For more reasons than one, it's hard to believe that it's been one whole year and 8 months since Wolfie's birth. The resonance of the holiday season we just passed through still rings in my head. On Christmas morning I thought about Wolfie a lot...mostly of all the cool new toddler toys that would have been under (and around, and spilling out all over the place from) the tree.
And being that it's New Years Day, I'm feeling particularly sentimental about the 2012. Last April we marked the milestone of it having been one-year since everything happened. It was a strange sort-of milestone, filled with fears and anxiety. At the time I was concerned for my mental health and "losing it" - so to speak, so in an attempt to prepare for any unknown emotional breakdowns, I shut myself in from the subject and did as little outside communication as possible during that time. And I have to say, I think it helped. There comes a point where the wound is sufficiently aired out and now it just needs some internal nourishment to further heal.
But our year wasn't all discourse and sadness. Ben and I both work a lot, and while our jobs and responsibilities may come at a time-management and sacrifice price, we are both very grateful that we don't have to worry about many things involving that. Plus, I think we can both agree that it's nice to be able to fully immerse yourself in something other than your own thoughts during the daily grind. Our jobs have been almost the only protein we consume in an otherwise poor diet of daily life... they're good and they're keeping us feeling healthy and good.
But if I had to sum up 2012 in one word for myself it would be "dislocation". Or, at least, that's the one word that's really sticking out for me today. I don't feel disassociated from things... I feel dislocated from them. Like an arm that's come loose from a socket, I'm still there in sinew and flesh, but the bone has come loose, and I'm hanging limp and although I can still feel everything I don't feel like I have the proper connection to do anything about it.
Most of the dislocation has been self-inflicted. And it's made us into shut-ins. A small part of me wants to go out, spend time with friends, dance the night away, etc... but mostly I just want to watch TV and fall asleep. Depression? Maybe. Getting older? Maybe that too. Lazy? Yes possibly. I feel it happening to my life as if I'm being slowly injected with some kind of sedative... and I'm struggling to keep my eyes awake in life and not completely fade into hermit-dom. But I am unsure how to stop it. The bottom line is that the motivation to go out and "have fun" just isn't there. We can arrange to do fun things together, but the shoe of life has almost completely lost it's shine. Is there no more marrow for us to suck? Is all the world now painted black?
but then...
in the quiet drive-time during a better-late-than-never vacation just a few weeks ago....
Ben and I started talking about our dreams. Mostly our dreams involve business and enterprise in some way. I suppose some couples talk of gardens and numbers of bedrooms... but at this juncture in life we talk of work. It was such a break-through moment, but you'd never know it with us. We realized that our dreams can be combined into one epic life-dream... and that they are feasible. We realized that all our other dreams can be grandfathered in at some point too. We've been crawling around in the dirt of our sorrow and our unknown futures for a while now, and this one discussion drew an outline for the structural support for beams for the floor for the foundation for the ground-level of our newly decided life-dream. The plan is a little shaky and we're not too clear how to get from a to zed but the light of a goal shining through an open window is all we may need to climb out of this dislocation.
And another open window too. Since everything I've not only been shut-in but also shut-off. I haven't honestly wanted to get pregnant again... for fears... for grief... for lack of zeal. I worried that if we had another little one that my emotional lachrymose would rob our second child of the deserving excitement. I didn't want to bring a precious baby into my jaded, tarnished, and depressed world. And it's taken me this long to consider that my cup never empties for love... and certainly never empties for desire for a child despite my brain trying to convince me it's "not a good time". So, here's a little open window. It's the same open window we left cracked when we got married... maybe the stork will come, maybe it won't. But now I'm open to it, and actually... to tell you the truth... a little excited about what that may hold. But even in that same breath I tell you that I cover that joy and excitement with rationality... after all, we've already been shown that joy can be ripped right out from our grasping hands.
So, here's to a new year. To healing. To finding joy, and keeping joy. To open windows and life-dreams. To relocation and going out and having fun. To gardens and good jobs. To having energy and spending time. May all the marrow of life be yours.
Tuesday, January 1, 2013
Tuesday, March 13, 2012
ok i will try
I've always been really good at putting myself in other people's shoes. It may take me a few moments... but if I actually have a few moments in the day, I can find my mind easily drifting to another time, another life... another pair of shoes.
When I was younger (and embarrassingly enough, even to this day) I would act out conversations, situations, drama and actual events in the bathroom or in front of the bedroom mirror. I would usually "act" and voice out all parts of a conversation. But they were usually mostly monologues anyways. Where I get to indulge totally high-ego style... like someone was interviewing me for a documentary... about me. Chances are, if I'm nervous or excited about a particular conversation or interview that I'm about to have, I will have already acted it out while taking a bath or driving to the grocery store.
That being said, it is really rooted in my desire to feel "prepared". But this past year I've been fraught with one particular "scene" that I cannot make peace with. I cannot squeeze the fear out of this event to come by rolling it over and over again in my head like a remake of Groundhog Day. I try to imagine it, I try to even breathe and hold my posture or imagine what my body might be feeling when this particular thing comes.
This thing I keep thinking about is my own death.
I guess it doesn't help to think of it... but for some reason with the loss of my son I cannot help but ponder this crazy burdensome thing no less than once per day. I will often replay my memory of bearing witness to my father's passing. And I will hypothesize on how I might find myself in the moment which is to be my last.
My imagination reaches through the visual and the sensory and begins to unearth a strange kind of fear. A panic rises up in my gut... but I can always catch myself a few seconds into the panic.
"Listen, where are you?" I ask myself.
"I am driving in the car." I tell myself.
"Good, are you alive?"
"Yes, I am alive."
"Then don't think about death until you need to, Ok?"
"Ok I will try."
Next I will usually take a deep breath and try to shake off the heeby-jeebies, turn the music to something upbeat and focus on the world around me.
Focus on the world around me. And that's the gist of what I've been doing lately. Trying my best to absorb myself in work, friends, movies, videogames, my husband and our doggie. Every-so-often I have a few minutes of "quiet" and my mind drifts to Wolfie, and then to death. Maybe the void of our loss pulls me in. Maybe it is too difficult to keep it away from my own imagination. "Try not to think of it, " you may say. It just isn't going to happen that easily.
We are coming up on the one year mark next month. I'm still not sure what to expect emotionally. Wolfie was born on April 30th. And he passed on May 5th. And then mother's day falls on the 13th this year. I don't know if I should hibernate, try to distract myself or just wait and see... but for sure it will probably be difficult for me to communicate about it directly with anyone. So, I apologize in advance to anyone if I seem distant or absent emotionally.
There really are a lot of great things happening in my life right now and most of the time I'm totally focused on those things. As always, there's a give-and-take and I do my best to sort through the pieces. Don't we all?
When I was younger (and embarrassingly enough, even to this day) I would act out conversations, situations, drama and actual events in the bathroom or in front of the bedroom mirror. I would usually "act" and voice out all parts of a conversation. But they were usually mostly monologues anyways. Where I get to indulge totally high-ego style... like someone was interviewing me for a documentary... about me. Chances are, if I'm nervous or excited about a particular conversation or interview that I'm about to have, I will have already acted it out while taking a bath or driving to the grocery store.
That being said, it is really rooted in my desire to feel "prepared". But this past year I've been fraught with one particular "scene" that I cannot make peace with. I cannot squeeze the fear out of this event to come by rolling it over and over again in my head like a remake of Groundhog Day. I try to imagine it, I try to even breathe and hold my posture or imagine what my body might be feeling when this particular thing comes.
This thing I keep thinking about is my own death.
I guess it doesn't help to think of it... but for some reason with the loss of my son I cannot help but ponder this crazy burdensome thing no less than once per day. I will often replay my memory of bearing witness to my father's passing. And I will hypothesize on how I might find myself in the moment which is to be my last.
My imagination reaches through the visual and the sensory and begins to unearth a strange kind of fear. A panic rises up in my gut... but I can always catch myself a few seconds into the panic.
"Listen, where are you?" I ask myself.
"I am driving in the car." I tell myself.
"Good, are you alive?"
"Yes, I am alive."
"Then don't think about death until you need to, Ok?"
"Ok I will try."
Next I will usually take a deep breath and try to shake off the heeby-jeebies, turn the music to something upbeat and focus on the world around me.
Focus on the world around me. And that's the gist of what I've been doing lately. Trying my best to absorb myself in work, friends, movies, videogames, my husband and our doggie. Every-so-often I have a few minutes of "quiet" and my mind drifts to Wolfie, and then to death. Maybe the void of our loss pulls me in. Maybe it is too difficult to keep it away from my own imagination. "Try not to think of it, " you may say. It just isn't going to happen that easily.
We are coming up on the one year mark next month. I'm still not sure what to expect emotionally. Wolfie was born on April 30th. And he passed on May 5th. And then mother's day falls on the 13th this year. I don't know if I should hibernate, try to distract myself or just wait and see... but for sure it will probably be difficult for me to communicate about it directly with anyone. So, I apologize in advance to anyone if I seem distant or absent emotionally.
There really are a lot of great things happening in my life right now and most of the time I'm totally focused on those things. As always, there's a give-and-take and I do my best to sort through the pieces. Don't we all?
Monday, December 26, 2011
toes and toys
Today is the day after Christmas. This month, I've busied myself with work, work, and more work. Oh, and gifts and buying gifts and buying more gifts.
But on Christmas Eve, I sat quietly on the couch while Ben played a videogame. I was waiting for him so we could go to a friend's house. I realized this was the first I'd had time to sit and really think all month. I looked up at Wolfie's few pictures on the wall. His little toes, curled up in the palms of Ben's strong hands stared back at me. And I realized the great difference in what would have been this Christmas and what is. I glanced at our tree. Ben brought it home for me a month ago because he knows how much celebrating things means to me. He knows I really enjoy decorating the house and making everything all warm and fuzzy for a month. But even with all it's colorful lights and ornaments it all felt empty. A few small presents to each other, and a few scattered gifts for family members we'd yet to see... but no toys. No staying up late to assemble a bouncey gym thingy. No stockings this year.. I couldn't bear to see them hanging all alone without a little one for our baby. I remembered the little squishy talking soccer ball I'd bought last spring. I used coupons to get it at a discount and even though it was for 6 months and up, I decided it was perfect for a Christmas gift. "We can just put it into the closet until then and it can be one of his gifts for Christmas!" I'd told my husband when he questioned my shopping decision.
Then, I mourned for that. It seems so silly to be crying over a toy. But really I was crying over the lost memory (future memory) of giving it to him. Seeing him instinctively try to shove it into his mouth as babies do. Getting drool all over it. Watching his reaction as it activated and talked to him when he squeezed it. Glancing at my husband as we both laughed and thought to ourselves what a wonderful life it is.
I'm glad I have an appreciation for the "tradition" of religious holidays, as it were...the presents, the family get-togethers, the food, the tree, etc. Those things actually kind-of make it easier to be honest. Because honestly, right now, I cannot jive with the spiritual side of it at all. I mean, all the songs are about the BIRTH of a child. Angels sing about a BABY arriving. And even on the pseudo-emotional but not too religious side, Santa comes to bring little CHILDREN toys. You go to church, you're going to hear a sermon about a baby arriving into the world...successfully. You're going to sing songs and imagery of a sleeping little baby Jesus in a manger are going to fill your thoughts. It's just too soon for me.
And yes, it's probably going to be too soon for me to connect spiritually with Easter where God not only loses his son but his son gets to come back to life. And most of all I will be avoiding anything to do with Passover. Although the blood of the lamb covered our door, God did not spare our first-born son. I'm sorry. It's just too much.
Now, I know that there is more to spirituality than all of this. But right now, I am consumed by this grief spiritually speaking. I cannot really see the forest for the trees right now. Hopefully some day the bitter waters that flow through my heart will cease... maybe never.
In the mean time, I am happy to have my head down and work. I am relieved to have a break from my thoughts daily. The frustrating thing is that this usually means that I have a lot less time to hang out with friends. But I am growing in this. It feels good to grow again after having felt depleted for so long.
I turn my thoughts to Wolfie's toes. In the 5 days we were blessed with him, I got to kiss his toes about two-dozen times. He had enormous feet for a newborn baby... his foot barely fit inside the little clay foot imprint box that we were given. As painful as it is to think of his listless little body, it's easier than thinking of him happy and alive compared to the empty space where he should have been. His toes were there... the moment with the soccer ball this Christmas morning was not.
I remember lightly kissing the top of his big toe. I am so thankful for that.
But on Christmas Eve, I sat quietly on the couch while Ben played a videogame. I was waiting for him so we could go to a friend's house. I realized this was the first I'd had time to sit and really think all month. I looked up at Wolfie's few pictures on the wall. His little toes, curled up in the palms of Ben's strong hands stared back at me. And I realized the great difference in what would have been this Christmas and what is. I glanced at our tree. Ben brought it home for me a month ago because he knows how much celebrating things means to me. He knows I really enjoy decorating the house and making everything all warm and fuzzy for a month. But even with all it's colorful lights and ornaments it all felt empty. A few small presents to each other, and a few scattered gifts for family members we'd yet to see... but no toys. No staying up late to assemble a bouncey gym thingy. No stockings this year.. I couldn't bear to see them hanging all alone without a little one for our baby. I remembered the little squishy talking soccer ball I'd bought last spring. I used coupons to get it at a discount and even though it was for 6 months and up, I decided it was perfect for a Christmas gift. "We can just put it into the closet until then and it can be one of his gifts for Christmas!" I'd told my husband when he questioned my shopping decision.
Then, I mourned for that. It seems so silly to be crying over a toy. But really I was crying over the lost memory (future memory) of giving it to him. Seeing him instinctively try to shove it into his mouth as babies do. Getting drool all over it. Watching his reaction as it activated and talked to him when he squeezed it. Glancing at my husband as we both laughed and thought to ourselves what a wonderful life it is.
I'm glad I have an appreciation for the "tradition" of religious holidays, as it were...the presents, the family get-togethers, the food, the tree, etc. Those things actually kind-of make it easier to be honest. Because honestly, right now, I cannot jive with the spiritual side of it at all. I mean, all the songs are about the BIRTH of a child. Angels sing about a BABY arriving. And even on the pseudo-emotional but not too religious side, Santa comes to bring little CHILDREN toys. You go to church, you're going to hear a sermon about a baby arriving into the world...successfully. You're going to sing songs and imagery of a sleeping little baby Jesus in a manger are going to fill your thoughts. It's just too soon for me.
And yes, it's probably going to be too soon for me to connect spiritually with Easter where God not only loses his son but his son gets to come back to life. And most of all I will be avoiding anything to do with Passover. Although the blood of the lamb covered our door, God did not spare our first-born son. I'm sorry. It's just too much.
Now, I know that there is more to spirituality than all of this. But right now, I am consumed by this grief spiritually speaking. I cannot really see the forest for the trees right now. Hopefully some day the bitter waters that flow through my heart will cease... maybe never.
In the mean time, I am happy to have my head down and work. I am relieved to have a break from my thoughts daily. The frustrating thing is that this usually means that I have a lot less time to hang out with friends. But I am growing in this. It feels good to grow again after having felt depleted for so long.
I turn my thoughts to Wolfie's toes. In the 5 days we were blessed with him, I got to kiss his toes about two-dozen times. He had enormous feet for a newborn baby... his foot barely fit inside the little clay foot imprint box that we were given. As painful as it is to think of his listless little body, it's easier than thinking of him happy and alive compared to the empty space where he should have been. His toes were there... the moment with the soccer ball this Christmas morning was not.
I remember lightly kissing the top of his big toe. I am so thankful for that.
Monday, November 14, 2011
mad at God
I am mad at God. There I said it.
If God is my "father" then I am like a child who in a moment of complete joy and blissfulness was struck across the face by my father's hand with full force. I grasp my cheek and look up to my father, with tears filling the corners of my eyes, and lump filling my throat. After a brief glance, searching my father's face for a reason for such a hurtful act, I run from him. I find a quiet place where I can listen to myself cry...and wait for an explanation.
I am mad at God. There is no way around it. If any human person ever took from me what was taken, I would probably go insane from the murderous spirit that would dwell within me. I would never want to murder anyone... or suffer anyone unto death purposefully... but I would wrestle with that rage for the rest of my life.
Why should it be any different then for God?
I would not displace my love for God, and my gratefulness for all that he HAS DONE for me... but now within and around and amongst all that love is an anger too.
I love you... but I'm extremely pissed at you right now.
So, it's kinda hard for me to sit in church with this going on in my head. I think that the key to spirituality is the relationship you have with your creator. And of course, anger and hurt are parts of relationships. But I don't see too many places in church where I can take out some of my anger. Wouldn't it be great if there were also punching bags near the alter where we could let out our frustrations and then a little area with pillows and a box of tissues where we could curl up in a fetal position and cry and scream like toddlers throwing a fit? And then afterwards, there would be ice-cream and someone we love would take us to get wasted on red wine so we could just fall asleep like a sad mess. That might be cathartic for me... or difficult. But in any case that's the level of craziness that I need in order to really open up and show my "true feelings". Mostly in church I'm just a shadow of how I really feel... because how I really feel would involve lots of screaming and crying... probably snot flying out of my nose and me making all kinds of horrific "crying faces"....and I guess I'm just really not comfortable with sharing that side of me with everyone.
***
I guess you could say that the "routine" of life has gotten easier. But the same emotion still lingers with nearly the same intensity on the inside.
Have you ever fallen in love? You know how suddenly every song you hear is somehow related to that person? How every little coincidence is suddenly meaningful to your situation? This is what it's like for me... only it's not about love. It's about the death of my son. Everything that happens, every song, every event, every little thing... I can't experience it without considering how it relates to Wolfie. This has left a permanent print on everything that happens in my life...even my memory of the things that happened before. It has simultaneously altered both the perception and feelings of the past, present AND future.
It's a weight on my heart that will be there until I die. I just have to carry it.
If God is my "father" then I am like a child who in a moment of complete joy and blissfulness was struck across the face by my father's hand with full force. I grasp my cheek and look up to my father, with tears filling the corners of my eyes, and lump filling my throat. After a brief glance, searching my father's face for a reason for such a hurtful act, I run from him. I find a quiet place where I can listen to myself cry...and wait for an explanation.
I am mad at God. There is no way around it. If any human person ever took from me what was taken, I would probably go insane from the murderous spirit that would dwell within me. I would never want to murder anyone... or suffer anyone unto death purposefully... but I would wrestle with that rage for the rest of my life.
Why should it be any different then for God?
I would not displace my love for God, and my gratefulness for all that he HAS DONE for me... but now within and around and amongst all that love is an anger too.
I love you... but I'm extremely pissed at you right now.
So, it's kinda hard for me to sit in church with this going on in my head. I think that the key to spirituality is the relationship you have with your creator. And of course, anger and hurt are parts of relationships. But I don't see too many places in church where I can take out some of my anger. Wouldn't it be great if there were also punching bags near the alter where we could let out our frustrations and then a little area with pillows and a box of tissues where we could curl up in a fetal position and cry and scream like toddlers throwing a fit? And then afterwards, there would be ice-cream and someone we love would take us to get wasted on red wine so we could just fall asleep like a sad mess. That might be cathartic for me... or difficult. But in any case that's the level of craziness that I need in order to really open up and show my "true feelings". Mostly in church I'm just a shadow of how I really feel... because how I really feel would involve lots of screaming and crying... probably snot flying out of my nose and me making all kinds of horrific "crying faces"....and I guess I'm just really not comfortable with sharing that side of me with everyone.
***
I guess you could say that the "routine" of life has gotten easier. But the same emotion still lingers with nearly the same intensity on the inside.
Have you ever fallen in love? You know how suddenly every song you hear is somehow related to that person? How every little coincidence is suddenly meaningful to your situation? This is what it's like for me... only it's not about love. It's about the death of my son. Everything that happens, every song, every event, every little thing... I can't experience it without considering how it relates to Wolfie. This has left a permanent print on everything that happens in my life...even my memory of the things that happened before. It has simultaneously altered both the perception and feelings of the past, present AND future.
It's a weight on my heart that will be there until I die. I just have to carry it.
Wednesday, October 19, 2011
snippets
I feel scattered mostly these days... and this blog post should be indicative of that.
The other morning I counted the days. Wolfie would have been about 5 and a half months now. Mostly I don't count the days. It hurts more to know the milestones I'm missing.
Sometimes between last I wrote and now I found how to dress better for my new size. But I also found that tucking my new drooping belly flap into a sweet new pair of jeans is just a temporary way of distracting me from the truth. I eventually take those off and get into the bath, the combination of seeing my buoyant stomach fat and the feeling of the warm swirling water reminds me of the water birth.
So on this other morning, after counting the days and having a somber bath, I decided to sit in the nursing glider and open the drawers of the baby's dresser one by one and look at some of his things. I hadn't really sat there except to tie my shoes since everything happened. Mostly it felt sweet and nostalgic like looking at old family videos even though some of those family members have gone on to heaven... but then it all changed when I got to the bottom drawer.
In the bottom drawer are the socks, shoes, and other small accessories. Buried under a few pairs of socks and caps was a pair of shoes that Ben and I had purchased together. They were this faux-leather stuff. Childish primary colors... but they had a little soccer ball design on the velcro flap that held them closed. I remembered that Ben and I had bought them together. We bought them with an unrelated little outfit at this church rummage sale and they were the first things we had bought for our boy together.
You see, I mostly lose it thinking about how happy and untainted, unstained by sadness our little world was then. The little soccer ball shoes had glistened with our joyous anticipation...now they sit quietly in a little drawer.
I've also been occupied with the thought of death lately. It truly is a terrible curse to be aware of your own mortality. It makes me feel frantic... like a game show player in a mad dash to grab all the cool stuff before the buzzer goes off. But at the same time I haven't much zest to enjoy many of the "finer" things this world has to offer.
I busy myself with video games, crafty work, managing our little house, spending time with good friends, watching movies, and trying to make plans to do the things I think I should be doing.
I've had this deep-seeded need lately. I want to walk. I mean... really walk. I want to walk so far, stop to eat a few times along the way, stop to sleep, wake up, and then keep walking some more. I don't want to run. I don't want to do anything that requires a ton of fancy equipment. And I don't want to just hike up Stone Mountain or Kennesaw mound some afternoon... I mean... I want to WALK... like across an entire state at least. I want to put one foot in front of the other for hours and days on end. I don't want a deadline. I don't want to feel rushed or hurried. I just want to walk and enjoy the walk... but for a really long time. Like a slow-moving endurance trial. I don't know what it is, but this need to walk and walk is in me. I discussed it with a friend today and I think it's going to happen sometime in the near future. Of course we're going to prepare our bodies and minds for such an undertaking.... but I don't think there's too much we really need besides working feet and legs...and a desire to keep going. It's something to look forward to. It's something new. It's dangerous... a little exciting... a little daunting... but it's something I gotta do. I just have to. Otherwise, I'll never know why I'm being drawn to it so randomly.
The other morning I counted the days. Wolfie would have been about 5 and a half months now. Mostly I don't count the days. It hurts more to know the milestones I'm missing.
Sometimes between last I wrote and now I found how to dress better for my new size. But I also found that tucking my new drooping belly flap into a sweet new pair of jeans is just a temporary way of distracting me from the truth. I eventually take those off and get into the bath, the combination of seeing my buoyant stomach fat and the feeling of the warm swirling water reminds me of the water birth.
So on this other morning, after counting the days and having a somber bath, I decided to sit in the nursing glider and open the drawers of the baby's dresser one by one and look at some of his things. I hadn't really sat there except to tie my shoes since everything happened. Mostly it felt sweet and nostalgic like looking at old family videos even though some of those family members have gone on to heaven... but then it all changed when I got to the bottom drawer.
In the bottom drawer are the socks, shoes, and other small accessories. Buried under a few pairs of socks and caps was a pair of shoes that Ben and I had purchased together. They were this faux-leather stuff. Childish primary colors... but they had a little soccer ball design on the velcro flap that held them closed. I remembered that Ben and I had bought them together. We bought them with an unrelated little outfit at this church rummage sale and they were the first things we had bought for our boy together.
You see, I mostly lose it thinking about how happy and untainted, unstained by sadness our little world was then. The little soccer ball shoes had glistened with our joyous anticipation...now they sit quietly in a little drawer.
I've also been occupied with the thought of death lately. It truly is a terrible curse to be aware of your own mortality. It makes me feel frantic... like a game show player in a mad dash to grab all the cool stuff before the buzzer goes off. But at the same time I haven't much zest to enjoy many of the "finer" things this world has to offer.
I busy myself with video games, crafty work, managing our little house, spending time with good friends, watching movies, and trying to make plans to do the things I think I should be doing.
I've had this deep-seeded need lately. I want to walk. I mean... really walk. I want to walk so far, stop to eat a few times along the way, stop to sleep, wake up, and then keep walking some more. I don't want to run. I don't want to do anything that requires a ton of fancy equipment. And I don't want to just hike up Stone Mountain or Kennesaw mound some afternoon... I mean... I want to WALK... like across an entire state at least. I want to put one foot in front of the other for hours and days on end. I don't want a deadline. I don't want to feel rushed or hurried. I just want to walk and enjoy the walk... but for a really long time. Like a slow-moving endurance trial. I don't know what it is, but this need to walk and walk is in me. I discussed it with a friend today and I think it's going to happen sometime in the near future. Of course we're going to prepare our bodies and minds for such an undertaking.... but I don't think there's too much we really need besides working feet and legs...and a desire to keep going. It's something to look forward to. It's something new. It's dangerous... a little exciting... a little daunting... but it's something I gotta do. I just have to. Otherwise, I'll never know why I'm being drawn to it so randomly.
Wednesday, August 24, 2011
does not compute
If my inner emotion were a computer, my screen would be blue and it would read,
Error: Does not compute.
I do not understand why babies and little children must die. For all the reasons I could muster, it doesn't fit into my feeble understanding of how God cares for us. Why these little innocents must shuffle off cannot be part of God's care for those who are left behind (or if you see one's time on earth as a gift, then also those who are taken). I have a hard time with the question of whether or not God has his hands in this or not. On one hand, I wonder if it's part of some divine plan, which upon facing eternity in happiness and in the presence of all that is holy will become not only evident but like a small thing to me (but not until then). In this scenario, death is not only a part of God's plan but God has created death to go along with our mortality, and he intends to use it for some greater plan.
I have a hard time believing the above scenario. I am not utterly convinced that God wants us to experience death, the loss of death or the pain of it in order to glorify some great plan... I think he loves us greatly as individuals (not just small pieces in a greater machine or plan).
On the other hand, I wonder if perhaps death and the horror, shock and pain of death were like the cancer upon God's good creation (one which God did not intend but did allow) and seeing as how God did not intend for this to happen to his most beloved, all will be reconciled when the enemy is destroyed. In this scenario God collects the perfect spoils of this spiritual war and redeems them in heaven. But in this scenario, God is not responsible for the induction of death (the creation of death). Whether we cast it upon ourselves at the beginning of his creation, or whether it a product of the enemy (or both), God saves us ultimately from it...that which he did not intend for us to endure.
But if this is the case then why, God? Why are we waiting? How much terrible harm can be done on the most pure and beautiful things ever to exist before you rescue them (us)?
I feel inclined to believe that we were not created to handle death well. This is why it does not compute. I cannot fathom my own demise, nor can I even begin to understand or grasp the death of another. Not only that... but I hate death. If given the chance I would wish it all away from the face of the earth- never to harm another again.
Is our emotion energy? Where does the pain of death go? Some people like to talk about the circle of life (with or without God in it)... where is the spot in the circle for the pain, anger, rage, frustration, hurt, bewilderment, and turmoil of death? Do all of our tears go back into the earth too? Are they recycled into life-giving water?
Sigh.
Here is where I am right now. An error screen.
But maybe that's the best place to be. I'm not entirely sure that I'm *supposed* to compute. This event doesn't register in my earthly equation... and besides I'm not very good at solving formulas anyhow.
Error: Does not compute.
I do not understand why babies and little children must die. For all the reasons I could muster, it doesn't fit into my feeble understanding of how God cares for us. Why these little innocents must shuffle off cannot be part of God's care for those who are left behind (or if you see one's time on earth as a gift, then also those who are taken). I have a hard time with the question of whether or not God has his hands in this or not. On one hand, I wonder if it's part of some divine plan, which upon facing eternity in happiness and in the presence of all that is holy will become not only evident but like a small thing to me (but not until then). In this scenario, death is not only a part of God's plan but God has created death to go along with our mortality, and he intends to use it for some greater plan.
I have a hard time believing the above scenario. I am not utterly convinced that God wants us to experience death, the loss of death or the pain of it in order to glorify some great plan... I think he loves us greatly as individuals (not just small pieces in a greater machine or plan).
On the other hand, I wonder if perhaps death and the horror, shock and pain of death were like the cancer upon God's good creation (one which God did not intend but did allow) and seeing as how God did not intend for this to happen to his most beloved, all will be reconciled when the enemy is destroyed. In this scenario God collects the perfect spoils of this spiritual war and redeems them in heaven. But in this scenario, God is not responsible for the induction of death (the creation of death). Whether we cast it upon ourselves at the beginning of his creation, or whether it a product of the enemy (or both), God saves us ultimately from it...that which he did not intend for us to endure.
But if this is the case then why, God? Why are we waiting? How much terrible harm can be done on the most pure and beautiful things ever to exist before you rescue them (us)?
I feel inclined to believe that we were not created to handle death well. This is why it does not compute. I cannot fathom my own demise, nor can I even begin to understand or grasp the death of another. Not only that... but I hate death. If given the chance I would wish it all away from the face of the earth- never to harm another again.
Is our emotion energy? Where does the pain of death go? Some people like to talk about the circle of life (with or without God in it)... where is the spot in the circle for the pain, anger, rage, frustration, hurt, bewilderment, and turmoil of death? Do all of our tears go back into the earth too? Are they recycled into life-giving water?
Sigh.
Here is where I am right now. An error screen.
But maybe that's the best place to be. I'm not entirely sure that I'm *supposed* to compute. This event doesn't register in my earthly equation... and besides I'm not very good at solving formulas anyhow.
Thursday, August 11, 2011
peter gabriel
So, I am well aware that my perception of things like music have changed since losing Wolfie, but I just had to share these two songs with you all.
When my father died, I was really moved and touched by a song by Peter Gabriel. The song is called Mercy Street.
"dreaming of mercy street
where you're inside out
dreaming of mercy
in your daddy's arms again
dreaming of mercy street
swear they moved that sign
dreaming of mercy
in your daddy's arms"
So, someone just posted this next song on Facebook for those who are grieving. Dang, Peter Gabriel... you got me again. The lyrics to this song are absolutely so real to me.
"I Grieve"
it was only one hour ago
it was all so different then
there's nothing yet has really sunk in
looks like it always did
this flesh and bone
it's just the way that you would tied in
now there's no-one home
i grieve for you
you leave me
'so hard to move on
still loving what's gone
they say life carries on
carries on and on and on and on
the news that truly shocks is the empty empty page
while the final rattle rocks its empty empty cage
and i can't handle this
i grieve for you
you leave me
let it out and move on
missing what's gone
they say life carries on
they say life carries on and on and on
life carries on
in the people i meet
in everyone that's out on the street
in all the dogs and cats
in the flies and rats
in the rot and the rust
in the ashes and the dust
life carries on and on and on and on
life carries on and on and on
it's just the car that we ride in
a home we reside in
the face that we hide in
the way we are tied in
and life carries on and on and on and on
life carries on and on and on
did I dream this belief?
or did i believe this dream?
now i can find relief
i grieve
When my father died, I was really moved and touched by a song by Peter Gabriel. The song is called Mercy Street.
"dreaming of mercy street
where you're inside out
dreaming of mercy
in your daddy's arms again
dreaming of mercy street
swear they moved that sign
dreaming of mercy
in your daddy's arms"
So, someone just posted this next song on Facebook for those who are grieving. Dang, Peter Gabriel... you got me again. The lyrics to this song are absolutely so real to me.
"I Grieve"
it was only one hour ago
it was all so different then
there's nothing yet has really sunk in
looks like it always did
this flesh and bone
it's just the way that you would tied in
now there's no-one home
i grieve for you
you leave me
'so hard to move on
still loving what's gone
they say life carries on
carries on and on and on and on
the news that truly shocks is the empty empty page
while the final rattle rocks its empty empty cage
and i can't handle this
i grieve for you
you leave me
let it out and move on
missing what's gone
they say life carries on
they say life carries on and on and on
life carries on
in the people i meet
in everyone that's out on the street
in all the dogs and cats
in the flies and rats
in the rot and the rust
in the ashes and the dust
life carries on and on and on and on
life carries on and on and on
it's just the car that we ride in
a home we reside in
the face that we hide in
the way we are tied in
and life carries on and on and on and on
life carries on and on and on
did I dream this belief?
or did i believe this dream?
now i can find relief
i grieve
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