ramblin thoughts

9/13/10
so what to discuss...hmmm...everyone is always telling me I don't talk about myself or let others in, but i feel like i talk about myself too much! how crazy is that. people around me say they don't really know much about me, but to me, when i think about sharing, the things that come to mind seem too big to share. for some reason, my life as awesome as it has been and as blessed as i feel and know i am, it has been marked by an awful lot of hurt, tragedy and trauma. so when i'm asked to share, it feels too heavy and burdensome to speak of. and i don't want others to pity me or to think i'm too dramatic or i don't know... some would say i shouldn't care what others think, and some would say they must want to know if they ask...but do they really? i don't think so. most people really want to know the person they think you are. the one they have imagined you are in their minds. they seem to need to believe their lives are worse than other peoples' when the reality is, we all walk through so much stuff. yes it is all different, but everyone it seems, has painful and difficult circumstances to navigate in their lives. so, it seems i have talked myself into a circle. if everyone does have junk too, than maybe they do want to hear the real stuff. maybe hearing the gunk will make them feel like i am more accessible. i don't want to be anyone's hero or mentor, really all i want is to point them to my Saviour. the One who has changed my life to such a degree that i cannot truly relate to the person i was before. i know that was me, and i would never sugarcoat who i was or what i did...but i am soooooooo not that person anymore. reborn, born again, a phoenix from the ashes, a new life... these expressions truly do capture how i feel about who i am now. the most delightful thing in addition to this, is that He isn't finished with me yet! as different as i am, as much as He has changed me, it is wonderful to know that my creator hasn't finished polishing me yet. actually, maybe he hasn't begun to polish me. this is probably me as a finished, yet unfired piece of clay. the paint and polish hasn't yet begun. but what a work He will make of me. i am thrilled to be His and to be in His hands.

maybe i should simply begin with one memory; one crazy instance in my life. i will have to think on that.

9/14/10
grass...when i close my eyes i can smell it. i remember liking the smell of it as a child. i can see myself sitting cross-legged on the cool, prickly lawn in the school play yard. i used to love to pull up small handfuls and mix it with the already mowed grass, shaping it into small nests for the birds...well, i told myself it was for the birds. i would sit and just play with it, watching it fall from my fingers. i'm not sure why i enjoyed this game. possibly i did it out of boredom. i didn't have many playmates in school. i was always 'among' them yet not part of them. anyway, i also loved sheering the blades of grass apart with my thumbnail. each blade has this long line down the center of it, rather like a leaf. the centerline on a leaf is more of a vein, and on a blade of grass it seems more of a crease. i used to run my nail through that crease and it would split so evenly into two pieces. for some reason this was soothing. odd, the things we do as a child and odd that i would even remember this. and then i'm 16. the cricket is all i can seem to focus on. i'm pressed down into the ground in a small field by the side of the road. the grass is weathered and tall, and unfortunately provides seclusion. it's so stiff and pokey, it hurts and is so uncomfortable, rather like having sharp pieces of hay puncturing into your skin. i never did like hay. people always seem to enjoy hay rides and playing in the barn. towering lofts of hay to roll in, jump in, to throw into the air...but i think it's very icky. it's sharp. most of the time it smells moldy and you feed it to animals or use it to sop up messes in the barn...ewww. well, it was icky this day too. i lay there, my body being violated by a man 20 years my senior. so big, so strong, so vile. there he was pounding away on top of me like i was a slab of meat to be tenderized and all i can think of is, "this grass is not right....it's like hay." to this day i couldn't begin to say how long i was there. the cricket and the hay...all my focus is on this little cricket playing its sad, morbid song just inches from my forehead. i was immersed in the novelty of the sounds made from his wiry legs rubbing together. that day, the cricket kept me sane, kept me from living in the horror of the moment. today, i hate the sound of crickets, i hate their creepy legs and their evil looking exoskelton and i especially hate the smell of freshly mowed grass and hay. you would think instead that i would hate men. go figure

9/14/10
have you ever felt the tiny hairs in your nose freeze? the air is so cold, so crisp it fairly glistens. it is the crispest, driest cold. the snow sparkles with a web of seemingly crushed diamonds and your skis literally fly across its hard surface. these are what perfect winter days are made of. the cold crisp air, the untouched acres of snow, the tall bare trees, whistling gently to you as you glide by. hours and hours i would spend in this oasis of tranquilty. it was my refuge as a young teenager. it was where i could be...simply me. i felt at peace here. i felt strong here. it didn't scare me to be alone in the vastness of the woods and land. on the contrary, i felt one with it. it was at once, exhilarating and calming. how i loved the snow, the winter, the skis and even myself, at least for that moment.

9/15/10
eight acres. not that large of a parcel of land. but eight acres in a blizzard during whiteout conditions, ah, that is another thing entirely. it was just after christmas in 1981. my grandmother (step-grandmother, but not to me) was dying from lung cancer. she had been diagnosed way back in april with four enormous tumors in her lungs. the doctors had said she would barely make it six weeks and here it was the longest, coldest days of the year...winter. she had fought this with such a determination. at first, she had been determined to live at least long enough to see my baby brother born. and she had accomplished that, july 11th. then, it seemed as if she had simply decided she wasn't going to give any of us up....she was holding on. she lived about seven miles away, my brother, joe and i, took turns staying at her house. we didn't do much really. we simply sat by her bedside. just talking with her, playing, when she could, holding her hand, helping her eat, and drink. just loving on her, really. just enjoying the time given us. during one of those visits, i had promised her, that no matter what, i would be there with her when it was time to go. her eyes had glistened with tears and she gave me the biggest smile, squeezing my hand lovingly. i hadn't known her long, but we had bonded quickly...she was gramma.
now, here i was venturing out into the dark white night. my dad had been summoned to her bedside the evening before, just as the storm was rolling in. he had gone alone, despite my desperate pleas to go with him. he knew these storms could be dangerous and he wanted me to stay with my mom to help her with the kids and with his very mentally ill daughter. luckily, we knew he had made it to her home, because he had called upon his arrival. since then though, the phones and electricity had been knocked out at our house. we didn't know what was happening. it was with a gut full of dread that i was setting out for the neighbor's, hoping their phone still worked. my heart knew what i was to find out, but my mind was full of false hopes. as i set out, it was an easy decision to take the long way there by trying to follow the edge of the road rather than run across the fields. the snow depth had been over five or six feet deep before the blizzard had hit. it would be difficult not only to find the house, but a struggle to walk, plunging down into the depths with each footfall.
somehow i made the walk and found their house. it wasn't as if i didn't go there daily to babysit but in the storm i was thinking it would be hard to find. at this point i could only see about two feet in front of me. regina, our neighbor, was shocked to see me. i was, of course, covered in snow. it was caked to my hair and clothing and the warmth of the home's heat hit me like a brick. she dialed the phone number and brought me the receiver so i wouldn't have to undress to reach the phone. my dad answered and i he gave me the awful news. she had died just moments before. after the struggle of getting there and trying to hurry, i wasn't even going to get to say goodbye. that knowledge pierced my heart so thoroughly, i couldn't breathe. really, really? she's gone, really? ok, ok, i love you. but i had promised, dad. i had promised. i told gramma i would be there. i told her i would hold her hand when she met jesus. i'm so sorry dad, i'm so sorry. did you hold her hand? was she scared? yes, we are fine. yes the storm is awful. i know i shouldn't have, dad, but we needed to know. is gramps ok? are you ok? i will, i'll take care of things until you get home. i love you too. i gotta go.
i looked at regina, probably very coldly. i didn't mean to, but i was in such shock. i could only think, i have to get home and i failed her. i handed the receiver back and pulled my layers of mittens on as she hung it back on the kitchen wall. saying thanks and goodbye, i opened the door, throwing myself back into the howling wind and snow. it had grown much darker since i had started out and the snow was thicker. my footsteps were gone, as surely as they had evaporated. i didn't get far at all before i was no longer able to hold back the tears. my throat was choked closed and the tears were freezing to my face as quick as they could fall. i didn't even try to wipe them away. i dropped my head, and trudged through the drifts as fast as i could. my mission had changed. now i had to let mom and the family know. how i dreaded that. i wanted my dad to be home. i really wanted my gram. later that evening as i looked in mirror, amazed at the tear shaped burns on my face, all i could think was don't make promises....you can't guarantee anything, except your love.