Becoming

Yesterday my older son asked me a question I have been asking myself...What exactly are you afraid of?  Asking for the advice, or more indirectly, the advice of your child, can be daunting.  My son is usually very cynical, in a fun loving kind of way - a trait I am told by my younger son he learned from me.  He told me this laughingly as he broke the news to me.  I now recognize the truth behind his statement.  But what my son told me, his "advice" was to do what makes "me" happy.  He went on to tell me that my entire life I have been doing what everyone else wanted me to do or doing something for the sake of another, not myself.  I hadn't thought about it that way, as I have simply done what I felt I needed to do at the time.  Which, I might add, has gotten me into a world of trouble at times.

I have been laboring over the thought of what would make me happy for quite some time, or perhaps a better question would be "What would bring me fulfillment?"  It seems that over the years in struggling in one way or another to survive I have completely forgotten who I am, much less what makes me happy.  I don't feel I have a definitive calling or gift to share with the world, or that I am talented in any way to be useful to another.  Despite any success or achievements I have gotten along the way, I remain devoid of any worth, in my own estimation.

This year, I hope, will be a turning point for me as I work my way through my decision making process.  So I am going to set goals for myself along the way.  A goal I have had for quite some time is to "blog".  Two weeks ago I finally started writing, but I lack the courage to "publish".  Nonetheless, I started!  I have always kept journals, so I try to write daily as I study, read, live life.  My days are so full that there are many days I don't write at all.  This year I began by making it a point to write regardless of how overwhelming a day I have endured.  The point is to write.

I am always concerned with the welfare of others.  When I was a child I used to spend much of my time with my grandparents who were my life.  I still miss them terribly.  I used to love to listen to Papa tell stories about when he was growing up or spend time with my Grammy in the kitchen.  Grammy and Papa were my safety, my happiness.  I was free to be myself without fear of correction or punishment if I happened to make a mistake.  I felt loved and accepted.  My grandparents never owned a home of their own, until papa died and Grammy lived in a mobile home one of her sons helped her purchase.  Still, she missed the home she shared with Papa. They rented a place in the country from Tom Puryear who owned a little country store with pot belly stoves and cookie and candy jars lining the front counter.  I can see it clearly in my memory.  A table next to the pot belly stove where the men would play checkers throughout the day and share the local news.  The dogs vegged out next to the stove, greeting anyone who entered the door with wag of the tail.  I'd talk to Tom or his wife, Mary, and he'd give me a giant cookie, or I'd buy a Twinkie and head on up to their house to visit Mary's mama, Mrs. Slate who was bedridden and elderly.  I loved those folks.  They were part of my childhood, an important part.  I cannot remember why Mrs. Slate was bedridden, but I would visit with her for an hour or better, listening to her stories, looking at her ribbons and other treasures she'd share with me, memories of her childhood.  When she died she left me a fortune...her ribbon box, lace gloves and some embroidered handkerchiefs.  Over the years these treasures have become misplaced, but the memory lives on forever in my heart.

What is it that makes me happy?  I think the answer to that question is making other people happy.  Giving them memories to hang on to, spending time with them. Whether it be laughter, a present, or memories of times shared in the company of another, I want to be a gift, just like my grandparents were a gift to me.  Just like Mrs. Slate gave me a wonderful childhood friendship.  I want to value others, and give my life to encourage, sharing wisdom I have gleaned in my lifetime.

When my daddy died, my sister and I presented the eulogy at his funeral.  I read a portion of The Velveteen Rabbit I felt represented my dad's life and wisdom, as he was always comfortable, more loving and accepting of children, perhaps something he missed as a child growing up without a mother.  It was the part of the story where the ever truthful Skin Horse tells the Rabbit what it means to be Real.  Read it.  You'll discover that in being "real" you "become".  And no one can ever take it away from you.

Written 2/18/13

Simply Trusting

My weekends are times I enjoy spending with God.  I don't have to rush to get ready for work in the mornings or worry about getting to bed early in the evenings.  It's our time.  I am selfish about that time.  Sunday mornings I generally go to church, as my mother always stressed the importance of being a part of a local fellowship.   Beside which I have always loved to going to church, singing and learning.

Many things have happened over the course of my life to cause me to change this habit.  Sometimes my thoughts become so deep about how I may be feeling at a certain time, that I prefer to spend my time only with Him.  This isn't meant to exclude anyone, nor do I think I am better, it is a coping mechanism I have adapted when my heart is overwhelmed, and I just cannot bring myself to share how I feel with another person. Probably because I fear the rejection, the disinterest, the misunderstandings that usually follow.

I am at another crossroads in my life, and I am having a hard time coping with my feelings. Sometimes I get so angry and disappointed in others, in myself, but I cannot put my finger on the root cause of how I feel.  Does it all come back to me from a past failure, unhealed memory or broken heart?  Why does it haunt me so?  How can I explain it to others when I don't even understand myself?

These are the times that my heart cries out to God, My Father, the Creator of my life, the One who gives me purpose, Who accepts me as His own, unreservedly, my Best Friend.  He is my Rock in times of troubles, He is the Truth that sets me free, He is the air I breathe each day.  Although I walk through these valleys, these shadows of doubt, fear, uncertainty, I should have no fear, because I know He is there beside me.  Whatever this cloud is that hangs over my head I know He'll show me what to do to turn this muggy, dreary existence into Life and Light.  I hear the words, "Trust Me" so clearly.

So no matter how I "feel" today, tomorrow, how many days that come, I need to hold fast to His words, to His promises to me to simply trust Him.  Focused, determined, trusting Him....simply trusting Him whatever befalls, trusting Jesus that is all.

Written 3/24/13

Home Once More

In December my dad died, and since that time I have been aimlessly wandering emotionally, not certain which direction to turn.  We lived over a thousand miles apart for 25 years, and all this time I have been trying to find my way back home.  Trying to find a place to belong, a place to simply "be".  Along the way I have lost myself, so to speak, as I grew up and "became". Sometimes who we become or exist as is not the person we truly were meant to be.  This probably doesn't mean much to the casual reader, but to those who have done the exact opposite of what their chosen path was meant to be, I think you'll understand the complexity of the place I find myself.

My dad had one desire before he died.  He wanted to go home one more time to the place he had shared with his wife, companion and his best friend.  He did in fact go home, but only for a short visit, as he departed shortly thereafter on a greater journey home to be with his wife, my mama.  I have no doubt she was waiting for him, as he departed three years to the day she died ... home once more.