Sunday, June 18, 2017

New video help - Jerry Wise

As per usual, I don't know how I found or clicked on his videos, but I haven't yet found a bad one in the lot. He's a family systems therapist, has decades of experience as a therapist (a HUGE difference among the youtube pantheon of codependence therapy), and I recommend his videos without reservation.

There are other therapists in the practice, they also make videos, but I'm not recommending OR warning about them. I will say that I recoil in horror from one of those therapists, he just creeps me out like watching a demon speak. Another one just brushed me the wrong way within a minute, so I just stopped the video and went back to another Jerry Wise video.

YOUR MILEAGE MAY VARY. You may not like Jerry Wise. Watch what speaks to you. It could be that all the other therapists' videos from the Family Tree therapy group except Jerry Wise are the ones that are a real help to you.  I'm taking it on faith that everyone in that group is qualified and competent and could be of help, so, watch what helps you.

But, here's one that's a bit different and has some ideas that I'm working thru this morning. Below it I will link to some video lists that should encompass all of Wise's videos for easy shopping and viewing.







List "My Jerry Wise List"
(Not me, just the name of the list.)

List "jerrywiserelationshipsystems"

List "Jerry Wise's Videos"



Monday, May 22, 2017

Some would say




Some people would say that I have an issue. Perhaps I don't really need all these tea cups and maybe I should quit and get rid of a few. I can see that point of view, I really had no idea that I had so many until I just got them all out. I've got three tea kettles (for boiling water on the stove) and I'm not sure how many tea pots I have, I haven't gotten them all together to count.

Eight. At least eight tea pots. I had to find out now that I'm counting things.

Nine. At least nine.

I'm restless and a little bit all over the place. My father is having a liver biopsy this morning, and it will take a few days to figure out what's what. I'm hoping it's nothing at all, just a precaution. He may be in his 80's, but I'm not in any way prepared for him to be sick or to leave this world. I know he will someday, but I'd just as soon Jesus came back first and we all leave out on the same flight.

I cried my way thru the front door of the hardware store this morning, I can't bear the thought that there might not be at least one more trip to the hardware store with my Dad. It's what we did. I don't remember playing games with him, I can't remember that time we had tea together before he went to Vietnam, and I can't remember any of those times where he said I did a really good job and he was proud of me, but we had hundreds of trips to the hardware store together. He had a plan to fix the house or get some chores done, and I would go along and "help."

Now that I've long been grown, I still walk the aisles the way he did. I feel like I'm playing hooky a little bit when I veer off into the home decor and lighting sections, and I mutter just like he mutters when I can't find but one kind of dinky, el cheapo tape measure in the whole store. I mean, of all places, why can't you find a section of proper tape measures to choose from in a Hardware Store!!! What is Wrong with These People?!

Dad called just as I was writing this. He's back home, feeling fine, with orders to "make like a couch potato."  

I'm on a regularly scheduled vacation this week, I'll give him a few days to recover from being rather rudely poked and sampled, then go down and check on him myself. He's always been the steady one, never got sick much, and even if I only see him a few times a year, I count on him being somewhere. Somewhere where I can find him. Somewhere I could call him if something awful happened and I needed rescuing. Somewhere seeing to things on the farm, or blowing up beaver dams in the bottom woods, or fixing the drain at the stay place.

Some people would say I need to be more mature and stop thinking in such a childish manner. Grow up and deal with it.

I think I need to beef up the strong cobalt tea cup section, there's only two of those. And definitely branch out into more Imari patterns, I couldn't possibly leave all those beauties out there for someone else to have. And I believe I'm going to cry like a terrified toddler before the Lord and plead with Him to fix everything. Because there should ALWAYS be at least one more trip to the store with my Daddy.

Saturday, May 6, 2017

Saturday collection One

Okay, I'm being ambitious that there will be a "Two" at some point.

Quiet morning at home, avoiding estate sales (because I really need to donate/sell some things first myself!), cruising the interwebs, and sharing with the world-ish.

Dana Morningstar of Thrive After Abuse had this little photo up, which struck me as the most radical, revolutionary change in perspective I could make in my life.



I understand that I probably already am the most important person in my life, that is just human nature, but what if I stopped stuffing it behind all the other shell games I play with my thoughts and emotions and just let it be loud and proud and out there for the world to see. Kinda makes me blink fast just typing that phrase, but I also think it's on target.

So then I began listening to some of her podcasts and found some great nuggets in these episodes:
Episode 8: How (and Why) We Get Hooked In with Love Bombing
Episode 20: Why People Don't Listen to Their Instincts
Episode 18: When Your Idea of Love Equals Pain
Episode 25: Some Thoughts on How (and Why) We Rush Intimacy

*******

Doing a little Ebay/Etsy shopping. Kept it down to less than $50, even tho they were small, antique china vessels for hot beverage. Three of them. Ahem.

*******

And, lastly, I've been observing myself to see if tossing hard memories into the river has any immediate effect. I am happy to report that there is a change in outlook, a sense that I've moved out of the old mind trap and into a greater sense of both freedom and safety. I was very happy to hear myself say (to myself) about one person who always gets under my skin, "She's not one up from me and I'm not one down from her - big surprise for her!"
(That's Pia Melody talk there. Glad it's sticking and producing results.)

Alright, I'm putting the kettle on, maybe bake something. Did you know Mary Berry has a great website?



Wednesday, May 3, 2017

Stones to remember. Stones to forget.


I believe I wrote earlier (somewhere, I think) about my great aunt and her brother who died young, were buried, and then a great rain came. Because the earth had been freshly dug and wooden coffins float, my great great grandfather had to pull them out, weight the bodies and coffins with great stones, and rebury them. Smaller stones are also left at graves and memorial sites to mark that the deceased is remembered - and to keep the deceased from being dug up by wild beasts or otherwise coming up out of that grave.

For whatever reason, today there was someone sitting in my soul like a dead memory. It felt like a dead thing in my gut that I finally wanted removed entire, no attachment left behind, just gone.*  Many years ago, there was one thing in my life that I just didn't want to remember anymore, and I asked the Lord to take the memory away and He did. I can dig the thing up if I just really try, but I don't go round looking for it. I like it gone. Today, for the first time in a few decades, I was finally willing to relinquish another person and memory, never to recall him again.

Well, long day summed up in a short paragraph is that by the time the afternoon was over, I had a mental list of people and associated memories that have weighed me down for years. In some instances, years and years. And years.

At first, I toyed with the idea of writing their name on a piece of paper and burning it, but that's a bit pagan and lacks the visceral quality that I want to feel and mark the time I give the memory away to God, for good. I've settled on writing the names on small stones (not unlike those pictured above) which I will toss as far out into the river as I can possibly get them tomorrow. I'm literally casting off the weights that have so easily beset me**, throwing away those memories which, by their burden, have done a great job of burying me alive in a grave of other people's shame.

It's not a process or solution for everyone, I'm not calling you to mimic me. It's my process, and tonight I've got three little rocks in my hand calling to mind every wound, betrayal, and dismissive arrogance that I just took and took and took - without protest and without a clue for what was really happening. I'm actually stirring the pot, scraping my insides for every bit of foreign trash that isn't mine to bear anymore.

I wonder what time I can get to the river safely in the morning?









*I'm speaking metaphorically, you dipshits, it wasn't a physical ailment. And no, it wasn't Maggie or any other family member. Who it was specifically is none of your business.

** Look up the scripture reference yourself.

Sunday, April 2, 2017

That's some good preaching right there

It may not be your style, but it's lifted my heart to hear it.
As we say here, "I receive it, LORD!" Preaching starts at 42 minutes

(It's actually from today - Sunday, April 2, 2017. I did not know that I had tuned in live when I first watched it, it still had 03-27-17 on it.)

Hanging on to the past?

Another point of view here.

The points listed remind me of this from 2011, as well as Seduction. I've been chasing a past I never had, attached to a history that wasn't mine. It feels so important, so needful to never forget, but other times and others' experience belong some when and some where else. My efforts to hold the fort of memory for other people is a pantomime that keeps them entertained - and wastes my life.




Sean of the South

You ought to read him. He's good, real good. He gets out more than I do.

Thursday, March 30, 2017

Secret Attachments II

In case anyone has actually taken my advice to read

Secret Attachments: Exposing the Roots of Addictions & Compulsions, by Peter Michaelson

and gotten hinked up* real quick (because it might could maybe probably, well, definitely will offend you in some deep down don't want to admit it way), this example from the book is one that anyone other than a compulsive gambler will make his Michaelson's point.

From the chapter Compulsions Galore:
"Consider the compulsive gambler. The gambler is secretly attached to the feeling of losing. His major defense, however, is to rush to the telephone to call in a bet to his bookie to "prove" that he really wants to win. His gambling is out of control to the degree that he is attached to losing. He becomes convinced that his compulsion is due to a lack of willpower, or selfishness, or cruelty to his wife, or being a bad father, or being too lazy to make an honest living. He will not be aware of the real cause of his compulsion - his attachment  to the feeling of losing. Told this, he will usually resist believing it or even considering it."

Think about it. The feeling any gambler gets more than any other is losing. Every gambler Knows the advantage is with the house, no matter what the game. He Knows that if when he gambles, he will have hundreds of losing experiences for every win, no matter what the amounts won or lost are. The house is not the gambler's enemy at all, the house is providing exactly what the gambler is paying to get - the feeling of losing.

Not so? Then why do non-gamblers find gambling so wretchedly dull? What's the point in paying if you keep losing? Non-gamblers want to win money. Gambling addicts want to feel loss.

We had a family reunion down in Tupelo, MS at one of the casinos "on the river." (They've dug big moats that connect to the river and the gambling portion of the building has to be on floats - so it's "on the river." Desperate and ridiculous.) I had never been to a casino before so I gave myself a gambling budget before I went, lest I been drawn into the den of iniquity and be captured by the addiction to gambling. $20. No point in tempting fate, you know.

In any case, I started at the nickel slots, I thought I'd learn to work the machine and see what games were available. $5 in and LOTS of noise and not even a nickel won in return. I think I moved up to some other things besides slots, some kind of group machine where you pick something and a wheel is spun - nothing. I watched some card games, which was much too social for me since I had no clue what the etiquette was or how to play. I searched all over and all I could find was people losing their money. I lost all of my $20, not even five lousy cents won to keep me going!

Looking back now, I can see there is a bit of hypnosis going on at the slots. I get the same repetitive, can't stop feeling when I play Mahjong on the computer. I played it a lot when I was dealing with Maggie constantly, it was just something other than all the everything else. I'd hit the "next game" over and over before I could think about how long I'd been at it, even if it was late and I'd rather sleep. And once you start a game, you can't stop, right?

Compulsion.

Michaelson is writing out of a Freudian model, so you have to make sure you are hearing the word "attachment" in the Freudian definition. The repetition cycle here comes out of the emotional mind, not the rational. We keep doing these things because they bring the comforting familiarity of our emotional childhood, we keep returning to what we've felt as a child, and we do what it takes to keep feeling those feelings. It's not rational, it's irrational. It's not linear thought, it's emotional, gut level thinking.

Michaelson does have a bit of comfort to offer in his model, and I think he may have it right to some extent. He says that if you are aware of what you are really seeking (control, rejection, shame, loss, etc.), then you can learn to observe what you are doing in your actions and thoughts to set yourself up for those gut level emotional results. His premise is that you will start to change as you gain insight, without having to mount a fight against your gut or your mind or your personal history. Just keep letting the light in.

Emotions are powerful things. To the extent that I have to give up the emotional patterns and payoffs that I've been clinging to, I've got to step out, experience, and be satisfied with emotional patterns that I've never known and am not emotionally convinced have sufficient payoff. Oh, I know they do intellectually, but I don't know it emotionally. Opinion versus experience, two entirely different kinds of knowing.

I've spent a lifetime not feeling, not being emotional, being rational and linear. I was praised for being responsible and reasonable, and that only, because manipulative people can talk you into nearly anything. It is the liar's refuge. Now I've got to start, I dunno, doing something with that whole emotional life system down in my gut. The first feeling I get is ewwww and panic, not unlike being told I've got to rout out the drain line in the bathroom and rewire the lights. Rational thinking is the design and decoration of my self-house, emotions are the guts that make it all work effectively and live pleasantly, like plumbing and electrical.

Rebuild.
Gut job.
Apparently, I wasn't kidding.



We're going down to the studs, kids, but the framework is sound. I'll talk about that later.





* hinky - apparently neither auto-correct nor online dictionaries are familiar with this word anymore. Hinky is without at doubt related to the old Scot's meaning of limp or hobble. We use it in the South all the time. It means to catch and fail, the way a gimpy leg fails only part of the time. If you were running a motor and it kept catching on something unpredictably, or if you had a chain on a bike that sometimes jumped the wheel, or if you were trying to work a line of thought but found it kept halting and going sideways into something else - your walk, the motor, the chain, or your mind would have gotten hinky on you. I can see where the term would be used to describe a drug user (hinked up), they definitely get hinky in their behavior or thinking.

Sunday, March 26, 2017

Diversions

Woke up this morning from a dream that makes no sense until you start explaining it in words:

I dreamt that they were making a documentary about my company and the group of people who do my job. By the time that part of the dream was finished, we were out in rural Henegar, AL on top of Sand Mountain at the four-way stop. They had traffic diverted while they filmed different scenes, by this time no cameras were pointed at me and they had only men doing my job. It wasn’t clear if they were actors, but they looked awfully tidy and handsome. (My company is a big international deal and they won’t have women on their free to the customers calendar anymore - women are offensive, apparently.)

I had been busy doing the actual job while the movie crew were busy staging the men doing it on film. They finished and it was time to go back to the office, and some younger woman who had been there to play a part offered to drive. Sounds nice, doesn’t it? Until, instead of heading straight up the highway, she goes off the other direction saying all the roadblocks from the film have traffic backed up, it would take too long. I compromise and say, “Okay, but I know the back way to go and get back on the highway, we’ll turn and get back to the highway there. Right?”

Right. Not so much.






We get up to the turn and there’s this Big Country Church where we are supposed to turn having a big crowd doing something, and she insists on going in to speak to someone she knows about whatever. I follow her in and it’s just one office after another, all full of different groups of church people doing all their church activities: Mother’s day out, choir practices and church plays rehearsing, different Sunday School classes having socials and gathering for Bible studies, men’s meetings getting groups together to go build houses for widows, child care sections, just everything you could ever think of for an off-Sunday activity. The offices and meeting rooms and auditoriums were an endless maze, truly. That woman I was following kept getting ahead of me and I kept following hallway after hallway, door after door, and Surely I’ve got to catch up to her at some point!

So then, what does it all mean?

Two big time issues of my adult life are addressed here. Work and church.

Work - I do the job, I’m still doing the job, but I get no credit for it and the credit they do give comes out of corporate back to the corporate marketing message. The reality is messy and difficult, but the only people who garner the respect are good looking men who are pretending for the camera.

^This reality goes straight into Church and my walk thru the church.

Lots and lots of stuff going on in the church, lots of groups having their fun and virtue points addressed, but none of it is getting me to where I need to go. None of it is intended to get me where I need to go, its function is to keep me busy searching thru the church for that younger woman who took the wheel of my car trying to be nice and a know it all. She didn’t know the best way there, she was easily diverted and entangled in church niceness, and I’m being nice trying to catch her and get her back on the road home with me again.

Is there some law that says I have to bring her with me? It’s my car, why can’t I just drive off and let her go? She’s old enough to be responsible for herself and she’s in no danger.

(At this moment, I’m thinking of the “inner child” that therapy is trying to raise. Perhaps for an older person like me there is also the younger 18-40 year old self that has to be dealt with and let go. We are many selves and have many lives - our child self, our young adult life, and the middle age self  that lives between who we are when we first craft our adult life and who we will be when our strength is fixed and we are just riding it out to the end.)

In any case, I’m meditating on all this on a Sunday morning as I want to hook up with a church again, and the one I found a couple weeks ago is very nice, but the pastor also threatened that the church has to have a “revival” or shut down.  I don’t know what that means for that church or that pastor, but I’m not doing “revival or else” again. I’ve been down that path, I’ve been churned by emotional efforts from the pulpit all I can stand, and I have no interest in being fleeced. I don’t know if that church or just that pastor is having financial issues, I’m unconvinced that I owe a church organization 10% of my cash income (even though I do not regret the training and freedom of faith that comes from doing that,) or it’s possible that the pastor knows the membership has become calcified in their seats and needs stirring up.

My point is my season of letting someone else, even a pastor or saint of God, tell me which way to go is over. I may be slow, but I need to get where I’m going and I don’t owe any church organization the diversionary time of doing their activities, none of which are my activities.

My conclusion is that I’m not going to get into a mental or spiritual turmoil over it wondering what my inner motives are or how I’m not doing the right works in the church. Galations 5 says I was set free by Christ so that I can be free to follow God and His will by the Holy Spirit who dwells within me because of Jesus Christ’s atoning work on the cross. Paul is very specific and repetitive in that chapter that I should not get entangled again by religious law - do this, don’t touch that - but that I’ll find where I’m supposed to be and I’ll have the power to do what I’m supposed to do if I follow as the Holy Ghost leads.





Not pastor.
Not my church friends’ advice.
Not my know-a-lot, rational, calculating “this is how getting from here to there is done, it says so in all the advice columns” mind.
Not what I’ve done before.

I want to go home and no one but Christ in me can get me there. The “home” I’m so incredibly hungry for is someplace I can see in my dreams and I feel it every Monday when I go back to work - because it’s not my job!  I go to work and I actually, tangibly feel like I’m in someone else’s dream playing a part for them to look at. Where I should be is completely different and I’ll never get there unless the Holy Spirit blows into my sails and moves me over into that lane. I can’t row my little dory fast enough to ever get there, it will have to be a story of turns and doors and moments that moves me and everything else thru space and time to get me there.

I also know this home is for this life, it’s not heaven nor the world to come. They are glorious and real, but there is a reality and a glory that is only for this life, and it testifies of God in a way that can’t happen in any other season or time. I look forward to the day the saints go marching in, and I’ve seen myself in that cohort on That Day, but there’s also someplace here I should be and I’m not yet. Time is short, I need to be about the business of getting there. I’ve got to mind after my own house first.






(I don't mean house shopping, actually, but I had another dream a few months ago when I had that "this is my home" feeling - and I was in an old white Victorian farmhouse, with columns and a vintage kitchen. This photo is just for the feels.)


Friday, March 24, 2017

Secret Attachments

Secret Attachments; Exposing the roots of Addictions & Compulsions, book by Peter Michaelson

I started this several months ago, put it down, and now I’m back to it at the right time. It’s a new premise that I wouldn’t have been able to deal with at the beginning of my secular search.  I read the first four chapters earlier, put it down, picked it up last night and had to back up half a chapter, now I think I’ll have to back up to the beginning again. It’s a real corker. I don’t know if he’s Jungian or Freudian, but he’s not the 12 Step user/model that a lot of what I’ve read in the past couple of years has been.

I think I’ve mentioned before how much I liked Linda Ronstadt in my teens. I had all her albums and listened, grieved, and sang all the harmonies again and again alone in my room.  She says that she was just a girl singer, but she sure did specialise a lot in lost love and misery. I didn’t understand a tenth of what she was singing about, really, but that didn’t seem to affect how much I identified with it.

I recommend you buy everything she ever did before 1990.

You may or may not love it all, but you’ll learn how to hit a pitch dead on and sing a decent harmony, dammit.
/young punks these days can’t sing for nuthin’….


Simple Man, Simple Dreams

Tuesday, March 21, 2017

#3

"..The same mind that has to fight everyone else to create a new life for me is also the mind that is persistently taking me back to the old life and fighting to see to it that I die there."

I didn't mean depression or obsessive thoughts, I meant the sheer habit of thought, like the tracks of an old wagon trail.  I'm beginning to think some of those habits of my mind qualify as addiction #3.

I've got some particular recurring behaviors in my thinking that aren't just laziness, but act as dopamine producing dissociation, and if I am able to point them out to myself and recognize when I'm doing it, then it's an addiction. 


But, I like them. 

I really, really do. 

I enjoy relaxing into all my addictions and just swimming in them with all the relaxation and freedom some people save for time at the ocean.

I can enjoy my addictions, one or two or three, or accept the miserable experience of fighting them. All of them. Addiction is a package. Sobriety or, eventually, nothing.

That mention of a wagon trail reminds me of this post which, upon reading again, is certainly on point, but not exhaustive.


Edit 03/21/17
I'm walking backward thru this blog, tracking to find the obvious that I don't want to see again and again.  I don't mind admitting I do the very things that I see others do wrong, I heard the rhema of that watching Jesus preach in the scriptures when I was a teen. It doesn't mean I don't HATE knowing it's true, and it doesn't mean it's true every single time, but it's surely there.

So, anyway, I backed up into this (in a post I wrote FIVE YEARS AGO!!! Sheesh!):


"If she had given up her own artful creation years ago, or even ten years ago, God could have mad something solid and satisfying from all the remnants that were left. It wouldn't matter how few threads were left, He could have rewoven the cloth into a pattern of substance, something that would satisfy her and rectified so many injustices that still produce wounds decades later."

I'm not sure that I have an "artful creation" of myself that I'm trying make, certainly no one I know thinks I'm artful, more of a clunker that just keeps rolling along. The second sentence is very interesting, though - "it wouldn't matter how few threads were left." 

I still get unspeakably upset at how few threads are left, at how few job options are conceivably left, at how many personal relationship options just aren't available due to age and common social templates, at my near total inability to focus mindfully on any goal whatsoever, and at the sheer paucity of threads I can even think of right now! Well, the statement of faith I wrote above says it doesn't matter how few threads, God can still make something "solid and satisfying," "a pattern of substance" that can answer my needs and put right so many things that still hurt me today.

Of course, I still have to deal with the later paragraph:

"The conclusion was that it would all end the same anyway because she was who she was, and that's the thing that needed to change. Not the events or the timeline, but the character of the individuals involved, and that can't be done thru warning or exhortation.* Only a willing humiliation combined with the redeeming power of the Truth will change any of us."
So then, Sister Prophet,  it would seem that my own character or who I am needs changing. It isn't that I just need to know who I am, but who I am needs rebuilding, maybe like an old car pulled out of the weeds in the barn. What I was was fine back then, but time and circumstance have had their say, and now my only hope is the work of a creative genius as well as a great mechanic.

It looks like I'm going to have to undergo something like the focus of one of those super rebuild car shows, you know, like where they disassemble the thing into bits and make it into something new? I mean, if they start with a '66 Impala, when they're done, it's still recognizable as a '66 Impala, but... changed. Of a certainty not the same model that rolled off the line, and not the same car that was pulled out of the barn, but, yeah, still a '66 Impala, 'cause they are So Awesome.

I learned to drive in a '66 Impala SS. I can still hear the steering wheel click in the turn, feel the scalding heat of the bucket seat in summer, see over that long, wide hood, rock with the sway of the curves... I loved that car. I wanted that car. Dad gave it to my brother, who walked away from it after it ran out of gas and we never saw it again. What an asshole. But that's his life story, not mine.

Mine is about to get rebuilt.


Never seen a '66 Impala? Here you go. Pretty, eh?












*(I bolded that phrase for people who think you can talk/reason someone else out of addictions or psychopathy. Nope. The Person who is The Truth is not "correct information earnestly transmitted." That's not how it works. That's not how any of this works.) 


  

Saturday, March 4, 2017

20, 40, 50

I was scrolling thru my iTunes a few minutes ago looking for something good I hadn't played in awhile, and who rolls by but Don Moen. As basic and uncontroversial as sliced bread, I noticed that this album is 20 years old this year. In 1997, he was on the leading edge of bringing casual praise choruses inside the church house walls on a Sunday morning, and I was hungry to get whatever strength and growth God and this new wave of worship could give me. His great gift isn't being smooth or inoffensive, it's being as doctrinally sound as Fanny Crosby, if not as complex and prolific. Good doctrine is about feeding the listener good, nutrient rich food for his soul - whether you're teaching psychology, philosophy, or religion. It's still a good album, I hope it doesn't get pulled off the web or how else can I share it with you?

Sharing music videos with friends can do some amazing things. Yesterday, there was a note that several years ago a friend of mine had posted this song, "If We Ever Needed The Lord Before" by the Breath of Life Quartet, which happens to be 40 years old this year. I was busy in the middle of my work day at the time, but I let it play on. Somehow, the sweet love and kindness of that little bit of worship just moved me up and out of the incomprehensible crazy the world has become  - and I just stayed out. It wasn't nostalgia, it wasn't emotion, it wasn't exhaustion, it was the presence of God the Holy Spirit in me - and who I am joined with Him just isn't the same stuff this world is made of.

I just kept working, letting some other really old gospel quartets sing in my shirt pocket, and I began to miss being with God With Us, the corporate presence of God in His people, the Body of Christ, the church. I missed Him enough after only an hour to know I'll be back in a church house tomorrow, and I haven't attended church in about 6 or 7 years. [Because reasons, that's why. Mostly angry, disappointed, disgusted reasons.] By the time I finished my work day, I had unhitched myself from every line that tied me to the old wagons I've been pulling for years. I'm not anyone's pack mule anymore, not even my own.

I started the day in one life, opened the door thru music to rest in God's life for an hour or so, and ended my work day with the life I've been living for the last 50 years over with and put away like an old raggedy coat. I started the week wondering what Paul meant when he said, "It is for freedom that Christ set us free" Gal 5:1, and by the end of the week I'm a woman at peace, and not at all looking for expectations to fill or obligations to meet. Jesus said his yoke was easy and his burden was light. I'm going with that, and that alone.

The Don Moen album? Oh, silly me, this one - Let Your Glory Fall:


Monday, February 20, 2017

Call me a fool if you want

" Why should I hold back
And cling to my dignity
When the God who made the heavens
 Came down and held NOTHING back for me


I will lift up my hands
I will bow on my face
I will dance with my feet
I will jump up and praise
I will shout it out loud,
"He's released me from shame!"
All the nations shall worship
And I'll do the same"



There is nothing more shameful than being arrested, 
convicted of capital crimes, 
all your possessions confiscated by the government, 
hated and despised by your own community, 
derided and ridiculed as you are led away, 
beaten and stripped naked and nailed to a tree along the side of the road to die, 
a common criminal, 
abandoned by friends and family alike, 
no mercy shown in heaven or earth.

He held nothing back.






 

Sunday, February 5, 2017

Lancer: Codependency and Emptiness

Some things to think about here:


Even now

4 years later, she still haunts my dream, bringing chaos.

And the cat just threw up in the hall. 

Charming. Just charming.