Descending

Kame is resting this morning. He's more active since he's coming out of his semi-hibernation state. He eats when I offer him food, but does not yet come out looking for food on his own. He still needs my support.

I love my little friend, and I will take care of him, for as long as it takes, but I hope that sometime soon he will come out and rejoin the world once more.

This picture was taken last summer, while we were camping near the New York State Fire Academy, where Ken takes some of his classes. The stairs ascend into a gorge, where a waterfall tumbles into a peaceful pool. It is an amazing and beautiful place, and I hope we will return again when the days are lazy, long and warm.

This has been, as a friend wrote on my Facebook wall, a "craptastic" week. The details are unimportant, but the damage was devastating. The week began with a shower of pebble-sized irritants, but by Tuesday evening the roar crashed down, sweeping me off my feet and taking me by complete surprise. It was a full-blown landslide.

I spent most of Wednesday digging out from under the emotional debris, clinging to the lifelines of family and friends. Thursday I had re-emerged, dusty, injured, but alive. Friday was spent re-orienting to the unnatural feeling of standing in the sun, and beginning to think of the practicalities of rebuilding.

Devastation never lasts. It comes upon us, buries us with its tumbling, roaring noise, overwhelms us and sweeps us off our feet like a tornado laying waste. In the moment, it can seem as if the world has cracked apart, broken beyond repair, and that there will never be light or warmth again... But often, after the rumblings die down and things have settled, the sun comes out, shining with almost obscene cheer, reminding us that now the disaster is over and life, such as it is, must go on.

Standing in the sun, we are left with a choice. A tree is laying over our roof, the yard is littered with the debris the storm left behind. Injuries must be tended, unstable structures must be shored up, and the plans for recovery must begin. It all begins with a choice: Move on, and leave the devastation behind in hopes of building elsewhere, or take an honest assessment of the damage, make plans, gather resources and rebuild.

I have chosen, and will always choose, to rebuild. That's what you do in a family.

Rejoicing in the day,
-Mary
~*~*~
I think the only cure for the brokenness of this world is Truth. Use it carefully, and shine its light wherever you go.

Life is Messy

Sometimes, life is just messy. Like when Kame enjoys a fat, juicy blackberry. Especially when I've had a particularly difficult day (week... month...), and I comfort myself by cuddling with him. Especially when I don't much care what he does as long as he's happy... and eating a large, juicy blackberry is just about the happiest thing a turtle can do.

There's something good about the simple way Kame relishes his food, especially food that pops with juice as he bites into it. He seems to take delight in the squishy fruit, grabbing mouthfuls and biting down so that before long his entire beak is covered in sweet black juice. There is something innocent, something pure, in that kind of enjoyment.

Sometimes life gets messy too.
I quite often have higher expectations of people than they are able to live up to. People make mistakes. People fail. People let me down.
I have higher expectations of myself than I am able to live up to. I make mistakes. I fail. I let people I care about down.

The very nature of Man is flawed... we came from dust, and to dust we shall return. At the same time, we carry with in us the very breath of God... we are only jars of clay, but inside is a treasure so precious it cannot be bought at any price but had to be purchased with the blood of absolute innocence, the sacrifice of a Lamb. This is the greatest irony of life; the mixture of good and evil within Man, and the reason a certain song resonates with my soul: "The only thing that's good in me is Jesus."

This week my son, my precious, beautiful, clever and often wise-beyond-his-years son, had his usual array of moods, swinging from absolute joy and lighthearted fun to raging tempers to unshakable calm, sometimes within the space of an hour. The mood swings and companion behaviors have created a roller coaster... and all I could do was hold on and pray the safety bars held.
I expect that if my son cares about his family, he will control his behavior. When he does not control his behavior, I am exasperated, hurt, bewildered, angry, frustrated and grieved... all because I expect more from a ten year old boy than some adults are able to accomplish in a lifetime- self control.

In the midst of the turmoil with Arek, I got involved in an online game with acquaintances. It seemed like a fun way to exercise creativity, explore characterization and get to know people better who have interests similar to mine. It turned out to be a mistake. I expected people to feel the same way about my favorite fictional characters that I feel. I expected them to understand and know the individual characters intimately. I expected them to understand me, in a very short period of time, and to behave the way I thought they should. When my expectations weren't met, I was wounded, confused, and upset.

This week my expectations were the cause of unnecessary pain, for myself and my family and my friends. Some expectations are good and fair and reasonable... others, are not. Learning to discern between them is, perhaps, what our time on this earth is for.

Rejoicing in the day,
-Mary

~*~*~
"One of the most subtle burdens God ever puts on us as saints is this burden of discernment concerning other souls. He reveals things in order that we may take the burden of these souls before Him and form the mind of Christ about them. It is not that we bring God into touch with our minds, but that we rouse ourselves until God is able to convey His mind to us about the one for whom we intercede."

-Oswald Chambers

~~~
In other words... We do not pray for others' benefit. We pray so that we might learn what God wants us to learn regarding others, and how we might go about showing them compassion.
I have so much to learn.
-Mary

Waking Up

Kame is awake! And after six weeks of burrowing under the mulch and imitating a rock, he is finally coming out of hibernation.

I am indescribably happy to see my little friend coming back to life after his long hiatus. I have been worried over his health and well being, afraid he might go to sleep and not wake again when Spring's sun comes out to warm the ground and thaw the freeze.

Winter has not been easy for us. The cold weather means extra bills, and the snowfall has required more of Ken's time and energy at the store and fire department, taking time, inevitably, away from us. Add in the stress of the holidays and some serious arguments between Ken and I, and I began to feel buried... weighed down... like I'd never stand with the sun shining on my face again.

Life isn't going to get easier. Winter comes every year, without fail. So... how do I climb up out of the mulch life piles on and find my way into the sun again?

First... I've had to learn that hibernation is part of my natural cycle. While I can't sleep without eating or drinking for six weeks the way Kame can, there will be times in my life when I just need to slow down, to allow things to happen around me without getting involved. There are times I need to take a step back, take a deep breath and just be.

Second, I need to recognize that while these times will come, they will also pass by. The sun will shine again. The snows will melt and the first flowers of spring will poke through. Summer, like winter, comes every year, without fail. I need to recognize the signs of spring, and let encouragement bring hope back into my heart. I need to remember my dear friends who help carry me through the difficult times and let them into my life with a phone call or e-mail, like rays of light peeking through the shadows. I need to, when the time comes, stretch out, reaching for the warm and the new and the hope, and step out into the sun.

The time for hibernation is almost over. Spring is near.

Rejoicing in the day,
-Mary

~*~*~

"The steadfast love of the LORD never ceases; his mercies never come to an end; they are new every morning; great is your faithfulness."

Lamentations 3:22-23 English Standard Version

Hero

First, I must say, this is not a picture of Kame. (In case you were wondering) It was a drawing commissioned by a dear friend, and drawn by a cartoonist I know through a website called Deviant Art. You can find more of her fantastic artwork here.

The picture is titled "Blushing", and it's an illustration from my own fan-fiction story titled "Anger Management". It illustrates a joke between friends "You know, you're cute when you're blushing.", and represents the idea of an Author meeting her hero.

Hamato Leonardo (In Japanese families, the surname comes first), the mutant Turtle from the illustration, is the leader of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, a familiar title to those who grew up in the '80's and early 2000's. Far from the goofy pizza-munching comic relief of the original series, later episodes and the fourth TMNT movie portrayed Leo as a driven, skilled and strong leader, with a singular focus: Protect and lead his family.

Leo has been a hero of mine for a long time. I told my husband once that he has "nothing to worry about" because his only real competition for my affection is a fictional mutant. Although I was joking at the time, the truth is, Leo does represent much of what I love in Ken, and is deeply intertwined with my commitment to my marriage. My fictional hero serves as a fantasy to retreat to when life is difficult, but he's more than that. He's also a strong reminder of what's most important to me, and the reasons I fight against all odds to protect what I hold dear.

Confidence and optimism mark the Turtles' lives. No matter what happens, they believe in themselves and each other. They take responsibility for themselves and for one another. They are brothers. Singly, they wouldn't last a week in a hostile and often dangerous world. Together, they can face any threat.

My dream for my family is not so different from the Turtles' lives. We may never face alien invasions or psychotic government agents, but we do battle against doubt, against the every-day assaults of the deficiencies, real and perceived, in ourselves and in our lives. We worry about bills (I don't know a couple who doesn't), about our kids, about the future. We fight against despair, against the encroaching fear that our children will not live up to their potential, that we will fail them in some fundamental way. We worry that we will go hungry and homeless in our old age. We worry that we might not live up to our own fullest potential.

For me, that means I worry that I may never publish a book. I may never achieve that pinnacle of success, that goal I've set for myself. Born to climb, I may never reach the top of the mountain. For Ken, it means he may never find paid employment in the fire service. Discouragement looms large when you've poured so much in, and received so little in return.

The truth is, there are no guarantees in this life. Children grow up to disappoint their parents. Parents pass away without ever making it clear to their children how very much they were loved. Effort goes unappreciated. Dreams go unfulfilled, goals unmet, people feel unloved. Sometimes marriages and even whole families fall apart under the stress of every-day disappointments.

In cartoons and movies, when things look bleak, it's the hero's time to shine. Leonardo and his brothers have faced defeat more times than I care to count, and yet they return, time and time again, to face new enemies, new threats, new catastrophes. What makes a hero keep getting up and going on, time and time again? Where does he find the determination to never give up, the courage in the face of adversity?

I have come to believe that it is not the ability to hold up under pressure that makes a hero. It's not courage or a strong character that makes one heroic, though those things certainly help.

Every single day, we get up and go about our routine. Every single day we are faced with choices, decisions that must be made. I believe that it is in these choices, each singular decision, that heroes are born. While the spotlight often shines on the heroes who defeat the bad guys with some brilliant inspiration of strategy in battle, the strength to make those decisions comes from long exercise of daily choices.

My husband has been facing a difficult time recently. Losing over 100 pounds is not an easy task, and yet he had to, to protect his health. The specter of re-gaining the weight looms large. He has faced down discouragement and defeat... and yet he is in the process of climbing to his feet, to face the giants once more.

He's made mistakes. He's been knocked down, he's stumbled, and there have been times when he feels there's no more strength to get up again. Still, no matter how many times he's defeated, he refuses to give up.

He is, and has always been, my personal hero.

~*~*~

contentment

A turtle in his natural environment....
A cat's scratching tower.

Kame seems confused at times. While my cats studiously ignore their scratching post, he regularly makes himself at home in the little cave formed by the carpeted base, burrowing into the bedding as if he believes he deserves whiskers and fur. In a foreign land, he has made himself at home.

At times, marriage feels like a foreign place to me. I am, by nature, a loner. If I am subjected to constant company, even of those I love, for too long, I become crabby and stand-offish. Time alone is not only natural for me, it's necessary to my mental health. So why is it that, when I'm alone, I long for my family's company? Why do I miss my husband when he goes away, knowing he will return soon? Why do I seem to always be wanting something other than what I have? Why do human beings struggle with the simple concept of contentment?

I believe that this world was created with a purpose. I believe that there was a grand design, a vision for Creation... and that somewhere early on, things went astray.

I believe that what we are searching for is the ideal, the perfection, the place where all the pieces align and everything falls into place.

I believe, if I don't give up, that my marriage will continue to grow, to heal, and to move in the direction of the ideal. I believe the plan is still in place, and that the world is still moving onward and upward. I believe... And so I will hold on.

Rejoicing in the day,
-Mary

Hibernation

Recently, Kame entered a state of semi-hibernation. Three or four times a week, on the advice of our veterinarian, I dig him out from under his mulch and set him in his water pan so that he stays hydrated. He drinks deep, then immediately burrows back into the mulch. Though his odd habits and starvation diet worry me, his weight has remained steady and he seems as vigorous as ever.

There are times I wish I were able to hibernate. When things get difficult, when I'm not sure of Ken's heart, when my kids are fighting or Arek is having one of his legendary meltdowns, I want to pull inside my shell and disappear out of this world entirely. Sometimes I do "hibernate". I withdraw into playing inane games on Facebook, surfing the web, or searching out writing jobs that cost very little brain power, whatever it takes to numb the frustration and pain.

The holidays are a prime "hibernation" time. If the cold weather and icy conditions (dangerous for someone with a bum leg like mine) weren't enough to drive me underground, the pressure that comes with the holiday delivers a knock-out punch to my emotional equilibrium. I drive myself crazy at times, shopping with growing desperation until I feel everyone on my holiday list will be surprised and thrilled with the offerings I've gathered.

Why do I feel this awful, gnawing desire to please more strongly at this time than any other? Why is it so desperately important to get the "right" gift for my kids and husband? I could say it's because I love them and want them to be happy. That is a perfectly true and valid reason, but I feel as if there must be something more behind the almost-childish anxiety that drives me to surf the web obsessively, making lists and agonizing over a budget that always seems too small, particularly when it comes time to shop for Ken.

Ken's expectations are higher than my own at Christmas time. I grew up in a family where Christmas was a big deal, but the pile under the tree was often small. I learned young that while Santa brings some very cool gifts, kids like me don't get big-ticket items for Christmas. I didn't expect them then, and I don't now.
Ken grew up in a very different home. While his parents weren't millionaires, nor were they overly extravagant, he usually got what he wanted.

While it would be easy to accuse him of materialism, I don't think the conflict lies in the price of the gifts we exchange. Ken has never once tried to make me feel guilty for not spending "enough" on him. I believe that the pressure I feel comes from within, and its roots are older than the fifteen Christmases I've shared with Ken.

During Christmases past, my father would disappear into his room during the family celebration, refusing to participate. One year in particular stands out with vivid clarity. My siblings, all grown with children of their own, had gathered their resources to put together a gift box for Mom. It was an enormous box.

Mom exclaimed over the lovely gifts as she lifted each out of the box, impressed with their ingenuity and generosity. Finally, she took the final two items from that huge box. Tucked into a lonely corner were a bottle of cologne and a tin of Dad's favorite pipe tobacco, the only gifts for my father.

For the first time, I understood why Dad spent his holiday holed up in his room. He was hiding, avoiding the hurt and humiliation that came with being unwanted. He knew my mother's children wanted to please her. He never felt wanted... never felt loved.

Christmas is a time when Love came into this broken, hurting world. To feel loved... is it really such a terrible thing to expect that at this most joyous celebration we should feel loved by those who should know us best? Is it selfish to want to be included, to hope to receive some coveted trinket, to expect that something in that pile under the tree has your name on it, to know you've been invited to the party?

I think that wanting to feel loved is not a bad thing. Gifts are one way we convey affection, certainly, but the best way to feel love is to remember what real Love is, to invite the Babe back into His own party. For me, that means trusting Jesus to make sure my Dad knows he's loved as he celebrates Christmas in that shining City with the Lord Himself. It means letting go of the past and concentrating on creating happier memories for my children and their father.

For the sake of my marriage, of my family, it's time for me to come out of hibernation. It's time to acknowledge the hurts that have gone before, and to remember that this world is still broken, even today, and will remain so until the Babe returns in all His completed glory. It's time to look the brokenness in the eye and dare it to bite me, because this is Christmas Present and I am not going to waste a single moment of the joy of Here and Now regretting what is Done and Past.

It's time to celebrate Christmas.
This one's for you, Dad.
~*~*~

"For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Saviour, which is Christ the Lord. And this shall be a sign unto you; Ye shall find the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a manger. And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host praising God, and saying, Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men."
(Luke 2:11-14)

Anniversery

I haven't opened with a little anecdote or comment about Kame this morning. Some wounds are just too deep to patch with a metaphor, and too painful to make light of or draw into perspective... yet.

A year ago, my husband traveled to Los Vegas without me, ostensibly to attend a friend's wedding. He went alone, or so I thought, until I got The Call, from an old girlfriend's husband. "Did you know...?" No, I didn't.

A year later, I find myself searching for perspective in the whirling chaos that phone call left behind, and falling short.

Robert Frost wrote:

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

***

The Call was the culmination of everything that had led up to that point. We'd been dancing around each other, with bitterness and resentment creeping in but unwilling to face things head on for so long it felt like we were two nations in a cold war, playing at peace while bolstering our defenses and building secret stockpiles of ammunition. Vegas felt like the first salvo in what could become an all-out war, depending on how I responded.

It was two days before Thanksgiving, and I was in a frozen wilderness, the accusation and my husband's confessions ("yes, he saw her there") and denials ("nothing happened") sounding in my ears, staring down two paths, one marked "Stay", the other marked "Go."

Which would I choose? Both looked difficult. Jagged rocks protruded, threatening destruction. "Go" was a downhill slide, filled with hidden dark pits of Loneliness and Desolation. War would be inevitable, fighting over custody, support... I hated the thought of what we once had changing into something twisted, of looking into a once-loved face and seeing only frozen resentment looking back.
I knew, from walking with friends as they traversed the path, that it could lead to smoother land, perhaps a whole new adventure, but the way was treacherous and fraught with dangers, and I would walk it alone, holding only my childrens' hands.

"Stay" appeared smoother, but I'd been injured on that path, betrayed by the one who should have been at my side, loyal through life's journey. Staying meant believing his regret was sincere, believing he was telling the truth, though at the time I had my doubts. It meant taking the chance that we would fall back into our cold-war patterns, that history would simply repeat itself and that battle was inevitable whether I wanted it or not.

I stood at the fork in the road, undecided, frightened, in pain so deep I thought I'd never find my way out again, and despaired.

Frost chose his path:

Then took the other, as just as fair
And perhaps having the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same.

***
The two paths... Rather than choose, I ran away, fled to a friend's house, a temporary sanctuary. I received advice, spent hours talking and crying... and in time, made a choice, although I was uncertain and afraid.

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

***
Staying was one of the most difficult, and one of the most important, choices I've ever made. I could say it was because of the kids... In fact, at the time, my commitment to staying was limited. It will be eight years before both our children are in college. I reasoned that it's difficult enough to navigate through this world, without the stigma of a broken home hanging over one's head. My children, at least, would be spared the scars of battle.

I kept the first for another day, knowing I might change my mind, might regret my choice... but now, a year later, way has led to way. We have grown and changed in this journey, and I doubt if I shall ever go back.

I have chosen my path. I have taken my road, made my peace, and though the going is sometimes rough, I believe I have chosen the better path. Only time will tell for sure.

~*~*~

"But Ruth replied, "Don't urge me to leave you or to turn back from you. Where you go I will go, and where you stay I will stay. Your people will be my people and your God my God."

-The Book of Ruth 1: 16
(NIV)