family's Christmas celebration... I cried.

Sixteen years later, as I set the figures into our china closet (they're far to precious to me to risk displaying them out in the open with a new kitten in the house and three rambunctious dogs), I cried again.

Christmas is about so many things. First and foremost, it's about Family. The first Family was broken when Eve reached up, plucking a fruit that would lead to destruction. (And how many families have been destroyed since then, when Satan whispered a lie and a hand reached out to take a "forbidden fruit"?)
Then a new Family told the next part of the story, when a humble babe was born in Bethlehem, some 2000 plus years ago, and hope once again shone in the world.

Friends are part of the story as well. Wise men and shepherds came to celebrate the birth, bringing gifts to the new family and sharing in their joy. Connections happened. I wonder what those wise men and those shepherds talked about, as they stood around that manger. Can't you imagine the conversation?
Shepherd: "Well. He's a wrinkly little thing, isn't he?"
Wise man: "I sure hope you read your star charts right! We better not have traveled all this way and taken a wrong turn at Nazareth!"

It is friends I want to write about just now. Friends who have come along side in my most difficult times, friends who know me better than anyone else. Friends who have laughed together, and cried together. Friends who've shared their troubles, their joys, and their hearts.

Over this past week leading up to Christmas, several packages and letters have arrived in the mail, gifts from friends who live far away. I sent out some packages of my own, praying they'd find their way to their destinations on time, smiling as I thought of the recipients. I still have letters to write, because that is how I do Christmas... with a lick and a promise, and rarely on time.

One of the things I enjoy most about Christmas is choosing those gifts. They are never expensive or elaborate, but the time I spend choosing them, and in some cases designing or creating them, is like time spent with the friends who will receive them. And when I receive a package, as I did today, I know the friend who put it together has done the same thing... and for a moment, we have shared time together, even if we have never met in person.

The time leading up to Christmas has been difficult for me this year, for several reasons, but when I come online and see my instant-messenger flashing, or the phone rings and a familiar number shows up on the display, my heart is soothed and I smile. When a package or letter arrives, when I open a card, I am blessed. In a world filled with the rush of Christmas, with children begging for Iphones and spouses exchanging diamonds and cars... I open a box with a few simple gifts tucked inside, and the tears come, because I am so blessed.

This entry is for my friends, for my family, for the ones who are loving me through every step of the way. I couldn't do it without you. May God bless and keep you during this most blessed, beautiful and peaceful Christmas Season, and all through the year.

Christmas is tomorrow. What are you hoping to find under your tree?

Rejoicing in the day,
-Mary
~*~*~

"For unto us a child is born, unto us a son is given: and the government shall be upon his shoulder: and his name shall be called Wonderful, Counsellor, The mighty God, The everlasting Father, The Prince of Peace."

Isaiah 9:6

"¹ In those days Caesar Augustus issued a decree that a census should be taken of the entire Roman world. ² (This was the first census that took place while^[a] Quirinius was governor of Syria.) ³ And everyone went to their own town to register.

⁴ So Joseph also went up from the town of Nazareth in Galilee to Judea, to Bethlehem the town of David, because he belonged to the house and line of David. ⁵ He went there to register with Mary, who was pledged to be married to him and was expecting a child. ⁶ While they were there, the time came for the baby to be born, ⁷ and she gave birth to her firstborn, a son. She wrapped him in cloths and placed him in a manger, because there was no guest room available for them.

⁸ And there were shepherds living out in the fields nearby, keeping watch over their flocks at night. ⁹ An angel of the Lord appeared to them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them, and they were terrified. ¹⁰ But the angel said to them, “Do not be afraid. I bring you good news that will cause great joy for all the people. ¹¹ Today in the town of David a Savior has been born to you; he is the Messiah, the Lord. ¹² This will be a sign to you: You will find a baby wrapped in cloths and lying in a manger.”

¹³ Suddenly a great company of the heavenly host appeared with the angel, praising God and saying,

¹⁴ “Glory to God in the highest heaven,
and on earth peace to those on whom his favor rests.”

¹⁵ When the angels had left them and gone into heaven, the shepherds said to one another, “Let’s go to Bethlehem and see this thing that has happened, which the Lord has told us about.”

¹⁶ So they hurried off and found Mary and Joseph, and the baby, who was lying in the manger. ¹⁷ When they had seen him, they spread the word concerning what had been told them about this child, ¹⁸ and all who heard it were amazed at what the shepherds said to them. ¹⁹ But Mary treasured up all these things and pondered them in her heart. ²⁰ The shepherds returned, glorifying and praising God for all the things they had heard and seen, which were just as they had been told."

Luke 2: 1-20

Giving thanks in the rain

Kame and I have a new friend. Her name is CreamsiclePumpkinPiePancakes. Pumpkin for short.

Kame isn't sure what to make of this orange-and-white tornado who has invaded his space. She climbs on his enclosure, watching as he eats, reaches through the panels to swat at him, and generally makes a nuisance of herself. The poor turtle can't even enjoy his bathing pool. She watches too cannily as he climbs up to the end, slides down his plastic ramp into the water, and climbs up to bask on the rocks. Although Pumpkin weighs little more than Kame himself, she makes him nervous and uncomfortable. He and I are a lot alike. Neither of us are fond of change.

Changes, however, are a part of life.

"Without change, there would be no butterflies."

It's the day before Thanksgiving as I write this. Ken got up this morning, fixed me breakfast, and went off to work... We spent a quiet morning together, talking about the plans for the holiday, like normal people do. We were civil and affectionate, carefully acting like everything wasn't falling apart. Like we're not quietly dismantling everything we've spent sixteen years building. Like we're not planning to divorce. Someone looking at our quiet little scene would've thought we were just another happily married couple... And once upon a time, we were.

I used to love holidays... These quiet mornings when I felt closest to my husband. When we spent time planning for spending time with the family, looking forward to relaxing and laughing together, good food and good times...
Those things are not going to go away when things change for us, but there is a sense of profound loss all the same. The holidays will still be a time of love and laughter and smiles. I believe that on my good days. But with the change looming large in front of us, moving quietly through the undercurrents of our family like a fault opening up under a neighborhood, preparing to collapse and swallow it whole... Change does not look to me like a positive thing.

I know it will be. I know, when little resentments rise up, and are quieted by knowing this state of flux is temporary, when I look toward a future in which we can be friends, and we can each live our lives without expectations, without suspicion and resentment and hurt, I know that the changes are necessary and good for our family. I know our kids will understand, one day. I know that this will get better, that it will be better.

It's raining out today. It's cold and wet and threatening to turn into sleet, sticking to the road and making everything treacherous. Soon there will be snow falling, thick and heavy and cold. I know these things must come, as they do in their season. I know also that Spring will come, in its time. With the rain falling cold and slick outside, the sun is only behind the clouds, and it will return to warm us again.

I know that the changes coming will be difficult. I know there will be tears raining, hurt feelings and cold... I know the kids won't understand, at least not at first. I know there will be pain, and I dread it. If I could live forever in this limbo, this disconnect between what is real and what they believe, and keep them happily cocooned forever, I would. I would sacrifice my own soul, bleed out a drop at a time, anything, to spare them the pain that change will bring...

But I know that butterflies left in a cocoon wither and die. I know that they must break free, they must spread their wings, they must fly. Even the struggle is a necessary part of the butterfly's emerging. If the cocoon is cut open, and they are freed too soon, the insect will perish. The fight to escape the cocoon forces the fluids in the creature's body into its wings, expanding and growing them, stretching them out to dry in the sun... until it is ready to relinquish the cocoon, and fly.

Knowing all this... I will do all I can to make this transition easier for them. I will forgive and heal and allow myself to maintain the love I had for the man who is their father. I will fight back against bitterness and anger. I will not justify wrongs, but neither will I carry the weight of grudges. For their sake, I will do what I can to be kind, to be strong, to be faithful to my God and my family, even when I feel like throwing myself down and having a colossal tantrum at the unfairness of it all. I will choose to give thanks, even now, in the rain, and I will remember the words of a very wise Sensei:

"Change is good."

~Hamato Splinter

~*~*~

Counting Down: 10 Things I Learned from Shirley, Part II

If you missed the first part of this post, Part I can be found here.

I love the pet-loving community. A few weeks ago, I mentioned on Facebook that Kame's nails were getting too long, and I might have to resort to a vet visit to have them trimmed.

A fellow animal lover commented that her friend's daughter had worked with turtles and might be able to assist me... A few e-mails, phone calls and private messages later, a young lady came to my door with her mom and her bag of turtle-trimming equipment.

Kame was not impressed with his first manicure. He fussed and squirmed and protested this imposition on his dignity, but his nails are now a bit shorter and I'm certain he's more comfortable. (and no, in spite of several suggestions, we did NOT add color to the poor boy's nails) He's somewhat over the trauma this morning. He finally dug his way out from his mulch-covered hiding spot and even ate a bit of breakfast. (Lexi, you were right, he does like strawberries!)

Kame is an old soul. He rarely gets flustered or truly upset by much of anything that happens. He takes life as it comes, one slow step at a time, keeping alert for change, but facing it unafraid. I often think humans could learn a lot from turtles, from their tenacity, determination and calm, deliberate approach to life.

In a blog a few weeks ago, I mentioned a dear lady, Shirley Brinkerhoff, who I was blessed to meet at the Montrose Christian Writer's Conference. While Kame is an old soul... Shirley was eternally young. I rarely saw her without her favorite accessory: a smile. She seemed to be lit up from the inside with an unquenchable joy. In the few, too-short years I knew her, I learned so much... but for now, I will list the remaining five of the "top ten". Perhaps in future blogs I may share more, because the only way to keep a candle's flame burning is to pass it on.

Now, without further ado, here is Part II of what I learned from knowing Shirley:

5) God has not brought tragedy into your life for the benefit of others.
I remember the conversation so clearly, as if she is right here with me... Discussing personal tragedy, Shirley looked at me, for once unsmiling, and explained, He is in the business of using broken things, however, he does not break them for His use. "God does not allow tragedy so he can use your story."

Writers make use of every experience. We are always telling and shaping stories... but God is in the business of shaping lives. Thanks for the perspective, Shirley. It changed my paradigm, and my life.

4) Seek out the good in others. Shirley was a master at seeing people in their best light, at looking for Jesus in the sea of faces, and finding Him in each one.

3) Respect others' stories. Don't try to interpret what God is saying to and through them... He can speak for Himself.
This talent goes along with listening. Shirley's example and wisdom came as often in silence as it did with words.

2) Cut three. This... was a running joke in our little writer's group. She once asked us to cut three words from each sentence of our manuscript pages, telling us that good editing means accepting that "sometimes good stuff ends up on the cutting room floor". In life, I've learned to "cut three" from my schedule. Trimming the less-significant tasks leaves so much more room for what's truly important.

1) And the number one thing I learned from Shirley... Fly with a good flock. A Duck alone is a sitting... target, for predators. Life is a group sport. Participate.

~*~*~

Ships that pass in the night, and speak each other in passing, only a signal shown, and a distant voice in the darkness; So on the ocean of life, we pass and speak one another, only a look and a voice, then darkness again and a silence.

-Longfellow

Perspectives

Once upon a time, Kame was homeless... By our standards. He lived wild, in the freedom that comes of having all of creation for a home. When I think of him... and all the others who live in the often harsh conditions of nature, I am filled with a mix of pity and envy. Freedom has dangers, but it is glorious. I live captive to all I own, and to my family and my marriage. I do not know, if I had a real choice, if my kids weren't so dependent on me at this vulnerable age, if I would choose freedom, or remain in captivity.

Last night, I took my kids to the roller rink. It was closed, even though the website had clearly stated hours. Turns out a private party had taken over the place for the evening. I drove away grumbling. I had four kids in the car and had planned on leaving them there while I went shopping for a few glorious child-free hours.

A mother is nothing without a back-up plan, so I had one of the teenagers with a smart-phone check movie times, and detoured to the theater instead. The change meant taking four kids with me to the grocery store (we had over an hour before the movie started), but I was able to drop them off and run the groceries home while they took in the show. I'd get my kid-free time after all.

Heading into the theater, I was approached by an older man. His beard was trimmed and his clothes clean, but an odor hung around him, stale and slightly sour. He approached, holding out his hands as if to prove himself unarmed, mumbling. When he drew closer, I could understand.

"Help a Vietnam vet get a chicken dinner, ma'am? I's hungry. Ain't ate for 2 days. I can get a chicken dinner over there, right behind ya, ma'am. Chicken dinner sure sounds good. I'm hungry, ma'am."

My first response... I am ashamed to admit... was fear. I didn't know what was wrong with him, what he would do. I was herding four kids into the theater, and my first thought was to defend them.

"Just a minute, hon, I've got to take my kids in to the movie," I replied, trying to control the shiver in my voice.

I hurried the kids inside, and lingered long enough to be sure they'd gone in to their show. I went back outside reluctantly, uncertain if he'd still be there, but he was, hopeful but keeping a respectful distance.

He saw me heading for my car, and called "Have a good evenin', ma'am," giving me a friendly wave.

I'm sure he's had many people simply hop in their car and drive away, ignoring his existence. For a brief moment, I considered it, but there was something in that friendly, sad little wave, that compelled me. I know what rejection feels like and I couldn't bear to inflict it upon someone who has grown so used to it he accepts it as his due.

"Wait a minute," I said, as if I'd planned all along to help him.

He came hesitantly but with a sort of repressed, shamed eagerness, still keeping his distance. He's learned this dance well. Never get too close, don't crowd people. It makes them uncomfortable. Always be ready to run. I remember, too well, living by those rules and my heart hurt for him.

I gave him the little cash I had, and a Twix bar I'd bought in a moment of weakness. Dieting has never been easy for me, and the allure of chocolate, caramel and cookies had proven too much for my weak will. When I'd stood in line at the grocery store, that Twix bar had whispered my name, alluring, calling, pulling me in like a lover to a secret tryst. Now, I handed it over without a second thought, at once ashamed that I'd been so greedy and thankful that I had something to share.

"Oh!" he exclaimed with a smile. "I like them! They're chocolatey. Thank you, ma'am."

And with that, he was gone.

I have no grand illusions that my clumsy kindness last night will make a lasting change in that man's life. I'm certain that I'm simply one more in a long line of soft hearted saps who've handed over a few dollars and supplied him with another evening's beer. I caught the sharp scent of alcohol when he stood close, and I know the statistics of alcoholism among the homeless as well as anyone. I'd like to hope he got that chicken dinner, but I have my doubts.

He did mention that his check would come "tomorrow" and he'd be able to buy food again. His running ramble seemed designed to reassure, to communicate that he's not that bad off.

"Stayin' at the motel, here," he assured me. "Check'll come tomorrow, my food stamps. Then I can eat. Money ran out though, and I ain't ate in two days. Chicken dinner sure sounds good."

Suddenly, my efforts at dieting seem... almost ridiculous. Want to be thin? Try not eating for two days. For over a month, I've been complaining bitterly over a $900 repair bill for my car. I have a car. And my family had the $900 to pay the bill. It was a bitter blow, but we managed.

On the way to the theater, I was mentally grumbling over the high-spirited hijinx of my kids and their friends. The day before yesterday, another friend's little niece was diagnosed with Leukemia. (And if you are moved to pray for this little angel, her name is Brianna.)

I'm not trying to pretend that we're lavish in our lifestyle, or that by enjoying the gifts God has graced us with- good mental and physical health, the ability to work and support ourselves, and our healthy children, that I am somehow sinning, or adding to the burden of my brother who asked for a few dollars to buy himself a chicken dinner.

The money I gave him was the last of my cash for the week, and I will have to make due with a quarter tank of gas until my next check comes. Somehow, my sacrifices seem miniscule, in the bigger picture. A Twix bar and a few dollars... they seemed so important to me, until I met him... And now, I will never forget a ragged old man whose eyes lit up, who really appreciated a candy bar and a few dollars to buy a chicken dinner... More than I did, until I gave them away.

"Oh, I like them! They're chocolatey!"

May you enjoy it in peace, my friend. You'll be in my prayers.

Rejoicing in the day,
-Mary

~*~*~

There is a lot that happens around the world we cannot control. We cannot stop earthquakes, we cannot prevent droughts, and we cannot prevent all conflict, but when we know where the hungry, the homeless and the sick exist, then we can help.
Jan Schakowsky

"The King will reply, 'I tell you the truth, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers of mine, you did for me.'
-Matthew 25:40
New International Version (©1984)

"Let's make a small room on the roof and put in it a bed and a table, a chair and a lamp for him. Then he can stay there whenever he comes to us."
2 Kings 4:10

Counting down to a memory: the 10 things I learned from knowing Shirley, part 1

Kame is always stretching, always climbing, always reaching to greater heights. It is, I think, how we grow. Staying still means atrophy. We can only continue to live by moving.

While Kame was in hibernation this winter, he nearly stopped growing, stopped changing. He slipped into a long period of quiet and rest, hardly moving except when I'd dig him out of his mulch to weigh him and dip him in his pan for a drink, a process he resented. He made his displeasure known with hisses and tucking himself into his shell...

Much the same way I wanted to tuck myself up in a shell and hide over these past two years. Life, however, has a way of moving on and we must grow... or atrophy.

Three summers ago, I lost a dear friend. I've mentioned her here before. Shirley was more than a friend to me, she was a mentor, someone I looked up to, and sometimes someone I went to for guidance and advice. She was an incredible lady, and I was blessed to know her.

Remembering her, however, without learning and growing from what she offered through her life and the work she did as a teacher would do her memory a disservice. Good people are remembered fondly. Great people leave a legacy. Shirley was one of the greats... and so, Saturday Night Live style, I'd like to share the ten most important things I learned from knowing her. I learned many more things, of course, but while I was at Montrose last week, sitting in one of the rockers on the porch, and contemplating our time together, these are the first that bubbled to the surface.

This is the top ten things I learned from knowing Shirley, part one:

10) Always smile. Your smile is what people will remember when you're gone, so use it often, so that it is etched clearly in their memory.

9) When something's funny, laugh. Laugh until your belly hurts, until tears are running down your face, until you can't breathe. Laugh with your friends, and share their joy.

8) Listen. Really listen. Your story isn't nearly as important for others to hear as theirs is for them to tell. Often, if someone's telling you their story, it's because they need to tell it to themselves, to begin to understand it. Listening can be the most beautiful gift you can share with another human being.
(Shirley was an expert listener, a skill for which I will always be grateful.)

7) Be transparent. When the time is appropriate, share the parts of your story you own, the parts you've already come to understanding and peace with, the parts that can uplift and heal someone else. Don't try to make it pretty. People need honesty, need to know they're not the only ones who've been where they are.

6) Take care of yourself and know your limits. Rest when you need to rest. Take time away to pray and to be alone with God. Even Jesus withdrew from the crowds sometimes, to rest and meditate.

That's it for today, folks. I'll give you the top five in the next post. For now, I have other work to do, and miles to go before I sleep.

Safe travels.
Rejoicing in the day,
-Mary

~*~*~

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village, though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark, and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.

"Stopping by woods on a snowy evening"
-Robert Frost

Going on

Kame seems determined to explore the wider world beyond his enclosure. He's not content with the confines, knowing there is more, somewhere, if he could just get free.

I wonder, sometimes, just what it is he's searching for, if he's looking for something he remembers deep in the recesses of his turtle brain. I wonder if he recalls that there's green grass and juicy slugs outdoors, where I've taken him on warm summer days, and he's trying to get back to that turtle paradise. I wonder if even he really knows what it is he's searching for.

Some days I find his antics amusing... and others, I know exactly how he feels.

As much as Kame enjoys his little excursions, either in the yard or just around my office, he's always grateful to return to his home. We have a lot in common, he and I. Most of the time, like me, I think he's happiest in his safe, familiar surroundings.

Still, all of us, now and then, need an adventure. All of us need a chance to get outside ourselves and see what lies beyond our door step. All of us need a chance to explore... all of us need a chance to grow. I think we all have that need to see what's beyond our own front doors.

This morning I wrote an note to a friend who I am no longer in contact with. I wrote it, read it over, and decided not to send it... because the person has moved on and there is no point in going back over paths already traveled. Re-reading, I realized I really had nothing to say, because what I'm searching for isn't in the past. To find where I'm going, the only way to travel is forward.

Life is like that sometimes. Things change. People grow... and sometimes they leave. Sometimes it's painful... Sometimes it feels as if you weren't ready to move on.

In three week's time, I will be returning to Montrose Christian Writer's Conference in Montrose, PA. It is a glorious week of writing, laughter, fellowship and learning, a week of recharging, of getting in touch with myself as a writer, a week of networking, of renewing old friendships and building new ones.

It is also a week full of memories...
My friend and mentor Shirley Brinkerhoff was an amazing woman. She left her mark on my heart, as she did, I think, on all who were privileged to know her. Her legacy lives on in a scholarship fund, and in a beautiful painting by another friend that hangs in the classroom she taught in.

Since her passing two years ago, I haven't been able to bring myself to take classes taught in that room. I may never be able to sit around the table again without hearing her laughter and seeing the sparkle of mischief in her eyes. She was contagious, and we never got through a class without fits of giggles.

Montrose is sacred ground for me. It was a life-changing experience, attending that first year, and I never come away the same as when I arrived. Every year there is something new to learn, something new to take away. These past few years, with so much turmoil in my life, it has been my sanctuary.

Last year, I didn't even attend the classes... I was emotionally injured, and in a good deal of pain last year when I went to Montrose. I was worried about things at home, I was confused and lost and sick at heart. Mostly I sat out on the porch, holding a friend's baby, and remembering happier times. I also went kayaking. It was, perhaps, not what conference is meant to be... but for me, it was good. It was healing. It was what I needed during a very dark and confusing time.

This year, I go back, changed again. I've had new experiences this year. I have new things to share... I hope I will make new connections and learn new concepts and ideas that will strengthen my writing. I am going this year, determined to attend classes and make connections and soak in all the professional wisdom available. I am less in need of the healing warmth, but no less grateful that it is there to embrace my heart.

This year, I am stronger. I have begun to heal. I will always, perhaps grieve for the past, but I have come far enough to be able to look toward a brighter future. I will go and sit in Shirley's room... it will always be Shirley's room to me... and I will remember her, hear her laughter, and smile.

Then, I will get up and go out into the conference and embrace and absorb everything God has in store for me this year.

"In three words, I can sum up everything I've learned about life: It goes on."
-Robert Frost.

Rejoicing in the day,
-Mary

~*~*~
"The term is over: the holidays have begun. The dream is ended: This is the morning"
And as he spoke, He no longer looked to them like a lion; but the things that began to happen after that were so great and beautiful that I cannot write them. And for us this is the end of all the stories, and we can most truly say that they all lived happily ever after. But for them it was only the beginning of the real story. All their life in this world and all their adventures in Narnia had only been the cover and the title page: now at last they were beginning Chapter One of the Great Story, which no one on earth has read: which goes on forever; in which every chapter is better than the one before."

-c.s. Lewis, The Last Battle

To those who have gone before me on into Aslan's Country... happy reading, my friends.

Though I look forward to the great reunion one day, for now, I am content, knowing I am at the right place in the journey, and that it continues on, upward and onward, always.

Until we meet again, tsune ni oboete okimasu.