Like a cigar, pulpy OJ, or a malfunctioning air vent,

this will be unfiltered (sorta!).

This morning, waiting at the bus stop, this thought: I wish I was pretty.

I resent the thought because 

-I don't want that kind of attention

-I have been well taught that it's what's inside that counts [citation: all after-school specials. also the Bible.]

I was just released from sixteen hours in a room where I holed myself away to do hard work of heavy processing. It was difficult, tiring, gross at parts, and overall something I would like to do regularly until I don't need to. Yes: it made a difference to not let myself pick up any other kind of work or think about other work or contact friends or space out with television or nap or turn away from the gross material at hand. This is my real life. It's not going away.

Fruitful. Good. Revelations lent by the Holy Spirit. 

I also like the side-benefit paid in teaching me how to wrestle through something mental. I am (ever arrogantly) not accustomed to working hard to understand things. I also don't have a lot of patience for myself to not instantly understand everything. Digging is a sign of failure. [Wow, I'm mean!]

As I made myself sit and think and think and think and unravel the most I could, I was aware that I need to bring this discipline to the Scriptures when I return to Genesis. I'm going to plow to Revelation [ha--that works with a lower-case R, too] on my current regime but next time through, I plan to sit longer and wrestle longer before I shrug my shoulders in a completely lazy and incalculably proud "no one really understands the Scriptures anyways". "Do your best!"

Bleh. No! It's OK that it's hard. It's OK that it feels clear as porridge and I want to tear my hair out (slash) check my email. And you know what? Hard work pays. Diligence pays. I am still reeling from being told months ago that thinking is sequential. Do you know what that means?? What I do not understand now, I may understand in ten minutes! (Or days, years, etc.)

Can you imagine my relief/release/freedom? That means when I don't understand or know everything at once (particularly internal stuff), it doesn't mean I'm completely stupid! Yes, I may just need to think it through. Thinking is sequential. I can't believe it.

I've been insisting that everything I need to know is already in my head, completely accessible, and I'm just too stupid or lazy to find it. No. 

No, apparently thinking is sequential. (I don't even want to unpack that phrase.)

[Yep...with an ending like that, this was definitely unfiltered.]

the Gospel is very good.

It is VERY good news. (Suddenly, I feel I don't know it and I want to do some speedy research before I continue writing.)

God, the Creator of all we know, came to save us from our sin.

He came down and saved us from our sin. (And more--He did more!)

On a day like today, I feel like I can't tell my right shoe from a head of cauliflower but I still know the Gospel. I still know that my ransom was paid with blood and I'm in unbreakable relationship with my perfectly loving Heavenly Father.

I heard the Gospel through some songs today, through pieces of the Old and New Testaments, and through a sermon. I've heard all of these before. I've heard the News before but my, if it isn't extra good and extra soothing tonight.

"Jesus ready stands to save you, full of pity, love and pow'r"??

Um, yes. Yes, I want all three of those things.

I sense that I'm maxxed out from processing and wrestling tonight and it really would be OK to sleep now. It actually might be objectively the best option right now.

I have listened to the sermon several times but on Monday it started bugging me to be re-heard. It didn't make enough sense to me so I just dismissed the impulse. But by Wednesday evening, just two hours ago, I gave in, and the Lord worked on me!

For not the first (nor second, nor third) time, He worked on me through this very same sermon. He helped me see Him better, understand His Word and His plan a little better, and tonight He brought some fresh revelations for my journey/struggle/something season that have yielded rich peace and a nice sliver of clarity. I feel distinctly less "I can't do this"/"I don't want to be here" than I did an hour before.

This morning I woke up feeling exactly like I had barely made it without relapse for one more day. (I felt like that because that's exactly where I was.) It was bleak. But for some reason as I showered, strains of "Christ is Risen" started coming out of my mouth.

I sang with early-morning pitch control, restrained volume, and about 75% of the right lyrics. I did not feel like singing or worshipping or telling truths about Jesus so I could hear them...but it happened and it was exactly right.

Let no one caught in sin remain within the lie of inward shame.

Christ is risen from the dead, trampling over death by death.

Come awake, come awake, come and rise up from the grave.

Augh. I could type the whole song but I won't. I think the movingest part this morning was "come awake" because I like being called by Him. That song got me up off the floor once, inches from relapse. The song rang in my head and my body just mechanically got up, called.

I was cheery in the morning, somehow. I couldn't explain it but I didn't stop it. Yes, the song ministered to me and gave me the desire to meet the day.

Through the afternoon and evening I grew very frustrated with myself. I'm just not getting things right or getting things done or getting better fast enough. IT SUCKS. My view darkened. I became more and more desperate for escape and I have no good explanation for how I avoided the worst.

After rehearsal finished and the clouds were free to roll back in, I tried to keep to myself, quietly working out at the piano another song that's been stuck in my head. But the vocal leader was chatty. Of course he was. :) Of course he was. I eventually gave up and closed the piano.

And then in talking about another set he'd played recently, he mentioned "Christ is Risen". I had been fixing since early afternoon to ask him to play it but had thought I'd be OK without it after all--until he mentioned it and left an uncharacteristically long pause in his sentence. I seized it.

"Speaking of which..." I say and he is somehow all ears. I ask if he will play the tune and he agrees with not even one second of deliberation.

Just now realising how cool that is. It was late and we are barely friends.

And.. oh, man. I can't capture it in words.

As he went to grab his guitar I silently prayed the Lord would use it to minister to me because this couldn't be a concert AND there is a reason I didn't simply use YouTube.

And so He did. I sat and let the truth wash over me. I let the world slip away and I stared at the six-string before me.

It wasn't just the words of that song, it was also an incredibly well played guitar (music is a vehicle, I hereby remind myself), and an incredibly passionate singer. I mean, he was barely playing for my sake. It was all worship. He was gone. He disappeared inside the song. He added a bridge I've never heard and THAT worked on me, too. Seems other people on the planet have heard the Good News and had their lives transformed and then write it into song.

Oh, selah.

What I would have told you, the hypothetical friend.

You don't have to do that. In fact, I'm deeply saddened that you think there are no other options. I wish I could fix it for you. I wish I could climb inside your brain and shout the truth until all the neuro-pathways shifted to the correct configuration.

I'm sad that you seem so alone in this. And I see that it would be next to impossible for any one of us to break through right now. You have much sorting to do on your own but I want to be as close as possible to help with whatever is not exclusively between you and God. I'm right here.

Please don't do that. I wish I could sit as close to you as possible at all times so you would never be able to slip far away enough to do it. I wish I could stop you. I wish you didn't think about it. I wish you had never done it. I almost wish you hadn't told me because this is a lot to bear.

It's not going to help. It's not going to get you out of where you feel you're stuck.



I say all this but I really know you won't hear much. I can see this is a very long road. I can see that something must be wrong very deep down. I wish you didn't feel that way. I wish you didn't feel that way and I wish you knew the truth.



It's not true, you know. Those things you said about yourself? They aren't true and it's unsettling to see that you truly believe them, at least in part. You would have to believe it enough to act. What happened? What has so happened that you are here? I'm so sad for you. I want to unravel it all and fix and have you come out better. I don't want to see that look on your face. I don't want you to be like this. I want to love you right out of it.


I can't stand the thought of it. You don't need it, you don't deserve it, it doesn't help, it won't work. It's so painful. It's so much pain you must be in that I feel wiped out just hearing this glimpse of it. My goodness. I hate it so.




It's not true what you said about yourself and I hate the person who lied to you. I hate them for making you believe it and making you feel so small. And I hate that you seem like you own it. Someone lied to you but you're holding on. You seem hardened in it. Please be better. Please let me help you.


Please don't do it.


With as much love as you will accept,
A Friend like the Ones Plato Wrote About

great mercy / new birth / living hope / resurrection / imperishable inheritance

I just realised why I like stream-of-conscious style blog posts so much: because of the literary choice, I'm not obligated to edit. Yes, stream-of-conscious writing tosses nothing out. (That's not even literally true. There are things I think that I wouldn't ever type, let alone post on the Internet but as far as writing, as far as what I'm intending to send to my fingertips, there's nothing held back.)

And today, I want to compose a post that will be given the "s.o.c." label in my account because I don't want to take back what I have to say. I'm feeling backed up and I have many things to say and to think through and I have come to my blog for an outlet.


The sermon this morning was horrible. Just horrible. Maybe I need a nap but this morning I felt tired of having my butt kicked for what feels like the millionth Sunday in a row. SIGH! If I could just stop sinning, I wouldn't have to take any of this in. Last two weeks I was eager to hunker down, to get the sermon all up in my grill, and figure out where the Holy Spirit was leading me to begin with what He was showing me. But this week? I just want it to go away! Bleh. (I really hope it is a nap I'm craving because my true self likes being rebuked and challenged and guided in growing up in the Lord.)


Selah.


My tea is cold. That is dumb. Too many things on the go right now. Too many things. When will I be good enough? When will I be done? (This is the part I didn't want to filter.)


Last night I was more concerned about my sudden death than I ever have been. Yes, something seemed to "rattle" in my chest right around where my heart is, almost like it had been gripped and shaken violently for a couple seconds (which actually felt like forever). That frightened me because I have no idea what brought it on, whether it would come back, or worst of all, how to describe it. What do you tell the paramedics?

I would like to insist that it was nothing, just a glitch in a body that has been compromised by the Fall. But it could have been more. I finished what I was doing and put the light out (it was bed time). My breathing was somewhat laboured. All down my sternum was somewhat sore to the touch. I wondered if two coffees a day has suddenly become too much for me. That's the mainest major change in the past several months that I could think of.

Then my fear deepened. Then I thought my vision was failing: the moonlight didn't seem to reach all the way across my bedroom. I started begging God not to take my life right then, knowing that He has a perfect plan and He has full rights to take and give all life and that neither statistics nor genetics nor desire earn me the right to long life--or any life! I think I was panicking. Tears began streaming. I so desperately didn't want to go. I was so scared. And I didn't want to wake my housemates up or call anyone because it was past 1 am. But what if I took too long to assess the seriousness and was unable to place my own 9-1-1 call?

I switched the light on, realising there was no one there to be tough in front of. I continued begging God for my life and I didn't like how every time I asked I had to answer the implicit why. Why would I want more time? When my inheritance is sealed, my eternity with the Lord is set, why would I beg to stay? And why should death scare me? Where's your sting, son?!

With the light on, I found relief in learning my vision was still sound. With the light on, I found more discomfort in feeling like I was hallucinating. Yes, the ceiling and the light were doing weird things and I just didn't know what to do. I was peaking and I didn't know what would happen if I didn't calm down soon. I didn't know what would happen. I didn't know what to do. I don't know how I would help myself if I was literally losing my mind.

Last night I told the Lord more than once that if I didn't have Him, I didn't have anybody. If He wasn't really there then all was lost. What could have any meaning? What could anything be without the Lord?

The answer to the hanging why took a bit of time to articulate. From the get-go, I knew it exactly but I was also aware that it would be good to say it aloud, to work it through. I would not like to go soon because I think there's more work to be done. I think that my little ol life that's as transient as mist could be used by the Living God to accomplish great things for His sake.

And the truth is that He knows exactly how to use everything well, so if my life would bring Him the most glory snuffed out on the 25th of January, 2014 from heart complications, He would take me. I had to know that. But still, the same guy in the back of my head that insists I won't be dragged into the bushes and beaten to death on my way home too late at night on too quiet a street, he was still sure that there's more for my life yet. Maybe it is arrogance and false entitlement on my part. Until I'm proven wrong, however, I'm going to continue to believe the Lord has big(ger) things yet to do through my life.

When do we start?



So when do we start? When do I stop being like this? When do I start grabbing hold of the things I ought and let my disease and corruption slip away?

This afternoon I've been wondering why I think I should be done with this now. I've been wondering why I see my friends half looking on with an impatient foot tapping, wondering what is taking so long. What is taking you so long? You should be better by now. We've already told you the truth, can't you just accept it? Can't you just be better and stop being so draining? I'm not going through this again. I'm not doing this again. You know better. Stop it.

Slink. Shrink. I can't figure this out. I cannot seem to get this blasted pendulum to stay plumb. What is good? What's left that's good?



Maybe I really, really need a nap. Maybe physical tiredness is not a moral failure.
Huh.
Maybe physical tiredness is not a moral failure.

Huh.


Huh.


Thank you, s.o.c..

re: the custodian just left and

I feel like I should add that what was different yesterday was that I finally started disliking the sin. I don't think the whole situation is 100% sinful but I know there's significant sin content and that real up-by-the-roots change is needed.

Not wanting it is different. Today I reflect that I have been trying to manage it and make the least painful, smallest changes so that I could essentially keep the pet as it was, hoping that reality or God's standards would shift around it.



*Ahem*



Wow. Sinning is stupid (and arrogant). Sinning is by definition always irrational! (I learned that from someone who no longer exists.)



Anyways, it's good. The mirror yesterday was showing me that this really isn't good and really isn't what I want. And today, decidedly not on the floor in tears, I feel liberated from it. I am praying continually that the Lord will keep my heart here because [second half of verse three of Come, Thou Fount of Every Blessing], but I have some mid-sky hopes. I want the better thing.




--
Attached to this post because I feel like it: today the phlebotomist attending me yelled, "ICE!" so loudly when I was too slow to answer how I was feeling that it startled me. Ha... I had been quiet and thinking for twenty minutes or so and didn't realise I had sunk into the third or fourth level of my inner world. She jolted me. But, I appreciated her quickness, I did! Neat when your job is to take care of people. Very neat.

Also very pleased when she believed me as I protested that I truly was fine. I think my disposition (including laughter and profuse apologies) supported the claims. Ha. I told her my personality demands that I think before I speak so my sigh as I was figuring out how to ask a question and NOT alarm her meant I was just thinking, not about to pass out. How ironic. Funny, funny.
--




     Prone to wander, Lord, I feel it, prone to leave the God I love;
     Here's my heart, O take and seal it; seal it for Thy courts above.

the custodian just left and

as he did, he leaned in to my office with his hand on the doorknob and said a very curious "You take care" with a nod and a stiff chin.  He repeated it later, after he asking what's going on in the building tonight. I felt thoroughly bewildered. Thoroughly.
First, I thought something like, what was THAT about...?
Second, in imagining what circumstances would evoke that comment, I thought, how could he possibly know??
And then third, with some kind of gulp and quickly widened eyes, I thought, oh.


Gulp. Maybe I wasn't as discreet as I thought I was. Leaving the light on was a rookie mistake. I just didn't want to get up and hit the switch. A custodian would instinctively let himself into an empty office with a light on to extinguish it. But, if the custodian had peered through the window first and seen two Chuck Taylors poking out, he might deduce that the office's user was indeed still there, sat on the floor with her back against the door.
Maybe he could hear me. Maybe he could see me in the reflection from the big window opposite the door. Maybe the Holy Spirit revealed it to him through intuition! Maybe he happened to look in at the moment a full tissue went flying across the room and missed the bin.


And then my next weird realisation is what prompted me to make a visit to blogger.com. Next to the Lord, it's possible that our custodian here is the person who has the best idea of how often I cry because he's the one who empties my very fluffy, very light rubbish bin. There it is. Weird thought.



And today, it was sin. Today I was moved to tears because I couldn't see anything lower than my thigh for all the sin I'm standing in. I mean, my heart... it has evil desires and I don't always say no to them. Today I cried because I could see my big mess!



Who but this Jehovah...who but YHWH can convict me of sin so that I feel like I'm literally writhing to avoid looking at it soberly, and have me cry out for help from it, knowing I don't deserve the help, knowing only He can do it... and it all culminates in worship?

I just don't understand. I mean, I get it because that's just how it goes in this Christian life but I'm still amazed. I felt terrible sitting there, unable to move and unable to temper the ugly truth. It's heavy. And there's (already) SO MUCH heaviness around. But the Lord, even though today He seemed a little more like He wasn't next to me with an arm round but was across the room in tough love, He makes the tough things doable. He winks and "impossible" loses its prefix.


Just as he who called you is holy, so be holy in all you do; for it is written: "Be holy because I am holy."

 Peter, you dole out a lot of tall orders.


Sigh. Yesterday's sermon seemed to come out of nowhere. I think I plumb forgot what usually comes from the pulpit at Crestwicke Baptist Church.


The thing was so heavy, so tough, so unrelenting, and so demanding that it really felt like an old-fashioned pummeling against the ropes. I thought we were already there! I thought that was the norm I had acclimatised to but no. But no! There is more refining to be done. Ouch. [Ha. I actually said "ouch" aloud during the sermon without thinking about it because the pastor had crossed the line into real-life "you're cutting corners on the Lord's statutes" examples. It was kind of great.]



Even now, I'm still squirming. It's awkward, having a perfect mirror held up and having the Holy Spirit Clockwork Orange your eyes open.



I was highly pleased and blessed to find that virtually everyone in the small group I attend was feeling the same way. Seemed like everyone had the "augh..!" in their voice or on their face that is pain in every feelable muscle after a long overdue workout. "We gotta do better, guys," hung in the air over our whole discussion as we met that evening.



And, as much as I like making people squirm with genuine compliments, this week I wouldn't have told the pastor how much I appreciated his gifting, hard work, and passion for what he does. This week I didn't go out of my way to shake his hand in wordless appreciation.


No, this week I wanted to tell him (hoping I had the foundation of all the other sincere compliments and handshakes of the past in my favor) that I was convinced the Holy Spirit was the one doing the preaching because he's (the pastor is) not that good. This week, that's how it made sense to me.


I am a bit at a loss for words. God is incredible. God is good. He works on us. He works in us. He works with us. He works through us, imagine! He builds His Church. He breaks down and binds up. He draws people together and draws people to Himself. He helps us to do the very thing(s) with our life that we ought.



I liked the part, after the service concluded and I was standing at the covered piano, tapping my fingers and staring into space, hoping I would look like I was about to be busy or at least that I shouldn't be bothered, where someone came up--a fellow smoupite--and MUCH to my delight and relief began speaking about the service. Yes, she started talking about the music and then when I spoke of the sermon--just mentioned it--we both did the "YEAH" with big eyes and silent nodding that has become really common among my soft-hearted agemates in the wake of doozy sermons. And then we spoke energetically about how this had better take root. It felt almost desperate how much we wanted to hold onto the conviction and hold onto the push and the passion to move as God had just asked us to. This can't be just slick wording and boisterous singing.



Ah, Lord.
  Selah





I love God's goodness. Is that a thing?

"Do you wanna debreif afterward?"

my counterpart asks me around noon, an aside during lunch or an intermission.

"You mean... lie down in the dark [he turns away to laugh] or bang my head against the wall..?" His laugh is loud and smiley. "Or ... did you mean talk to you??" I say with an over-deadpan face.

I don't even remember his response but we somehow agreed that some discussion afterward would be good but we both were in desperate need of recharge time.


Around 2 as we were washing dishes and being ridiculous he blurts, "So I guess we're not debriefing, then."

"Nope," I reply quickly. "We're apparently just being silly." And I decided it was important (a way of decompressing when one cannot be alone) and he seemed to agree.


It was one of the highlights of the day for me, that he and I were able to joke freely. I often forget how similar we are in some ways. We're so different in some obvious ways that it's easy to overlook likeness. He is a happy chatter and I am a happy listener. He likes to talk about music and ideas and to show me new and fun and funky things and I like to hear about and watch all of them.


But today, there was a little more balance in terms of talk time, and what was a particular blessing to me was that I was able to make him laugh with jokes that my natural self would make. I'm usually holding back with him because he is so talkative and I'm operating out of my Music Director mode, working to be attentive, supportive, diplomatic, encouraging, optimistic so that most of what I might say or what input I might have gets tabled. I don't mind it. I have different roles and different spaces with different people in different situations. But today, I was freer to be myself because there wasn't collaborative work on the table, because we were going to be spending several hours together (and have already spent several hours together this week), and because I was drained from stress of putting the event on, from being around people, from gouging my eyes out with a bent fork (i.e. public speaking), and from being up late last night (working on this!). Reasons and strength to be inhibited and exert much control over how I was presenting myself were slipping away. And he met me there and it was GREAT FUN.


It was a seminar of sorts. Almost a workshop. I called the musicians, vocalists, and tech people in to talk about why we're doing what we're doing and how we can do better. We talked about excellence and vision, strategies, pitfalls, goals, and upcoming changes. It was a lot of hard work and I am praying it doesn't end today. It just can't. I have now put myself on the hook in a few different ways to raise the standard in my own work and contribution so it is officially ON. When I wake up on Monday (possibly Tuesday) and am finally able to process what happened, I may be more excited. We'll see. If nothing else, I'm praying against a snap back to where we were.


One of the other highlights for me will probably seem silly but I'm going to write it out anyways. Last night I had toyed with the option of bringing muffins to offer people at our 10 o'clock start largely because they really read as a comfort food or gesture that speaks more loudly than the cost or the actual item. I knew it wasn't needed and I wasn't sure if I'd pay for it out of pocket but I liked the idea of having them available alongside the coffee and tea that we would serve.


And then when I headed out to pick up one last-minute item around 8, I made a detour to Tim Hortons and the muffins were requested and paid for. I was pleased to do it and it just sorta happened. I wanted to go over the top. I wanted the extras of the day and the observable effort and care put in to the event to read as a thank-you to the ministry participants.


So around 9 when I brought them to the kitchen to start setting them out, consciously half-defending myself, I told my counterpart that, "I got silly and muffins happened." Ha ha ha, he laughs loudly, much to my surprise and enjoyment. "I got silly," he repeats.

THEN he tells me exactly what I had been thinking about in terms of the message they might send. He thought they were a great idea.


And then... people ate them. People liked that they were there and didn't have reasons to say no to them. People took them and ate them alongside their coffee or tea and it made me so happy. It ... makes me so happy when people accept the food I offer AND when they understand the secondary reason I've offered it. It's so a bless.


That's not what today was about at all. But that's unprocessed, like steak tartare. I need to go home now and stick my head in a bucket.

today I learned that I have been using the word "intimate" (v.) incorrectly.

And now, I am on the hunt for the word that means what I thought intimate (v.) meant because I like it.


Today I have been working steadily for many hours because my task is important to me. Even my conversations have been short and my lunch was spliced with a to-do list item. I kind of like that I'm not panicked in a space where I historically would be. Something is [good/different].

Tomorrow will be a big day for me with work. I hope it will be a thing.


What else is there to write about? I did that thing again where I waited too long and then I was out of practice and then I just had to write about feeling weird about blogging to break in. (And then an avalanche follows, I suppose.)


Today I'm surprised at how much more excited I am to finish the canon of Holy Scriptures (and that within nine weeks).

I've been fishing about a fair bit this evening for work and trying to skim through with one eye half-closed the portions of the New Testament and Old Testament later than where my bookmark currently sits because the insight, parallels, etc. are jumping off the page at me. Everything needs to be prefaced with "Spoiler Alert!"


Sheesh. No wonder people hungered for a Messiah.


I feel a little silly about it but it seems today is the first day I believe every preacher/speaker/believer who said you need the Old Testament to really know the New Testament. What a thing.


Today I regret not expressing my true feelings when someone rolled their eyes and scoffed at filling up a baptismal tank for just one candidate. Yes. Just one. Just one person professing faith in Jesus. Just one errant sheep that a shepherd left the rest of his flock to track down. Just one re-created heart. Just one transformed life. Just a smidgen of death-to-life action. Probably not worth a couple hundred litres of water.

Yes.

like I'm blindfolded, the blood circulation to my hands has been cut off,

and I'm unable to tell you the object that's been placed into them,

I don't know what I feel. 

It's great. It feels like a lot of work. It often seems impossible to get it right.

"One day", perhaps? If that "one day" doesn't come, I suspect I will be more than devastated.

Wondering if I experimented with doing exactly what I felt would help when feelings became overwhelming, if I would be checked in to some kind of facility. I don't mean dangerous things, but probably very odd things. Maybe that would be a good start, for all I know.

Sometimes it helps to say things out loud. Other times I wish I was better. I wish I had a real life to live, one with real passions and focus. I wish I was better. I wish writing this post wasn't surreal. I wish I could see God better. I wish I did more. I wish I weren't so selfish.

so... 

   I guess life is precious, then.

I feel coiled right now.

I feel in limbo and weirdly waiting or poised. Something is next. Sleep should come soon. School hols schedule has given me room to choose my bedtime like a night owl. I've missed it but, as usual, I pay for it.

I'm a few days away from zombie mode so it's probably good that routine returns with the morrow.

Tomorrow actually smells a bit exciting. I can almost feel the raised ink on the paper between my thumb and index finger as I ready to turn the page.

I feel a little bit of peace in a good spot somewhere deep down. I think in the morning, as things have sifted a little from this full day, I might feel elated. I might also feel dejected but I do think the poisedness will give way to something strong. I'll take whichever.

On that note, I should probably put myself to bed before deep sadness can find me. I could be OK!

(Oh, also: God is good.)

Side-note.

Well. This is going to be more difficult than anticipated.

Earlier today I was shopping for some belated birthday gifts for the boys. It was weird because in the past, gifts for them have been planned and purchased well in advance. The this year my mind has been elsewhere and our relationship has been a bit different.

But I was at the mall today and as I was brainstorming and browsing I started feeling raw sadness right behind my sternum. 

This is going to be more difficult than anticipated. 

And so I showed up this evening, wanting to drop off the gifts and say a little hello. I suppose I haven't seen them in eleven days. 

I thought it would be a short visit and that I'd be gone before their dad got home from work. 

As I was shopping, I prayed over the gifts. I'm just too sensitive; I like getting it right. I wanted it to bless them and not to be thrown on the floor after a four-second evaluation.

And their little smiling faces behind the door after I knocked, they were sweeter than I remembered. I forgot how I miss them. 

The choruses of "aw, sweet! "and "what'd you get??" were music to my ears, yes they were. Yes, I was glad they didn't catch my doofy, borderline sentimental grin. This is going to be harder than I thought.

They showed me some other Christmas gifts they'd receieved, some running flips they could do onto their dad's bed, and so eventually I took my coat off. I guess I could stay a little while longer.

And then J asked if I would stay for dinner. He called his dad and the voicemail started with "Jesskah got us these cool--" and he listed off most of the gifts and finished with "so can she stay for supper?" as if it was an extension of his (J's) gratitude.

Dad called back and was agreeable to the idea. In fact he was going out tonight so, "could you stay and watch us?" J turns to ask pleadingly. "Yeah, sure," I nod, happy I have no other plans to break and happy they'd rather I was there than not.

At my response, B does a huge fist-pumping silent "YES" which means a lot. Despite all my failures and shortcomings, they actually might like me. This is going to be harder than I thought.

So the dinner and evening plan is set. Check. Then J initiates a clean-up of the house as dad is home soon. They're further motivated to finish the tidy because now that there's adult supervision and a sliver of daylight remaining, they can play hockey out back. I'm happy to go. Usually I dread the request because in my view, hockey + cold for no reason = an entirely unappealing way to spend time. But today, I haven't been asked in more than two weeks and I know they could use some fresh air and I love them. So I'm happy to go.

We're out for less than twenty minutes before dad comes home and that is, somehow by the grace of God, just fine. I actually wondered today if he isn't harbouring frustration and annoyance toward me, as I've been sensing for the last month or two. That would be quite a relief.

Throughout my entire visit, which spanned about four hours, I was thanked for different parts of the gifts by each boy two or three times. They didn't thank me when I handed them the bags, they didn't thank me when they opened them, but they thanked me as they thought of the gifts, or used them. Color my heart warmed. I'll translate the "thanks" to their being blessed--thank You, Lord.

Each gift had four parts and they loved all four. Before I left, it was all played with, eaten, or donned--and shown proudly to dad. I mean.... Lord. You know my heart. You know how... yeah. Thank You.

I didn't mean to but I stayed long enough to tuck them both in. B's "I'm ready!" hollered from down the hall surprised me. I thought he had outgrown that kind of thing with me. The two of us were all smiles in the ninety seconds I spent sitting on the edge of his bed. My sternum tickled a little again, considering that this could be the last tucking in.

Then J and I played cards and watched The Simpsons.

WHAT.

A little friend after my own heart. I can't write how peacefully delightful that hour was. And how much it re-affirmed that less will be better. Less will be richer. Less will be deeper and more meaningful.

This was also affirmed as I noticed the initiative they've learned to take with household chores and other responsibilities.

This was also affirmed by dad's generally bile-free attitude toward me.

This was also affirmed by J's intriguing questions before bed, showing that he is probably a deep thinker. And the questions were about my life which makes me want to hope he may want to know more about me because he's glad I'm in his life. The first question made me wonder if he knows about the big change that's coming but if he does, I'm all the more glad I hung out with them this evening.

Notwithstanding,

  this is going to be more difficult than anticipated. 

The conversation is booked for tomorrow evening and the trigger must be pulled. 

Lord, please give me strength and wisdom. 

Lord. 

  Please make it work. Please be Lord.

(Ugh. The most excellent way it may be but love definitely makes things hurt more.)

I didn't know what to do last night when I woke up from a ridiculously long nap.

So I got into my pyjamas, tidied up a bit and still couldn't decide. I journaled a few pages, read a bit of Deuteronomy, and still wondered what I would do.

Then I thought about popcorn and television. It felt like a Saturday night and I wondered if I could keep the darkest shadows away by doing things that were all play and no work.

I wasn't exactly sure how I felt but it was close to balanced-ish. While thinking about what I might do--and sleeping was of course an option, given that it was nearing midnight--I crawled into bed under my hundredteen covers.

Then I grabbed a book from my "you should read this" stack on my bedside table to make sure I was being productive while I was thinking about how to be productive. And then I read the entire book of poetry, cover to cover, in one sitting. It was neat.

It made me miss reading. It made me think reading was cool. It made me miss art. It made me miss university. It reminded me of how I've shortchanged myself with education and artistic exposure. It seemed right for the time and it seemed appropriate to keep the book in my hands til I was done. It made me work my reading muscle, particularly through the entries that contained offensive bits and then lasted longer than I would have liked. It made me laugh out loud! It made think of at least four different friends that I'd like to show particular entries to. It made sense to me on the whole. It delighted me. It took me til 2am to finish. It made me wonder how much editing and proofreading is too much before you've killed a poem. It made me wonder how poetry is received by the widest audiences. It had entries that were so delicious I want to read them again more than the others and to even post it on my wall. A couple entries even made me feel validated for how I view and use language. I wonder if I will ever meet the people who are like me like that, the people who don't need me to explain myself. Words. She used all but a handful of words I already know and yet she compelled me, page after page. Art is so funny. Poetry and prose amaze me.

Other things

Yesterday evening, around 17.45 when I was fed up with chasing the feeling of being "productive", I went to the library to take a short nap on the couch. I set my alarm for eight minutes.


I started thinking, letting my thoughts sift and filter themselves. Having been listening to "you're a worthless whore" for most of my day, it made sense that when I had stopped for probably the first time that day, one of my real thoughts would be, "When did I decide I was worthless?"


This was a new question to me. It actually felt like a pre-epiphany or pre-light bulb so I did my best to hold onto the thought and explore it. But, before I could even assess that it was hold-onto-able, my face had contorted and breathing pattern changed. Yes, I was going to cry.


I thought it through and it made me sad. Then I thought about my outer circumstances, how it was that I was sitting curled up in a ball in an empty building with all the lights off (to conserve energy but it does make a different impact) and nobody knew I was there and nobody knew what was going on and nobody was going to just show up and help me. It made me sad. I am growing a little tired.


I continued exploring and the Lord made some pieces connect that helped me get some comprehension (this is what I seem to covet the most lately, just understanding what's going on) but that also made me cry harder. He pointed out that though this has become my norm, it's actually not...normal in some way. It's not normal or good to be like this. It's OK because my hope is in Jesus. But, as I reflected on hearing the day before how someone else (who is not even a close friend) had left the party to go cry in the basement by themselves, and how my heart sank in that moment, wondering what could have been so wrong that she had to go isolate herself and be THAT SAD alone, I felt a different kind of sadness for myself.


I don't mean to be self-indulgent nor to have a pity party. I mean that it was good for me to re-acknowledge that this is not normal, that something is wrong.



I would have stayed in the library because I like couches but my nose was running too much and the tissues were in my office. The last four steps before the threshold to my room were plodding stamps. It was weird. I think I might have felt the kind of dread that comes from being worn out from something and knowing you have to do the dance all over again--and knowing there will be more all over agains yet to come.

A new round of tears came and my whole body felt tired and sad and uncomfortable. I wanted to lie down and stand up and sit and I couldn't do any of those things or none of those things. And then the phantom hands returned because what would a rough time be without them??


I started thinking about how I would need to pull it together because people would be showing up within an hour for rehearsal. That made me feel worse. I would try to sort out what in particular was hurting and then I would return to how I needed to stop soon and it would make me cry even harder. I think it was the thought of masking that was hard to grapple with. Lately my Dr Jekyll has developed a thick shell. I'm starting to feel like my former self that had a sturdy knee on the throat of my suppressed self who was decaying under hurts and trauma that it couldn't face. 


Truly, I don't want to go back to complete identity split. It has made my days easier (no one asks; I don't tell) but it makes the nights about ten times worse.



Yesterday was hard for me. It was hard for me to feel like someone was groping me and I couldn't stop them, to feel like I was trapped in my own body and so desperately wanting to shed it, to feel like I was alone but like there were friends who would have been happy to take my call, and to keep remembering I needed to pull it together to face the people who would show up soon.

And when the crying got bad enough and the rehearsal drew nearer and nearer I decided I would call. I tried to put aside the frustration of not knowing what I would say. I tried to rehearse my answer to the "what's wrong?" or "what's going on?" that would come but it was hard. I decided that I would instead say, "I don't know what to say but I thought I should call." Something like that. And then hope the conversation could continue past that point.

My last big push into tears came when I asked, seeing the ingredients for a chai lattè on my shelf and feeling it was that kind of day and that kind of moment, "Dad, will you make me one of those?" I didn't think about how I was asking, it just came out. I wanted the comfort from a hot drink and I wanted my Father to make it for me. And it made me cry more because it was like His tender, doting YES came loudly and swiftly--almost like He overlapped my asking. Almost like he had already pulled the mug out and put the kettle on.

Something in that moment was the last big push toward making the call. I felt like help and comfort from others was something I was ready to receive for that time. 

I had been praying aloud for most of this time but when my friend picked up, I was a little shocked by how strained and watery my voice sounded. And now I could hear my sniffling and wiping though that had been going on for half an hour as well.

My "hi" was very small and engulfed in a kind of sigh. Someone was there.

I was very pleased that she was immediately able to discern the nature of my call. I guess when I usually open calls with loudness and a silly name, this start would be obviously different. I then wondered how I could drum up enough something to keep her on the line. I wondered how to make it so the call wasn't a waste of her time. I wondered how short I could possibly keep it. The pressure distracted me and I fumbled through the first couple minutes. 

I told her a few things that had happened, that were bothering me, that I was trying to understand. And I found the "yeah"s and "mmhmm"s highly comforting because they were real. She was present. She was trying.

She didn't have answers but she offered some insight. I talked about the hyper-realness of me not being able to let people in and how terrible that seems and she didn't view that as an opportunity to stick a presumptuous foot in the door (thank You, Lord). 

She let me talk and it was good. Then it was time for rehearsal. I kind of wished the evidence wasn't all over my puffy face but I didn't really need to hide. 

The lattè was horrible. But that couldn't be helped since I was working with powder and a stovetop, not leaves and a proper espresso machine. It still brought me great comfort. And I wasn't alone. And our corporate worship was great. And I didn't feel like a terrible Music Director who never gets anything right. Thanks, Dad.

I forgot that I cleaned my desk yesterday.

But I totally did and it was a rather climweldian surprise today.


Last week someone told me it would be sad when I left Crestwicke (our local church congregation).  I didn't really hear [read: imbibe, digest, accept] all of the sentiment but from what I could skim off the top, I was appreciative. I think I smiled and nodded and that could have been fine.

But, really thinking about it, I added, "I don't know how to think about that day." It's one of those cases where simple language and awkward grammar have to do the talking for me.

And after it was out of my mouth I felt a little shocked at how far that means I've come. I remembered how it was about two-and-a-half years ago that I was so fed up I was making up reasons not to go. I even gave a deadline of one year to see things turned around. (And the Lord, who is so weird, changed my heart about seven months early. In fact, He started changing it about eleven months early but we won't talk about that.)




It is very weird to think about where I was, how I was itching to go, how I was often seething about how appallingly unbiblical we were in our actions and attitudes.



And now... the thought of leaving bothers me so much that I don't think about it for more than a few seconds at a time. As in... I can't think it through. It's a little bit [read: 100% completely] like this is my family. Of course I know how the upper-case-C Church works but it will still surely be difficult to leave Crestwicke and leave Guelph. I cannot believe I'm saying that, given that we're actually far from being healthy as of today.



But--
  the
  Lord
  does
  stuff.


Yes, He does; selah and amen.



(This is not at all the blog post I had in mind when I sat down to type. In fact I was supposed to be doing work but someone opened this Blogger site on a new tab and made me start typing. Weird.)

it's not quite like that.

Things are a little bit different when I'm alone. I'm sitting in my darkened office again and the tears are coming out pretty quickly. I keep trying to pick up the phone but I don't. And then I write what's happening on the Internet, as if that will cut it.

I can tell it afterward but I can't break through in the moment. And so the cycle continues.
This didn't help at all.