Tuesday, July 26, 2016

Ants and sawdust

Last night, addiction #2 made its unpleasantness felt, nothing but incomprehensible nightmares all night long. I'm tired and, thankfully, bewildered. I used to spend hours and days trying to suss out what those intoxicated dreams meant, but they really don't mean a thing, they're just the low side of the high I was looking for but pretty much never get. The last last dream (I woke up many times) was all ants and sawdust that I could never vacuum up, just a mess in the midst of an irritating chaos that was accomplishing nothing. 


Hello. My name is S., and I'm a

Sunday, July 24, 2016

The distance from here to there

It's the time of year when my old memory FB posts are coming around to the place where I finally became overwhelmed with the care Maggie needed and made the moves to get her into assisted living - and out of my house. Sparing all the details, one came up today where I was making tours and squeezing in everything that had to get done. Not trying to, but actually doing it all.

Unless you've had to do something like it, not sort of like it, but Really Just like it, I don't think you can actually understand what all I was doing meant, what all it required from me, and what the effort was doing to me. Maggie had never taken care of her own mother, and she had callously left a kind and generous friend behind when that friend had needed her to step up and just be around as a safety measure for her. I've heard it said that bullies are also cowards. In any case, I'm sure Maggie had never had a clue how much effort it took to tend to her and she never returned the favor, either in kind or with joy and laughter in better times.

What I had written four years ago was full of enough details and comments that, for a moment, I remembered the day, the hot sun, the trouble at work, the finances, the contracts, the negotiations with Maggie, the repeated moves, the late nights, the way I had begun to twitch violently when I lay down to sleep from the anxiety, the pressure of care that had no hope of ending... and for several minutes, how it all felt wrapped around me again, like a shroud tightened with bindings. My heart changed its beat, the air in my lungs became pressured with the weight of what I had carried then, and my emotions began to calculate unseen threats the same way you count thugs in a beat down.

I became so alarmed I had to consciously move my mind into awareness of where I stood, how my surroundings and circumstances were completely different now, and nothing of what was happening then was going on now. I'm probably writing this now to make sure I'm not in a nightmare, this sunny, safe place here is real, and that dark place is so far behind me that it can't be traveled to again.

About five or six years ago, I had a season where the Lord would give me the first song of the morning as His gift and word to me. Sometimes, not all the time, but sometimes, as I lay in the bed waiting for the alarm clock radio to start playing, He would tell me to listen, this song was His word to me. One of those songs was Little Big Town's first big hit, Bring It On Home. You can imagine how much that meant at the time and how much I've treasured it since.  

This week, I've cued in on a couple more of their songs. The first one (which I won't name here) because it speaks to my addiction, but the second one has grown on me over the week as I learned the words. It's a song about real, committed love, although it never uses the word.

"It's a get thru what you got to, 'cause it can't stay the same." 
I've had this conversation a number of times in the last few years with God, each time knowing we were both committed to getting thru what we had both committed to going thru, but, I've always thrown the "it can't stay the same" back at Him hard and angry, because it can't, and only He can fix it. As it turns out, a huge part of the same that has to change is my addiction, and until this year I didn't even know I had one. Who knew knowing you're an addict is Good News? Even at this late date, dealing with an addiction is still better late than never. 

"It's a knowing that you love me more than anything." 
I know that He loves me more than He loves the whole of creation. I know that He loves me more than He loves himself. I know that He loves me more than He loves being perfect and right and having everything pristine and innocent. I know it. It's the only way I can remain with Him. 

God isn't proud, did you know that? 

No matter how low I go, no matter how wounded I am, no matter what kind of noxious, disgusting mess I'm living in, He's already committed himself to be here with me in this mess I'm in. When I ask for His help, it's not coming from afar off outside this universe, He's here eye to eye with me, knee or neck deep in whatever I'm in - and He's not ashamed to be here with me. That's what the incarnation is all about, God expressing his own Self right here where we are - in rangy flesh that has to be bathed and fed and take a shit and get tired and get frustrated and get angry and get scared and need care and need and need and need

I've been thinking about that for awhile now. It takes awhile to get our heads out of our own pride that would have God afar off and pristine, so we could lay claim to ascending to His heights. But He is isn't afar off, He is near, standing in the muck of my life right along with me, fighting with me in the blood and the mire better than any soldier, driving away more dangers than I ever knew came down the pike, and doing it all with a grin and a sparkle in His eyes that says, "Hang on and watch this!" 

I've also heard it said never to share a foxhole with someone braver than yourself.
Too late.
He's done jumped down here in it with me and He ain't leaving.

He stayed thru Maggie. He's doing something about this addiction and, because of that, I believe He's doing something about all the rest of "it can't stay the same." He is so present with me that when I look at the evening news, I'm not all that upset over it. I'm fantastically incredulous at it, to be sure, I'm just not upset about it. He said it was going to be this way and that He would be here with me all the way thru it, and when it was finished, everyone would see Him the way he really is.

Be an early adopter, learn from Him one on one now. It's always more expensive when it goes mainstream.

Sunday, July 17, 2016


This morning, I'm happy to discover that objects aren't relationships to me, that I can obtain and discard with pleasure and without guilt. This isn't how I was brought up by either parent. Each had their own attachment forms to either family property handed down or newly bought items that couldn't be released until ever, either due to the irreplaceable nature of money or the "love" of ancient, dead relatives. Of course, even more enormous sums of money were spent hauling great piles of stuff around, and who knows how the dead relatives really felt about that table or clock, they were just the barely usable bits still remaining.

Also this morning, in a less happy yet satisfying manner, I am settling down within myself dealing with my addictions. I don't do substance abuse, but I have a couple of behavioral addictions that I've never recognized and untangled until the good Ms. Pia Mellody thoughtfully pointed them out. Big time, obsessional, death dealing addictions that no one ever admits to publicly. So, with any luck we won't be watching comedy sketches on television about it and no memes on Facebook, so there's that then.

The photo is of a little Limoges plate I picked up yesterday at an estate sale. It will go perfectly with the next theme that is developing for my kitchen - vintage blue and brown in flowers. It's a weird little collection to gather up, but I keep coming across this stuff and it's talking to me, so I get it. I enjoy it. I have no idea what it's saying until it's all put together and it's all out there where I can see it. Which also seems to be a repeating theme in my psyche, but we have to work with what we have, y'know?