Answer - because it is more comfortable than sitting up all the time.
Deep, huh?
Lying. Wish I could say I have never done that. But I have.
Wish I could say that I quit it and never do it any more - but that would be a lie.
Why?
When I was in my teens I became aware that I was a terrible liar. Not that I was bad at it, on the contrary. I gave myself so much practice I became good at it. All kinds of lying, in all kinds of situations.
When I considered Jesus at the age of 19 - listened to the Bible preached and taught and really considered what was being proposed by man and the written Word of God - I decided to commit my heart to Him. To belief in Him. It was a conscious decision of such magnitude for me that I remember the day, the place, the way the light looked as it rayed in through the golden windows of the church and over my shoes...like it was yesterday.
I have never swerved from that commitment, not in the 38 years that followed. And when I look in the mirror (or the Mirror - see James 1) I cannot fathom how much I have changed since those tumultuous years before Him.
I remember climbing on the plane to KC from Cincinnati to go to my sister's wedding. I was about 23 - my husband and 18 month old daughter slept on the seats beside me. And I read a book on criminal thinking. I was reading all kinds of psychology and theology books back then to try to figure out why I had so many evil tendencies. Because as a still young Christian I realized that I was different from my brother and sister. We were all raised by the same "Ozzie and Harriett" parents. Same home, same financial and emotional and mental upbringing. So much the same and yet so very different.
They were "good"...and I was not. I don't mean they were angels - ahem...they were and are not. But they were hard-working and honest to a fault. At least, I think of them that way. And so did my parents. They were the good kids and I was the problem child.
What had happened to me? Was I switched at birth and was growing up in the wrong family? Did Bonnie and Clyde miss me and not know what to do with the Anderson's real daughter - Miss Goodie Two Booties?
I don't know. I just know that I was aghast at my propensity to lie and steal.
I decided I was mentally ill.
And, by the way, the book didn't help all that much...because while it helped me see why others lied...it didn't help me with why I did.
And so I have spent the past 35 years working on my own salvation with fear and trembling (Philippians 2:12). If figured I was mentally ill, as I said, but I also believed that Jesus is the Great Physician and could heal me. I gave my criminal disposition to Jesus and His Word. A real break through came when I turned myself in for an addiction to prescribed pain medication (and alcohol when the doctor refused to refill anymore). I was in my late 30s!
The 12 Steps I began to walk at AA, NA and Overcomers (a Christian 12-step group) did more than help me break free of substance abuse. They came right out of the Word and were applicable to all of life's "opportunities".
Do you know them?
1.
We admitted we were powerless over alcohol - that our
lives had become unmanageable.
2.
Came to believe that a Power greater than ourselves could
restore us to sanity.
3.
Made a decision to turn our will and our lives over to
the care of God as we understood Him.
4.
Made a searching and fearless moral inventory of ourselves.
5.
Admitted to God, to ourselves and to another human being
the exact nature of our wrongs.
6.
Were entirely ready to have God remove all these defects
of character.
7.
Humbly asked Him to remove our shortcomings.
8.
Made a list of all persons we had harmed, and became willing
to make amends to them all.
9.
Made direct amends to such people wherever possible, except
when to do so would injure them or others.
10.
Continued to take personal inventory and when we were
wrong promptly admitted it.
11.
Sought through prayer and meditation to improve our conscious
contact with God as we understood Him, praying
only for knowledge of His will for us and the power to
carry that out.
12.
Having had a spiritual awakening as the result of these
steps, we tried to carry this message to alcoholics and
to practice these principles in all our affairs.
See? This is the Christian experience - pure and simple. It is about forgiveness - and then writing on the clean slate that forgiveness provides.
Steps 1-3? Salvation.
Steps 4-7? Sanctification. (Now there is a teaching you don't hear much any more in the modern church...)
Steps 8 & 9 - Restitution. Paying back those we have harmed - forgiving those who have harmed us.
Steps 10 & 11 - continuous growth (walking in the Spirit, see Romans 8)
and finally
Step 12 - Evangelism!
And how the Lord has used these simple steps to take me from sexual immorality to the freedom of a monogamous, joyful marriage; addiction to drugs to emotional peace and the strength to face the ups and downs of life in a more mature, graceful manner; aimlessness to a life of purpose and hope; scattered thinking and more scattered behavior to self awareness and companionship of the One Who created me...so much change. I was so mean and hard-hearted...and Christ has imparted to me a soul of true love for others and (slowly) growing wisdom as to how to live that out.
But I must publicly (well, maybe someone will read this other than myself) admit that I still wrestle with lying. Not the kind of lying to cover evil or to harm others - it is more of an embellishment of the facts of my life. I am loads better in this too, but I am disgusted that lying remains in me at all. I am 57 for crying out loud!
Why?
Why do people lie? Why do I lie?
A list then:
To get out of trouble. To avoid hurting someone's feelings. To avoid someone.
To cover another lie. To cover up some other evil or icky thing you have done.
To seem more interesting. To get a laugh. (these last two are the things I find remain in my lying repertoire).
To hurt someone on purpose. Because it is a habit.
To cover up the truth because it is too painful to face the truth.
Because you think what you are saying is the truth.
Hmmmm...that one I see all the time on my new job. I am a case manager now for people referred to our company because they scored high on a substance abuse survey.
They really believe some of the things they tell me and when I am able to politely show them that this is not true...they seem surprised as all get out! Sometimes they seem truly astounded that what they were telling me was a lie. And then I see this look of confusion and consternation...if they were lying and what they said was not true...what is?
But I think basically it comes down to this: people lie for the same reason that they commit any other sin (wrong, error, lapse, whatever you want to call it):
Because they can.
Exercising free will is an addiction all of it's own and humans are constantly drunk on the power of this exhilarating gift. For it is a gift, this free will. A vast, gracious, incomprehensible (for now) present from Abba to His children.
And this struggle of learning to use it is why we are on the planet, Earth. Well - loving God and each other is why we are here (in my simple minded opinion) - but free will is the tool to accomplish these two things.
(Did you ever notice that when you rearrange the letters of Earth - you can spell Heart?
Ahem.)
Jesus came as a baby - grew up among us at the perfect time for Him to do so - exemplified what perfectly exercised free will & goodness looks like...then died for our mistakes - all of them - so we who believe on Him can have eternal life with God again. And from the moment we consciously commit to belief in Christ until the end of this world, we get to practice using our free will.
And when the time comes for us to return to Him and live forever where He is...we will be perfect at it too. We will have learned to always think and speak and do the truth. To love perfectly. To honor perfectly. To be perfectly alive...not because we have no other choice, but because we did and we learned from our mistakes. And the Truth set us free.
Perfectly.
Loving you - Susan
Saturday, January 18, 2014
Friday, November 15, 2013
Changing Scenery
Changing jobs...this is supposed to be one of the big stresses in life. Saying goodbye to coworkers that I have enjoyed. Thoroughly. Especially one particular young man, the age of my oldest daughter. Wes. Wes chair dances - and his walk is a strut/shuffle/slide to music no one else hears. He has a wide grin at all times and, this is my personal favorite, has a charming accent. Several of them...at times all of them vying for a voice: Spanish, German, Australian, Russian...you never know what will issue from his mouth when he drops by to talk to you about ads. He has taken to calling himself Vladimir lately. I smile.
That is what I did at the job I am leaving - supervisor of the yellow page team that proofed the ads placed in one of the phone books we produced. It was a good job for me - fast-paced and interesting as I began learning this industry over the past 2-1/2 years.
I thought I would be there until I retire - but no.
As I was saying - it is the people I will miss. My supervisor, Mark, was a Christian gentlemen from his inside out. Is a Christian gentleman. He didn't die or anything - just stayed with the company I had the nerve to leave.
But that is kind of what leaving people you really care about is like - a little death. Because no matter what we say about staying in touch - it is hard to make it come true as the new leg of the journey draws you into new relationships and there are only 24 hours a day. Mark made my life easier. He knows how and why. And I bless God for sending him in to watch over a year that saw me nastily unhealthy - and trembling from a dark "thing" that befell my youngest daughter earlier this year.
There you are at work - body parts failing on you and wanting to leap up and drive to Wisconsin every moment for the better part of eight months. And there was Mark - praying for me, listening to me, nodding and smiling when I got tears in my eyes while discussing - ads. Whew. Good job, Mark, for not taking to drink while herding me through those work days.
My co-supervisors (Vladimir was one of them) were diverse and interesting and talented and wonderful. They made me feel welcome when I entered stage right, and made me feel down right loved when I exited stage left today.
The culture was like a big family. Like most families - it had it's fair share of dysfunction...but in a charming way. No one ever beat me. Though I am fairly certain one manager considered it from time to time. Nice self-control, Bernadette.
And I learned so much - how to supervise people whose income depended on the job you were supervising. No pressure there - for any of us. I am not sure how I should be graded on supervision - I tend to be more of a mother, or an eccentric sister or aunt. Sigh.
The women who worked with me - my Team - were amazing women one and all. They were all so smart and funny and the cared. That is really precious these days in a work setting it seems to me. I hate apathy. It is so cold - it is the opposite of love and life. These women - ages mid-twenties to sixty-something - care. About their families, about their friends, about their world, about each other and...about me. They also cared about their work. They want to do that right. They jumped through hoops and changed direction several times a day, sometimes an hour, at my first request. If I asked them to jump, I was usually looking up because they had the habit of beating me to the punch where work was concerned. And when they made mistakes they didn't go around blaming others or defending themselves. They just kicked their own butts, smiled and made it right.
I truly love these women like family. Well, almost. You know. They are dear to me - and moving on without them is bittersweet.
But, move on I have. I walked out tonight - and I will not be walking back into those rooms again. Not for pay, anyway!
You see, God has opened a new door. A new fork in the road of my journey has appeared. All the old cliches.
Have I chosen the one less traveled by? That has been the MO for most of my life. Time will tell.
But I am so eager to begin this position that I am awake at 1:30 in the morning writing about it.
For two decades I have volunteered my time doing jail Bible studies, running Christian 12-steps, sponsoring people in AA and NA, mentoring with a state-run program that matches soon-to-be-released inmates with people like me. Etc.
Now I will be paid to do very similar things. How did that happen?
I believe that we are, above all else, spirits. We have been given a "flesh car" to get around in - but we are eternal beings. I also believe that Jesus brings true life to that spirit man when we accept Him as Lord and Savior.
After that, you are supposed to let him drive the car.
And lead the conversation and pick the road games and say who to pick up and carry along with you and who to drop off at the next corner.
He is Lord, after all.
He is supposed to decide when to stop for gas, food and potty breaks. He should be controlling the radio and He doesn't need a map, because...well, because HE IS THE MAP.
Supposed to. But the wonder, of all the gifts God gives, is this thing called free will.
I get to choose.
That is the difference between having the Jewish Carpenter for your boss...or Beelzebub. The fallen angel known as Lucifer strives to employ you also...but the more you work for him and his hellaceous company - the less you get to choose. He likes to bind you up till you are too addled to make choices and then just push you around until you, too, fall.
A lot of people think they are self-employed. I am only 57 years on the planet and certainly do not know everything - but I disagree with this philosophy. It has been my conclusion there are only two companies...and everyone works for one or the other of them.
Whew - thank God Jesus hired me away from that weirdo! CEO Lord of the Flies was a very pessimistic and oppressive administrator.
This new job is indeed an answer to my heart's cry. To use what time is left for me on the planet to work at something for which I bear a deep passion. To resource and assist and encourage other addicts - like myself - to find sanity and a life, not just missing the horrors & humiliation of active addiction...but a life that is full of peace and honest work and laughter and friends and family that begin, slowly, to trust you.
Thankfully, though I sometimes felt like it was not true - Jesus is still at the wheel and made a turn for me into this new position here in old Kansas, USA, planet Earth (also known as God's Footstool).
So - here we go. I realize that any good that comes to others through my new employment is from God alone - as He works through the planning and careful, hard work of those who have created this company and our state government that resources it. But I feel blessed to be allowed to participate.
May I be a good employee - but mostly, may I be a good road companion to the One I love. I will try not to backseat drive or beg for the next gas station too many times. But when it comes to the radio I know Jesus understands - I am definitely singing along!
God bless us one and all.
That is what I did at the job I am leaving - supervisor of the yellow page team that proofed the ads placed in one of the phone books we produced. It was a good job for me - fast-paced and interesting as I began learning this industry over the past 2-1/2 years.
I thought I would be there until I retire - but no.
As I was saying - it is the people I will miss. My supervisor, Mark, was a Christian gentlemen from his inside out. Is a Christian gentleman. He didn't die or anything - just stayed with the company I had the nerve to leave.
But that is kind of what leaving people you really care about is like - a little death. Because no matter what we say about staying in touch - it is hard to make it come true as the new leg of the journey draws you into new relationships and there are only 24 hours a day. Mark made my life easier. He knows how and why. And I bless God for sending him in to watch over a year that saw me nastily unhealthy - and trembling from a dark "thing" that befell my youngest daughter earlier this year.
There you are at work - body parts failing on you and wanting to leap up and drive to Wisconsin every moment for the better part of eight months. And there was Mark - praying for me, listening to me, nodding and smiling when I got tears in my eyes while discussing - ads. Whew. Good job, Mark, for not taking to drink while herding me through those work days.
My co-supervisors (Vladimir was one of them) were diverse and interesting and talented and wonderful. They made me feel welcome when I entered stage right, and made me feel down right loved when I exited stage left today.
The culture was like a big family. Like most families - it had it's fair share of dysfunction...but in a charming way. No one ever beat me. Though I am fairly certain one manager considered it from time to time. Nice self-control, Bernadette.
And I learned so much - how to supervise people whose income depended on the job you were supervising. No pressure there - for any of us. I am not sure how I should be graded on supervision - I tend to be more of a mother, or an eccentric sister or aunt. Sigh.
The women who worked with me - my Team - were amazing women one and all. They were all so smart and funny and the cared. That is really precious these days in a work setting it seems to me. I hate apathy. It is so cold - it is the opposite of love and life. These women - ages mid-twenties to sixty-something - care. About their families, about their friends, about their world, about each other and...about me. They also cared about their work. They want to do that right. They jumped through hoops and changed direction several times a day, sometimes an hour, at my first request. If I asked them to jump, I was usually looking up because they had the habit of beating me to the punch where work was concerned. And when they made mistakes they didn't go around blaming others or defending themselves. They just kicked their own butts, smiled and made it right.
I truly love these women like family. Well, almost. You know. They are dear to me - and moving on without them is bittersweet.
But, move on I have. I walked out tonight - and I will not be walking back into those rooms again. Not for pay, anyway!
You see, God has opened a new door. A new fork in the road of my journey has appeared. All the old cliches.
Have I chosen the one less traveled by? That has been the MO for most of my life. Time will tell.
But I am so eager to begin this position that I am awake at 1:30 in the morning writing about it.
For two decades I have volunteered my time doing jail Bible studies, running Christian 12-steps, sponsoring people in AA and NA, mentoring with a state-run program that matches soon-to-be-released inmates with people like me. Etc.
Now I will be paid to do very similar things. How did that happen?
I believe that we are, above all else, spirits. We have been given a "flesh car" to get around in - but we are eternal beings. I also believe that Jesus brings true life to that spirit man when we accept Him as Lord and Savior.
After that, you are supposed to let him drive the car.
And lead the conversation and pick the road games and say who to pick up and carry along with you and who to drop off at the next corner.
He is Lord, after all.
He is supposed to decide when to stop for gas, food and potty breaks. He should be controlling the radio and He doesn't need a map, because...well, because HE IS THE MAP.
Supposed to. But the wonder, of all the gifts God gives, is this thing called free will.
I get to choose.
That is the difference between having the Jewish Carpenter for your boss...or Beelzebub. The fallen angel known as Lucifer strives to employ you also...but the more you work for him and his hellaceous company - the less you get to choose. He likes to bind you up till you are too addled to make choices and then just push you around until you, too, fall.
A lot of people think they are self-employed. I am only 57 years on the planet and certainly do not know everything - but I disagree with this philosophy. It has been my conclusion there are only two companies...and everyone works for one or the other of them.
Whew - thank God Jesus hired me away from that weirdo! CEO Lord of the Flies was a very pessimistic and oppressive administrator.
This new job is indeed an answer to my heart's cry. To use what time is left for me on the planet to work at something for which I bear a deep passion. To resource and assist and encourage other addicts - like myself - to find sanity and a life, not just missing the horrors & humiliation of active addiction...but a life that is full of peace and honest work and laughter and friends and family that begin, slowly, to trust you.
Thankfully, though I sometimes felt like it was not true - Jesus is still at the wheel and made a turn for me into this new position here in old Kansas, USA, planet Earth (also known as God's Footstool).
So - here we go. I realize that any good that comes to others through my new employment is from God alone - as He works through the planning and careful, hard work of those who have created this company and our state government that resources it. But I feel blessed to be allowed to participate.
May I be a good employee - but mostly, may I be a good road companion to the One I love. I will try not to backseat drive or beg for the next gas station too many times. But when it comes to the radio I know Jesus understands - I am definitely singing along!
God bless us one and all.
Tuesday, September 3, 2013
Bad Dream
"I am lying on my tummy - on top of what appears to be a massage table," the young woman explained to me.
She is telling me her dream. People do that a lot. Tell me their dreams. No - I am not a therapist.
"And I am in a hallway. The table is on wheels and someone has their hand on my back. It is a woman with short, dyed blond hair - I know now it is my sponsor," she continues.
She nods at me and raises her eyebrows at me as she says this - silently adding: you know - how you just know things like that in a dream? People do that to me all the time, too - express a great deal of our conversation silently. They think I am telepathic. It is odd that they think that, but continue to tell some of their dreams to me verbally. That is odd, don't you think?
"In front of me," Annie goes on, for that is her first name, Annie," are auditorium-style doors that are swung outward, open. Inside the auditorium is a packed, standing room only meeting."
She means an AA meeting, a step meeting she thinks.
"And I am talking to the whole group - and I am really choking up, like you do when you are in front of all these other alcoholics and addicts and you have been rambling and are starting to cry and you feel like a total dork, but do you stop - no way. And I am saying, next month I will have 20 years clean. I can hear people cheering and clapping - but it is not loud like it should be, it is a muted sound."
Annie looks up at me now, nailing me with her eyes. Which are dark blue, by the way.
"But I am realizing as the words are coming out of my mouth that my sobriety date is really 6 months away...and it will only be 19 years. I am in my dream and confused about this, so I lower my head and cry a little to cover because I cannot figure out if I am lying to this crowd or confused or...what?"
She looks at me expectantly. People really do that a lot to me, whether they are telling me their dream or asking me to pay for my items at the store - they look at me expectantly. I have a way to handle this type of expectation, Annie's type that is: I shrug and nod all in one motion. It is silent lingo for "don't know, gotcha ya, go on..."
So she does:
"And then a circular stairway appears over my right shoulder - a steel wall moves circularly out of the way, revealing a spiral staircase. The part of the staircase that is level with my eyes, and downward, is dark and covered in a misty substance - but about 3 feet above eye level (remember I am lying down on my tummy still) the spiral staircase is clear and gets clearer and brighter as it goes up past the next level of the building...where the ceiling covers it again."
"And as I - as we all turn - to look there...a line of children...little girls...appears. They are sort of holding onto one another by their hands, some of them have their hands on the shoulder of the one in front of them, like they are protecting and encouraging one another. Some of them have their heads slightly bent down and are looking up shyly from that position. They look nervous. Afraid? Maybe, afraid. And they begin to tell their stories one at a time."
Annie looks at me and I see she is worried. This is where her dream worries her. This is the part that made her tell me her dream. She is reviewing it, rehearsing it - searching for the meaning and reeling out the unpleasantness of what she is about to tell me, all in one. She is looking into my eyes to see if I knew this is what she dreamed.
People do that all the time to me. They think I know what they dreamed. Like Daniel in the Bible. The king had a disturbing dream and asked all his magicians to tell the meaning of it; they all said "tell me what you dreamed, I will tell you what it meant"...the king refuses. He wants to talk to the person who can both tell him what he dreamed and what it means. That man was Daniel.
I am not Daniel.
I gaze back into Annie's eyes as completely emotionless, expressionless, me-less as I possibly can. She has to decide all this for herself.
"So..."she begins telling me the rest and as she does she doesn't so much look away as she looses focus of me. The dream memory is all she can see now...the line of little girls telling their stories.
"...they tell about being abused. They tell about being slapped in the face and punched and kicked - but no...they aren't. Not really. That is what we want them to be saying. I know this. All of us at that meeting want to hear it was only physical pain they suffered."
"What they are really saying is that they were molested. And how it tore their hearts out and they look so lost and sad and as they talk you see it happening to them one after the other..."
"And I want to wake up now. I want to know why I said 20 years when it was only 19 and I hate the darkness that their sing-song sadness has rolled out all around us. I notice the auditorium doors are shut now. I am alone in the hall. No one has their hand on my back and I am drawing upright and moving towards the stair, like the little girls want me to come up there so I can see better. And I say out loud in my dream - and I actually do roll over - put my back to my husband on purpose in reality, you know? I am not dreaming that I am rolling over, I actually do roll over and know it, but I am still asleep, too, and stuck on that spiral staircase. And the little blond girl in front of me whispers "we're all dead now, too". I absolutely hated that dream and that part of it. I hate scary dreams, don't you?"
She does not want my response so I make none.
"And that is when I wake up for real. I hated that dream."
Annie won't look at me. She isn't in my room telling me this anymore.
She is still asleep. She just says to me - "I hate this dream. It is not for me. I don't have to have this dream. Make it stop."
That I do. I make it stop.
I am a real person, just like you. I live in Connecticut. But that is my job. I bring dreams.
I don't create them. I just bring them from where you keep them.
You call for them.
When you sleep - I hear you call for them, and I bring you your dream.
And like a the camera-man - when you call out "Cut" - I make it stop. I am a Dream-Bringer. There are several of us. We know who we are. It pays very well, as it should, because bringing people their dreams: good, bad and indifferent, is difficult and sometimes dangerous work.
And when it is time to wake up, this is what I say to you: Wake up now. Time to wake up.
I have to go now. Annie is done with me for now.
Wake up now. Time to wake up.
Susan Whitlock
September 2, 2013
She is telling me her dream. People do that a lot. Tell me their dreams. No - I am not a therapist.
"And I am in a hallway. The table is on wheels and someone has their hand on my back. It is a woman with short, dyed blond hair - I know now it is my sponsor," she continues.
She nods at me and raises her eyebrows at me as she says this - silently adding: you know - how you just know things like that in a dream? People do that to me all the time, too - express a great deal of our conversation silently. They think I am telepathic. It is odd that they think that, but continue to tell some of their dreams to me verbally. That is odd, don't you think?
"In front of me," Annie goes on, for that is her first name, Annie," are auditorium-style doors that are swung outward, open. Inside the auditorium is a packed, standing room only meeting."
She means an AA meeting, a step meeting she thinks.
"And I am talking to the whole group - and I am really choking up, like you do when you are in front of all these other alcoholics and addicts and you have been rambling and are starting to cry and you feel like a total dork, but do you stop - no way. And I am saying, next month I will have 20 years clean. I can hear people cheering and clapping - but it is not loud like it should be, it is a muted sound."
Annie looks up at me now, nailing me with her eyes. Which are dark blue, by the way.
"But I am realizing as the words are coming out of my mouth that my sobriety date is really 6 months away...and it will only be 19 years. I am in my dream and confused about this, so I lower my head and cry a little to cover because I cannot figure out if I am lying to this crowd or confused or...what?"
She looks at me expectantly. People really do that a lot to me, whether they are telling me their dream or asking me to pay for my items at the store - they look at me expectantly. I have a way to handle this type of expectation, Annie's type that is: I shrug and nod all in one motion. It is silent lingo for "don't know, gotcha ya, go on..."
So she does:
"And then a circular stairway appears over my right shoulder - a steel wall moves circularly out of the way, revealing a spiral staircase. The part of the staircase that is level with my eyes, and downward, is dark and covered in a misty substance - but about 3 feet above eye level (remember I am lying down on my tummy still) the spiral staircase is clear and gets clearer and brighter as it goes up past the next level of the building...where the ceiling covers it again."
"And as I - as we all turn - to look there...a line of children...little girls...appears. They are sort of holding onto one another by their hands, some of them have their hands on the shoulder of the one in front of them, like they are protecting and encouraging one another. Some of them have their heads slightly bent down and are looking up shyly from that position. They look nervous. Afraid? Maybe, afraid. And they begin to tell their stories one at a time."
Annie looks at me and I see she is worried. This is where her dream worries her. This is the part that made her tell me her dream. She is reviewing it, rehearsing it - searching for the meaning and reeling out the unpleasantness of what she is about to tell me, all in one. She is looking into my eyes to see if I knew this is what she dreamed.
People do that all the time to me. They think I know what they dreamed. Like Daniel in the Bible. The king had a disturbing dream and asked all his magicians to tell the meaning of it; they all said "tell me what you dreamed, I will tell you what it meant"...the king refuses. He wants to talk to the person who can both tell him what he dreamed and what it means. That man was Daniel.
I am not Daniel.
I gaze back into Annie's eyes as completely emotionless, expressionless, me-less as I possibly can. She has to decide all this for herself.
"So..."she begins telling me the rest and as she does she doesn't so much look away as she looses focus of me. The dream memory is all she can see now...the line of little girls telling their stories.
"...they tell about being abused. They tell about being slapped in the face and punched and kicked - but no...they aren't. Not really. That is what we want them to be saying. I know this. All of us at that meeting want to hear it was only physical pain they suffered."
"What they are really saying is that they were molested. And how it tore their hearts out and they look so lost and sad and as they talk you see it happening to them one after the other..."
"And I want to wake up now. I want to know why I said 20 years when it was only 19 and I hate the darkness that their sing-song sadness has rolled out all around us. I notice the auditorium doors are shut now. I am alone in the hall. No one has their hand on my back and I am drawing upright and moving towards the stair, like the little girls want me to come up there so I can see better. And I say out loud in my dream - and I actually do roll over - put my back to my husband on purpose in reality, you know? I am not dreaming that I am rolling over, I actually do roll over and know it, but I am still asleep, too, and stuck on that spiral staircase. And the little blond girl in front of me whispers "we're all dead now, too". I absolutely hated that dream and that part of it. I hate scary dreams, don't you?"
She does not want my response so I make none.
"And that is when I wake up for real. I hated that dream."
Annie won't look at me. She isn't in my room telling me this anymore.
She is still asleep. She just says to me - "I hate this dream. It is not for me. I don't have to have this dream. Make it stop."
That I do. I make it stop.
I am a real person, just like you. I live in Connecticut. But that is my job. I bring dreams.
I don't create them. I just bring them from where you keep them.
You call for them.
When you sleep - I hear you call for them, and I bring you your dream.
And like a the camera-man - when you call out "Cut" - I make it stop. I am a Dream-Bringer. There are several of us. We know who we are. It pays very well, as it should, because bringing people their dreams: good, bad and indifferent, is difficult and sometimes dangerous work.
And when it is time to wake up, this is what I say to you: Wake up now. Time to wake up.
I have to go now. Annie is done with me for now.
Wake up now. Time to wake up.
Susan Whitlock
September 2, 2013
Sunday, August 25, 2013
The S Word
The book of Ephesians has brought me such strength down through the years. It is how I have learned much of the Right Side Up Kingdom.
Having done all - stand
Put on the full armor of God
The sword of the Spirit which is the Word of God
Shod with the preparation of the gospel (Good News!) of peace. Shoes of peace - there you go - try those puppies on for size.
A belt of truth - around your loins - the place of production - of creation.
Create and give birth through the Truth!
My my - that was certainly new thinking for me so many years ago. Still keeps me on edge, that one does.
But that is chapter six. That chapter is about the warrior - about victory and strength and so...some measure of self-esteem.
But back up to chapter 5.
Ahem - how about verse 22? (and because we believe in the Bible rightly divided - not just one lone verse - Col 3, 1 Peter - and so much of the OT)
Wives
here it comes
OBEY YOUR HUSBANDS
SUBMIT TO YOUR HUSBANDS
AS TO THE LORD.
Well
I have had trouble with this scripture.
Rats - lots of trouble. And I would love to tell you it is because he is not a believer. But he is - a pastor believer.
And I would like to tell you that he is only a believer in public and at home he is a big rat fink
but he is a man of God - growing, changing each year to be more wise and prayerful and kind and a better husband AND human.
So, it should be easy, no?
No.
But this is really no reflection on him at all. Any more than when, in the verses to follow, Paul tells the husband to love the wife as Christ loved the church, and GAVE himself for her.
Through Paul's hand (a man I used to remind myself)...God tells the wives to submit and to obey.
He tells men and women to submit to one another in several other places, not just wives to husbands - men to women and men to men and slaves to owners...
submission is a big thing.
He tells men to "die" for their wives, no greater love - than that a man should lay down his life for his fellow man.
Enter Jesus Christ.
I have come to see - that all this submission and obeying is about Him.
What a surprise, eh?
Everything is.
When submitting to Rex - I am really submitting to Jesus. When obeying in love another human being - submitting my will to theirs - I am doing this unto the Lord.
Why is that important?
Well - not submitting got Eve into worlds of hurt = and her children's' children's' children: us.
Yielding our pride and our will to another in love - and I am not talking about sinning for them...doing evil because they tell me to -
But preferring anthers' viewpoint before my own...this is Kingdom philosophy. The Kingdom of love - of Jesus Christ. And by extension - my kingdom.
The place I have free will over - my little kingdom of Susanity. I get to choose each moment of the day - is it all about me, or might it be all about Him and someone else?
It becomes much harder to do this scripture (and Jesus is pretty adamant about calling Him Lord, but not obeying Him Luke 6:46) when we think we are too smart for the world around us.
Ugh. I was raised to think I was too smart, it has taken me 56 years to realize how very little I know.
If I think my intelligence is the exception to the submission rule - or women's lib - or his personality - or that was for another culture
then I will ignore the Word - and live unto myself.
But o - the delight of losing my life for His sake. Of dying to self and actually preferring the belief, decision and choices of another - of my husband.
Rex has not always been right in the decisions he's made. Imagine that.
But for 37 years - he has prayed over most of them, You know - prayer?
Bowing your heart and mind and knees and seeking the will of God - submission to the sweet divine Love and Light of all eternity?
And he has always wanted what was best for us, and made decisions for OUR good.
So - I am blessed in who I am asked to submit to here - and STILL I tremble. And too often disobey - or at least
argue for hours and days = and them "submit",
Not sure that qualifies...but I suppose it is better than nothing :)
Jesus tells me the truth. Always. He can do no other - He is the Truth.
Matthew 10:39 tells me this truth:
Lose your life FOR MY (Jesus) SAKE - and you will find it.
For the sake of Love - I have obeyed my husband...and each time it was for that reason and in the spirit of Love...I have never regretted it.
In fact - I have learned Kingdom Self. I have inherited the nature of Christ and have seen the Kingdom of God unfold from the inside out and flow into my world.
Because loving another - preferring another
Giving instead of receiving
really
is
better.
Hope you all find peace and joy in the journey.
Suz
Having done all - stand
Put on the full armor of God
The sword of the Spirit which is the Word of God
Shod with the preparation of the gospel (Good News!) of peace. Shoes of peace - there you go - try those puppies on for size.
A belt of truth - around your loins - the place of production - of creation.
Create and give birth through the Truth!
My my - that was certainly new thinking for me so many years ago. Still keeps me on edge, that one does.
But that is chapter six. That chapter is about the warrior - about victory and strength and so...some measure of self-esteem.
But back up to chapter 5.
Ahem - how about verse 22? (and because we believe in the Bible rightly divided - not just one lone verse - Col 3, 1 Peter - and so much of the OT)
Wives
here it comes
OBEY YOUR HUSBANDS
SUBMIT TO YOUR HUSBANDS
AS TO THE LORD.
Well
I have had trouble with this scripture.
Rats - lots of trouble. And I would love to tell you it is because he is not a believer. But he is - a pastor believer.
And I would like to tell you that he is only a believer in public and at home he is a big rat fink
but he is a man of God - growing, changing each year to be more wise and prayerful and kind and a better husband AND human.
So, it should be easy, no?
No.
But this is really no reflection on him at all. Any more than when, in the verses to follow, Paul tells the husband to love the wife as Christ loved the church, and GAVE himself for her.
Through Paul's hand (a man I used to remind myself)...God tells the wives to submit and to obey.
He tells men and women to submit to one another in several other places, not just wives to husbands - men to women and men to men and slaves to owners...
submission is a big thing.
He tells men to "die" for their wives, no greater love - than that a man should lay down his life for his fellow man.
Enter Jesus Christ.
I have come to see - that all this submission and obeying is about Him.
What a surprise, eh?
Everything is.
When submitting to Rex - I am really submitting to Jesus. When obeying in love another human being - submitting my will to theirs - I am doing this unto the Lord.
Why is that important?
Well - not submitting got Eve into worlds of hurt = and her children's' children's' children: us.
Yielding our pride and our will to another in love - and I am not talking about sinning for them...doing evil because they tell me to -
But preferring anthers' viewpoint before my own...this is Kingdom philosophy. The Kingdom of love - of Jesus Christ. And by extension - my kingdom.
The place I have free will over - my little kingdom of Susanity. I get to choose each moment of the day - is it all about me, or might it be all about Him and someone else?
It becomes much harder to do this scripture (and Jesus is pretty adamant about calling Him Lord, but not obeying Him Luke 6:46) when we think we are too smart for the world around us.
Ugh. I was raised to think I was too smart, it has taken me 56 years to realize how very little I know.
If I think my intelligence is the exception to the submission rule - or women's lib - or his personality - or that was for another culture
then I will ignore the Word - and live unto myself.
But o - the delight of losing my life for His sake. Of dying to self and actually preferring the belief, decision and choices of another - of my husband.
Rex has not always been right in the decisions he's made. Imagine that.
But for 37 years - he has prayed over most of them, You know - prayer?
Bowing your heart and mind and knees and seeking the will of God - submission to the sweet divine Love and Light of all eternity?
And he has always wanted what was best for us, and made decisions for OUR good.
So - I am blessed in who I am asked to submit to here - and STILL I tremble. And too often disobey - or at least
argue for hours and days = and them "submit",
Not sure that qualifies...but I suppose it is better than nothing :)
Jesus tells me the truth. Always. He can do no other - He is the Truth.
Matthew 10:39 tells me this truth:
Lose your life FOR MY (Jesus) SAKE - and you will find it.
For the sake of Love - I have obeyed my husband...and each time it was for that reason and in the spirit of Love...I have never regretted it.
In fact - I have learned Kingdom Self. I have inherited the nature of Christ and have seen the Kingdom of God unfold from the inside out and flow into my world.
Because loving another - preferring another
Giving instead of receiving
really
is
better.
Hope you all find peace and joy in the journey.
Suz
Monday, August 12, 2013
A Lot of What I Say Is Not Worth Listening To...
Well - that is certainly a great title for someone who desires above all other earthly "career" pursuits, to be an author.
Hi, my name is Susan Whitlock and I have written this little book and some short stories and by the way a lot of what I say is not worth listening to...
You can just pay me in small unmarked bills.
Sigh.
But what I was really thinking was that a lot of what I say to myself, is not worth listening to.
I reread some of my earlier writings on this blog tonight - and I could really relate!
hehehe
When I write - something inside of me goes away. Or, at least, shuts up. And this inner friend rises up and says - Hey - I know how to type pretty well, let me, let me.
But when I am vacuuming or on my way to work or sitting on the porch swing - I can say some pretty dumb and insulting things to myself. Not that I don't also do a lot of grandiose thinking and self-talk...but I can be a real pain to myself.
Are you like that? Do you call yourself "Dumb Woman (or Man)" when you stub your toe or misspell a word? I do it more than I should.
I have a friend that is really bad at self-talk. She calls herself stupid and other icky names out loud in front of me much too often. Or she used to. And I started telling her, Hey - quit talking to my buddy like that or I'm gonna have to beat the crap out of you.
She loves my little mixed messages, I am sure.
Well - I tell her that, but I need to listen to it myself.
Another form of inner entertainment I force on myself is - This Is What I Am Going To Tell Her (or Him) talk. I daydream that some person of repute in my vast and awesome world of acquaintances is still in the room saying whatever it was that got me going later...
(and that is a whole other problem - when I am with the person I was no doubt smiling and nodding and saying sure, sure - you poor thing...
until I go out to my car & drive away, review whatever the heck this person was talking about and a bomb goes off in my head.
KABOOM - what in the WORLD makes that person think that what they said made any kind of sense at all!!!!?)
Too late - they are probably at home right now telling their significant other or child that Susan Whitlock totally agrees with me.
But - as I was ranting...
I have this gross habit of letting little irritants grow in my subconscious until I am having these world class conversations that Night-line is recording for posterity - and boy am I enlightening and wise and witty and wonderful in these conversations. I am so to the point and tactful - at the same wonderful time.
Wow - the person either repents - or weeps in joy at my profound revelation of their plight - or kisses me with thanksgiving - or
or
o
I don't know
kills their self for having dared to share the planet with one as "right" as me.
Do you guys ever do that?
No...
Huh - well, that is good.
BECAUSE IT IS A BIG FAT WASTE OF TIME and grey matter. I believe the Bible calls it "vain imaginations" and the Apostle Paul suggests you "pull them down".
My plan is to prevent the suckers from ever being put up in the first place. So now I have this amusing, little routine. Well, I find it amusing. I will be driving along (for some reason driving to some weekly task like grocery shopping really sets off my Vain Imagination alarm)
Like this:
"We have ignition," my subconscious casually chats to my consciousness, "time to roll out the Vain Imagination on what she should say to her sister and brother now."
And I will be off.
Not that I will ever have a real conversation with either of those two people. I will not. That is the reason Vain Imaginations exist. They grew up under the same rock where honest communication went to hide so many generations ago.
But that is another blog entirely.
Plan "Vain Imagination Obliteration" is that when I catch myself revving up a really juicy imaginary scenario and an ensuing chat with absolutely no one - and the Holy Spirit has been ever so helpful in the "catching myself" part of that Plan...
I just stop and say to myself - "Self, why not just shut up about all that?"
And then
and this is the only part of the the VIO plan that has any merit
Then I pray for the person instead.
This usually involves some repentance on my part for being such an unloving jerk to have even thought of saying things like I was thinking of saying to another living being.
A being created in Your image.
Sigh of contentment that You really do love us just the way we are.
This blog,
like everything else in my little wonderful crazy deep and wide life
is for You.
And I SO felt that smile. I did. Right down in my toes, I can feel Your smile.
I do not know how people exist without ever feeling that - or, if they do feel it, believing it was caused by the Big Bang.
But they do.
Well - where have we come to at 9:18 pm on a Monday night in Pittsburg KS?
I am hopeful I will continue to speak to myself in more kind and thoughtful ways.
The reader here might be extending some kind of prayer to You that I might even be able to stop talking to myself altogether in the light of sanity...
But we were created to form a commentary on the ride.
I think so anyway.
The Bible suggests we speak to each other in songs and hymns and spiritual songs...Lord You know that I sing to myself (and much too often out loud) a lot.
A lot.
My hope is I can think to myself and speak to myself in the same way - uplifting and hopeful.
And
let's face it
slightly off key.
See ya - Suz
Hi, my name is Susan Whitlock and I have written this little book and some short stories and by the way a lot of what I say is not worth listening to...
You can just pay me in small unmarked bills.
Sigh.
But what I was really thinking was that a lot of what I say to myself, is not worth listening to.
I reread some of my earlier writings on this blog tonight - and I could really relate!
hehehe
When I write - something inside of me goes away. Or, at least, shuts up. And this inner friend rises up and says - Hey - I know how to type pretty well, let me, let me.
But when I am vacuuming or on my way to work or sitting on the porch swing - I can say some pretty dumb and insulting things to myself. Not that I don't also do a lot of grandiose thinking and self-talk...but I can be a real pain to myself.
Are you like that? Do you call yourself "Dumb Woman (or Man)" when you stub your toe or misspell a word? I do it more than I should.
I have a friend that is really bad at self-talk. She calls herself stupid and other icky names out loud in front of me much too often. Or she used to. And I started telling her, Hey - quit talking to my buddy like that or I'm gonna have to beat the crap out of you.
She loves my little mixed messages, I am sure.
Well - I tell her that, but I need to listen to it myself.
Another form of inner entertainment I force on myself is - This Is What I Am Going To Tell Her (or Him) talk. I daydream that some person of repute in my vast and awesome world of acquaintances is still in the room saying whatever it was that got me going later...
(and that is a whole other problem - when I am with the person I was no doubt smiling and nodding and saying sure, sure - you poor thing...
until I go out to my car & drive away, review whatever the heck this person was talking about and a bomb goes off in my head.
KABOOM - what in the WORLD makes that person think that what they said made any kind of sense at all!!!!?)
Too late - they are probably at home right now telling their significant other or child that Susan Whitlock totally agrees with me.
But - as I was ranting...
I have this gross habit of letting little irritants grow in my subconscious until I am having these world class conversations that Night-line is recording for posterity - and boy am I enlightening and wise and witty and wonderful in these conversations. I am so to the point and tactful - at the same wonderful time.
Wow - the person either repents - or weeps in joy at my profound revelation of their plight - or kisses me with thanksgiving - or
or
o
I don't know
kills their self for having dared to share the planet with one as "right" as me.
Do you guys ever do that?
No...
Huh - well, that is good.
BECAUSE IT IS A BIG FAT WASTE OF TIME and grey matter. I believe the Bible calls it "vain imaginations" and the Apostle Paul suggests you "pull them down".
My plan is to prevent the suckers from ever being put up in the first place. So now I have this amusing, little routine. Well, I find it amusing. I will be driving along (for some reason driving to some weekly task like grocery shopping really sets off my Vain Imagination alarm)
Like this:
"We have ignition," my subconscious casually chats to my consciousness, "time to roll out the Vain Imagination on what she should say to her sister and brother now."
And I will be off.
Not that I will ever have a real conversation with either of those two people. I will not. That is the reason Vain Imaginations exist. They grew up under the same rock where honest communication went to hide so many generations ago.
But that is another blog entirely.
Plan "Vain Imagination Obliteration" is that when I catch myself revving up a really juicy imaginary scenario and an ensuing chat with absolutely no one - and the Holy Spirit has been ever so helpful in the "catching myself" part of that Plan...
I just stop and say to myself - "Self, why not just shut up about all that?"
And then
and this is the only part of the the VIO plan that has any merit
Then I pray for the person instead.
This usually involves some repentance on my part for being such an unloving jerk to have even thought of saying things like I was thinking of saying to another living being.
A being created in Your image.
Sigh of contentment that You really do love us just the way we are.
This blog,
like everything else in my little wonderful crazy deep and wide life
is for You.
And I SO felt that smile. I did. Right down in my toes, I can feel Your smile.
I do not know how people exist without ever feeling that - or, if they do feel it, believing it was caused by the Big Bang.
But they do.
Well - where have we come to at 9:18 pm on a Monday night in Pittsburg KS?
I am hopeful I will continue to speak to myself in more kind and thoughtful ways.
The reader here might be extending some kind of prayer to You that I might even be able to stop talking to myself altogether in the light of sanity...
But we were created to form a commentary on the ride.
I think so anyway.
The Bible suggests we speak to each other in songs and hymns and spiritual songs...Lord You know that I sing to myself (and much too often out loud) a lot.
A lot.
My hope is I can think to myself and speak to myself in the same way - uplifting and hopeful.
And
let's face it
slightly off key.
See ya - Suz
Monday, February 11, 2013
Flow
You just never know.
For the most part, our days consist of routines that result in more than our survival, but our well-defined values and the pleasantness of existence in the twenty-first century.
We arise and cleanse and take in vitamins, perhaps medicine, and nourishment - to maintain our physical health. We prepare for, transport ourselves to and enter into - employment. Mostly for money - if we are blessed and have planned well, for fulfillment and enjoyment.
We take breaks and rest and refresh again with a meal, or errands, or reading, or tweeting...then return to the work station and plug along until it is time to return to our home.
We may then exercise, play with pets, love our mate, refuel again with food and drink...we might play games, watch TV, enjoy the internet, study, worship, enjoy friends, lay on the floor and stare at the ceiling.
And then lay down to sleep, to dream and to rise again to repeat - and rinse.
Then we take longer breaks called weekends or vacations where we entertain ourselves, travel, visit family or friends - if we are lucky, both.
But
You just never know.
Some Saturday you might be laying on your bed with a heel spur throbbing because you went shopping for clothes, and bows and arrows, and groceries - and came home pleasantly pooped. Your husband might come in with your cell phone and hand it to you saying, "Ginger just called."
And you call her back and she is upset because a mutual friend is ill and Ginger is at work for the night and the other friend is REALLY sick and could you just go over there and see if she is ok?
You can and you do - and when you arrive, this dear one is doubled over in pain and is gray and cannot breath.
Who knew?
Rushing to the hospital you try to keep up a light-hearted banter, gradually becoming aware that this sweetie is dangerously ill.
The emergency room is packed. Guess what? They are all really sick, too. But you bully your way in front of someone who can at least stand on their own - while some strange man assists Cyndie (your sick buddy) into the ER. Told it might be a two hour wait, you make sure it is not.
Fifteen minutes later they tell you she is being taken straight back and you follow and answer all the questions about - no, I am not related - I think she takes this medicine or has this condition. Cyndie tries to chime in, but she is growing weaker and weaker and is in much pain.
By ten that night, you find yourself trying valiantly to keep Cyndie's hands from rising up for the fortieth time to pull her oxygen mask off. This horrid, wonderful machine does not fit her face well and keeps slipping and making all manner of ungodly noises - waking poor Cyn up from med-induced slumber.
She has pneumonia. Ginger joins you and brings herself and some lotion and footies and plans on sleeping over. What a nightmare.
And people come and go - and this poor woman - whose journey to this point has included the death of her mother when she was a young girl, strained relationships, 15 years of drug addiction which she has bravely recovered from these past three years. And the separation from her husband, who has also turned his back to drugs and evil, and embraced the Light of Christ. But he is finishing up on some consequences - and cannot be here to advocate and love and protect.
And who am I to be butting into her dilemma? A friend - but I have not seen her much this past year...and feel like she deserves someone closer - someone she loves and with whom she will feel safe.
Surprise - you are that person. She leans deeply into Ginger's warm and lush embrace. Ginger is superb with the hurting. She says it is healthy people she can't deal with. This makes me laugh.
"Why should you have to?" I ask her. And we laugh together at the joys of codependency.
Ginger runs an errand to pick up dentures and puppies and take little boys their pajamas at grandmas and make some phone calls. I watch nurses surround Cyndie and try, unsuccessfully, to find a vein that will put the medicine into her failing body. Later, more wrestling with the half-unconscious lady as she tries to rip out the needles and tubes. I prayed over her - with her - and dry her tears as she begins to lose herself in the morphine and Ativan. The lack of oxygen making her stumble in her thoughts.
She began to gaze into my eyes and ask over and over, "Where am I?"
"You're in the hospital, Cyndie," I tell her.
"But where?" she pleads.
So I practice different ways of telling her the same thing, until I strike on a few phrases that satisfy her for 10 or 15 minutes.
"Where am I?" Cyndie wanted to know.
"You are still in the hospital in Pittsburg, because you have pneumonia and you cannot breath on your own. Now lie back - the kids are at Ruby's. And if you don't keep this mask on, Missy (here I push her hands down once again to the white coverlet), they will sedate you and put a tube down your throat. We...do...not...want...that!" I tell her firmly.
She nods. Her hazel alligator-eye glare melts into agreement, and she lets me rub her back and cool her brow and guide her back to her pillow and she sleeps for another few minutes before she demands I tell her where she is again.
You never know.
Her dad arrived in town today. And Pastor Jan is there when I come back with milk shakes and dinner for Ginger. So I know I can move back away for now.
Ginger is such a wonder - she stayed with her all day (most of the night)...wouldn't leave her side until we all pushed her out to her own affairs - for now.
Cyndie has her "peeps" with her.
Funny, I forgot that I am one of them.
Life is like that - you muddle along in your own little world. Paying bills and snoozing and making doll houses and playing with puppies and loving your family.
Then - poof - out of the blue a tender, hurting someone rushes in and out of your life again...and your heart reconnects in Love with this person who has been on the other side of town doing the same things....living, surviving, growing, giving.
But connected we are. That Jesus did more than let them nail His hands and feet to a cross. With those same nails - we who believe are joined together. The great Carpenter sealed the joints with the hot, red blood that flowed down Calvary's tree.
What a Builder.
Ephesians 4:16:
"He makes the whole body fit together perfectly. As each part does its own special work, it helps the other parts grow, so that the whole body is healthy and growing and full of love."
You - or, at least, I - just never know.
For now I leave you, Suz
For the most part, our days consist of routines that result in more than our survival, but our well-defined values and the pleasantness of existence in the twenty-first century.
We arise and cleanse and take in vitamins, perhaps medicine, and nourishment - to maintain our physical health. We prepare for, transport ourselves to and enter into - employment. Mostly for money - if we are blessed and have planned well, for fulfillment and enjoyment.
We take breaks and rest and refresh again with a meal, or errands, or reading, or tweeting...then return to the work station and plug along until it is time to return to our home.
We may then exercise, play with pets, love our mate, refuel again with food and drink...we might play games, watch TV, enjoy the internet, study, worship, enjoy friends, lay on the floor and stare at the ceiling.
And then lay down to sleep, to dream and to rise again to repeat - and rinse.
Then we take longer breaks called weekends or vacations where we entertain ourselves, travel, visit family or friends - if we are lucky, both.
But
You just never know.
Some Saturday you might be laying on your bed with a heel spur throbbing because you went shopping for clothes, and bows and arrows, and groceries - and came home pleasantly pooped. Your husband might come in with your cell phone and hand it to you saying, "Ginger just called."
And you call her back and she is upset because a mutual friend is ill and Ginger is at work for the night and the other friend is REALLY sick and could you just go over there and see if she is ok?
You can and you do - and when you arrive, this dear one is doubled over in pain and is gray and cannot breath.
Who knew?
Rushing to the hospital you try to keep up a light-hearted banter, gradually becoming aware that this sweetie is dangerously ill.
The emergency room is packed. Guess what? They are all really sick, too. But you bully your way in front of someone who can at least stand on their own - while some strange man assists Cyndie (your sick buddy) into the ER. Told it might be a two hour wait, you make sure it is not.
Fifteen minutes later they tell you she is being taken straight back and you follow and answer all the questions about - no, I am not related - I think she takes this medicine or has this condition. Cyndie tries to chime in, but she is growing weaker and weaker and is in much pain.
By ten that night, you find yourself trying valiantly to keep Cyndie's hands from rising up for the fortieth time to pull her oxygen mask off. This horrid, wonderful machine does not fit her face well and keeps slipping and making all manner of ungodly noises - waking poor Cyn up from med-induced slumber.
She has pneumonia. Ginger joins you and brings herself and some lotion and footies and plans on sleeping over. What a nightmare.
And people come and go - and this poor woman - whose journey to this point has included the death of her mother when she was a young girl, strained relationships, 15 years of drug addiction which she has bravely recovered from these past three years. And the separation from her husband, who has also turned his back to drugs and evil, and embraced the Light of Christ. But he is finishing up on some consequences - and cannot be here to advocate and love and protect.
And who am I to be butting into her dilemma? A friend - but I have not seen her much this past year...and feel like she deserves someone closer - someone she loves and with whom she will feel safe.
Surprise - you are that person. She leans deeply into Ginger's warm and lush embrace. Ginger is superb with the hurting. She says it is healthy people she can't deal with. This makes me laugh.
"Why should you have to?" I ask her. And we laugh together at the joys of codependency.
Ginger runs an errand to pick up dentures and puppies and take little boys their pajamas at grandmas and make some phone calls. I watch nurses surround Cyndie and try, unsuccessfully, to find a vein that will put the medicine into her failing body. Later, more wrestling with the half-unconscious lady as she tries to rip out the needles and tubes. I prayed over her - with her - and dry her tears as she begins to lose herself in the morphine and Ativan. The lack of oxygen making her stumble in her thoughts.
She began to gaze into my eyes and ask over and over, "Where am I?"
"You're in the hospital, Cyndie," I tell her.
"But where?" she pleads.
So I practice different ways of telling her the same thing, until I strike on a few phrases that satisfy her for 10 or 15 minutes.
"Where am I?" Cyndie wanted to know.
"You are still in the hospital in Pittsburg, because you have pneumonia and you cannot breath on your own. Now lie back - the kids are at Ruby's. And if you don't keep this mask on, Missy (here I push her hands down once again to the white coverlet), they will sedate you and put a tube down your throat. We...do...not...want...that!" I tell her firmly.
She nods. Her hazel alligator-eye glare melts into agreement, and she lets me rub her back and cool her brow and guide her back to her pillow and she sleeps for another few minutes before she demands I tell her where she is again.
You never know.
Her dad arrived in town today. And Pastor Jan is there when I come back with milk shakes and dinner for Ginger. So I know I can move back away for now.
Ginger is such a wonder - she stayed with her all day (most of the night)...wouldn't leave her side until we all pushed her out to her own affairs - for now.
Cyndie has her "peeps" with her.
Funny, I forgot that I am one of them.
Life is like that - you muddle along in your own little world. Paying bills and snoozing and making doll houses and playing with puppies and loving your family.
Then - poof - out of the blue a tender, hurting someone rushes in and out of your life again...and your heart reconnects in Love with this person who has been on the other side of town doing the same things....living, surviving, growing, giving.
But connected we are. That Jesus did more than let them nail His hands and feet to a cross. With those same nails - we who believe are joined together. The great Carpenter sealed the joints with the hot, red blood that flowed down Calvary's tree.
What a Builder.
Ephesians 4:16:
"He makes the whole body fit together perfectly. As each part does its own special work, it helps the other parts grow, so that the whole body is healthy and growing and full of love."
You - or, at least, I - just never know.
For now I leave you, Suz
Monday, January 28, 2013
I Walked Off A Bridge Today
Catching Up
I walked off the end of a bridge today. I made it look easy. People were rubbing shoulders with me - one of them said that he had been told he couldn't hug the female coworkers, so now he goes up to them and puts his shoulder hard against the females side arm at the shoulder and: pushes. Really hard. And says things like, Hi Beautiful and so forth.
I think that is SO much better than hugging them, don't you? I am sure Management is pleased.
But, as I say, people were joshing around with me and noticing how chipper and hard working I was - and then, I don't think anyone was looking at the time, I just walked off a bridge.
As I plunged down, feet first, through the strangely balmy January air - I could hear the whistling in my ears and my hair flew up in a very startled-looking way - and I just fell and fell. It was extraordinary.
It took forever it seemed, but finally my feet sliced into cool, blue water and my legs followed and then my hips and arms and, at last, my head swooshed through the river and down and down I went.
When I finally felt the river bed beneath my feet, I pushed off at a rakish 45 degree angle and swam with the current - slightly pushing my way towards the center of the channel. I swam for about a minute under water, then crawled to the surface for a breath, then down I went again.
In this way, I escaped Monday.
It isn't that I am particularly opposed to Mondays. They are nice days. Usually pretty busy, workwise...though coworkers and staff tend to complain a lot. Whining about how hard it is to come to work, and why do the weekends have to fly by like that? I can only imagine the moaning they would do if they didn't have a job and couldn't pay for the new car and the rent and food and some fun every now and then.
But other than that, I have nothing against Mondays.
No - rather, on Sunday my oldest daughter called me and let me know that my younger daughter had been robbed and attacked in a way I am too weary to go into. And, of course, this public place is no place to air her private hell.
But that is why I had to walk off the bridge and swim away. It was all very casual, and I am only now drying off and getting the sand out of my ears. It is 9:25 pm. And here we are - strangers...gazing into my soul a bit and wondering if we have anything in common. Or whether we should continue to "talk".
One of the things I thought, as I breast-stroked away from the bridge, was how odd life here on this planet is. How painful and strange and often awful. But sometimes awe-filled, too. And wonderful and inspiring and joyous.
I thought - as I have a thousand times, maybe ten thousand I have thought this- since I was very young, but old enough to ponder these things...I have thought: Why don't people just love each other? All the effort people put forth to harm one another and themselves - it is exhausting just to think about it. And I don't just mean violence like my beautiful girl just endured...but all the mean and petty things we say and think about one another. People, really well-meaning people too, will sit around venting about how the President is so evil (maybe he is even the Anti-Christ...). This happened just the other night after - get this - after a Bible study. And what was the Bible study about? you may ask. It was about Grace. About how our total forgiveness and loving acceptance by God is not based on anything we do or do not do - but on the amazing grace of God in the person of Jesus Christ. By His death. By His resurrection. By Him.
So I am all stoked up about how breath-taking this Jesus is and amazed for the umpteenth time about how wonderful and all that this salvation He bought is...really feeling jazzed. And then it ends, the study, and we are dismissed and this older gent who had made some pretty good points during the study - he starts talking smack about Obama. And others eagerly join in.
What the heck!
All this negative energy fills the room - energy that could just as easily have been spent praying for poor old President Obama. Like the guy couldn't use some love and peace and prayers for help in time of need. You know, like the Bible TELLS us to do for our leaders.
And so on. (I wonder if my saying "and so on" is plagiarism? Kurt Vonnegut used to bridge paragraphs with that statement...it is a good way to do that).
Anyway - I am swimming along and thinking how I am just as bad being disappointed in this older gent at church rather than praying for HIM....so I do that for a couple of minutes when BAM
I swim into a floating log. Wow did that hurt.
So I turn over on my back and kick my way over to the shore - and drag myself up. And realize that one of my staff is leaning over my desk asking me a question.
What a day.
I glanced over at the bridge. Wistfully. But this time I plaster the smile on my face and ask what is up - and she tells me...and we finish work and head home.
It was lovely outside. Gray - but about 72 degrees. January 28th and it is 72 degrees.
Amazing. A little gift. And I put the hood down on the Saab my sweet Babboo gave me a few months back...and I go to Physical Therapy for my carpal tunnel hands - for the last time. And say good-bye to Scott - a really nice, if slightly evil, physical therapist. He hinted that most PT's are kind of sadistic - but that when people get better under his tortuous care, he counts it all worth while. He said it with a little half smile and twinkly blue eyes.
Then I go home and make a weirdo Mexican pizza with left over steak - and share that and some scrumptious strawberries, pineapple and bananas with my brother in law.
His name is Rick. My husband didn't feel well...I bet it was because he didn't take the time to plaster on a smile and walk off a bridge or two. He probably prayed and thought about this god-awful thing that has happened to our daughter. So he didn't want dinner.
Rick and I ate and he, as usual, entertained me with a running commentary about Mexican dishes he has known and loved during his many years as a waiter at the five-star restaurant in Cincinnati he left. Or was asked to leave. And not finding other work, got his brother, who HE HADN'T SPOKEN TO FOR ABOUT 20 YEARS, to buy him a bus ticket to come live with us until...
I am not really sure about the until part. He seems to have taken root in our lives. And I cannot, though I am pretty good at gardening: I cannot for the life of me tell if he is a well-rooted thorny weed, or a slow-growing gallant tree. But this I know, Jesus invited him here and it is my good fortune to find ways to love him. Sometimes I fuss at him and make sure he does most of the house work these days - the rest of the time I listen to his tales and watch him paint and feed him home cooked meals. And try to be a good sister to him. His being here at this point in our lives is another mystery...
And then I caught up with my daughter on my cell phone. And that has to suffice.
I suppose at this point I should thank God for cell phones. Or any phones, so I could at least talk to her and pray with her. I guess I will.
Thanks God.
But my heart isn't in it and You know it. My heart will catch up later.
Because I didn't want to leave my kids and grandson and move here in the first place...and the church that hired us kicked us out, breaking our contract and ruining us financially... and my husband Rex then got cancer (and thank you for healing him of that and my heart is in that thank you)...and we just closed the little independent church we were trying to build for people who are returning from jail or are in recovery because (o there is too much because, we will move quickly on)...and I have wanted to go see my children so bad I have been agitated for about three weeks and nagging my poor husband...
All of that is true. But - There is no bridge home right now. There is now way to afford that swim. And my arms ache to hold her.
This is life, eh? We are not the answer to all her pain anyway. I realize that. My wanting to be there is selfish.
She sounded good, for all that her heart is breaking. She sounded brave. That is what her name means, Breana - brave one. She cried and she laughed and she said - they will not take away my joy and all the progress I have made. I will fight hard. I will keep working with Amnesty International and will keep telling women - sharing this ugly - telling them to be safe.
But she wanted to know where You were (God I mean, not anyone who sits there reading this horror of a blog with pop-eyed wonder - and why You didn't "get her back" - why You let people DO that to her (she sobbed and so did I) when she was trying to help some young girls. She admitted she had tried to be the big hero - that she should have called the police and let them meet her there...but still, she was not doing evil. She was trying to do Your will, in her own small way.
These are the things that get us, Father. These are the hurts we cannot understand. And I give them to you. I hope she can too. Soon. I give you my lack of understanding and the feeling of betrayal and the anger - because You seem to want that just as much as my praise and singing and praying and so on when I am happy and think I DO understand.
Maybe giving you this pain and anger is even more a show of faith. I don't know. I just know that You are the only Truth and Goodness and Peace I have ever known in my times of black despair. And based on years of experience - I come to You because there is no other God. You are it and Jesus is my bridge to your presence.
So I close this blog, and this day, by walking off that wonderful Bridge - and feel myself fall, head first, into the cool waters of Your presence and love.
Good night, Father. Please heal my little girl. Please love on my older one. And all my family and friends. And all the strangers and ones who would be my enemies. And one day, when we are face to Face - I will give you the pure love you so deserve - and that you have lent to me her - right back. Until then...
Well - just Good night, Father...please, just a Good Night.
Suz
I walked off the end of a bridge today. I made it look easy. People were rubbing shoulders with me - one of them said that he had been told he couldn't hug the female coworkers, so now he goes up to them and puts his shoulder hard against the females side arm at the shoulder and: pushes. Really hard. And says things like, Hi Beautiful and so forth.
I think that is SO much better than hugging them, don't you? I am sure Management is pleased.
But, as I say, people were joshing around with me and noticing how chipper and hard working I was - and then, I don't think anyone was looking at the time, I just walked off a bridge.
As I plunged down, feet first, through the strangely balmy January air - I could hear the whistling in my ears and my hair flew up in a very startled-looking way - and I just fell and fell. It was extraordinary.
It took forever it seemed, but finally my feet sliced into cool, blue water and my legs followed and then my hips and arms and, at last, my head swooshed through the river and down and down I went.
When I finally felt the river bed beneath my feet, I pushed off at a rakish 45 degree angle and swam with the current - slightly pushing my way towards the center of the channel. I swam for about a minute under water, then crawled to the surface for a breath, then down I went again.
In this way, I escaped Monday.
It isn't that I am particularly opposed to Mondays. They are nice days. Usually pretty busy, workwise...though coworkers and staff tend to complain a lot. Whining about how hard it is to come to work, and why do the weekends have to fly by like that? I can only imagine the moaning they would do if they didn't have a job and couldn't pay for the new car and the rent and food and some fun every now and then.
But other than that, I have nothing against Mondays.
No - rather, on Sunday my oldest daughter called me and let me know that my younger daughter had been robbed and attacked in a way I am too weary to go into. And, of course, this public place is no place to air her private hell.
But that is why I had to walk off the bridge and swim away. It was all very casual, and I am only now drying off and getting the sand out of my ears. It is 9:25 pm. And here we are - strangers...gazing into my soul a bit and wondering if we have anything in common. Or whether we should continue to "talk".
One of the things I thought, as I breast-stroked away from the bridge, was how odd life here on this planet is. How painful and strange and often awful. But sometimes awe-filled, too. And wonderful and inspiring and joyous.
I thought - as I have a thousand times, maybe ten thousand I have thought this- since I was very young, but old enough to ponder these things...I have thought: Why don't people just love each other? All the effort people put forth to harm one another and themselves - it is exhausting just to think about it. And I don't just mean violence like my beautiful girl just endured...but all the mean and petty things we say and think about one another. People, really well-meaning people too, will sit around venting about how the President is so evil (maybe he is even the Anti-Christ...). This happened just the other night after - get this - after a Bible study. And what was the Bible study about? you may ask. It was about Grace. About how our total forgiveness and loving acceptance by God is not based on anything we do or do not do - but on the amazing grace of God in the person of Jesus Christ. By His death. By His resurrection. By Him.
So I am all stoked up about how breath-taking this Jesus is and amazed for the umpteenth time about how wonderful and all that this salvation He bought is...really feeling jazzed. And then it ends, the study, and we are dismissed and this older gent who had made some pretty good points during the study - he starts talking smack about Obama. And others eagerly join in.
What the heck!
All this negative energy fills the room - energy that could just as easily have been spent praying for poor old President Obama. Like the guy couldn't use some love and peace and prayers for help in time of need. You know, like the Bible TELLS us to do for our leaders.
And so on. (I wonder if my saying "and so on" is plagiarism? Kurt Vonnegut used to bridge paragraphs with that statement...it is a good way to do that).
Anyway - I am swimming along and thinking how I am just as bad being disappointed in this older gent at church rather than praying for HIM....so I do that for a couple of minutes when BAM
I swim into a floating log. Wow did that hurt.
So I turn over on my back and kick my way over to the shore - and drag myself up. And realize that one of my staff is leaning over my desk asking me a question.
What a day.
I glanced over at the bridge. Wistfully. But this time I plaster the smile on my face and ask what is up - and she tells me...and we finish work and head home.
It was lovely outside. Gray - but about 72 degrees. January 28th and it is 72 degrees.
Amazing. A little gift. And I put the hood down on the Saab my sweet Babboo gave me a few months back...and I go to Physical Therapy for my carpal tunnel hands - for the last time. And say good-bye to Scott - a really nice, if slightly evil, physical therapist. He hinted that most PT's are kind of sadistic - but that when people get better under his tortuous care, he counts it all worth while. He said it with a little half smile and twinkly blue eyes.
Then I go home and make a weirdo Mexican pizza with left over steak - and share that and some scrumptious strawberries, pineapple and bananas with my brother in law.
His name is Rick. My husband didn't feel well...I bet it was because he didn't take the time to plaster on a smile and walk off a bridge or two. He probably prayed and thought about this god-awful thing that has happened to our daughter. So he didn't want dinner.
Rick and I ate and he, as usual, entertained me with a running commentary about Mexican dishes he has known and loved during his many years as a waiter at the five-star restaurant in Cincinnati he left. Or was asked to leave. And not finding other work, got his brother, who HE HADN'T SPOKEN TO FOR ABOUT 20 YEARS, to buy him a bus ticket to come live with us until...
I am not really sure about the until part. He seems to have taken root in our lives. And I cannot, though I am pretty good at gardening: I cannot for the life of me tell if he is a well-rooted thorny weed, or a slow-growing gallant tree. But this I know, Jesus invited him here and it is my good fortune to find ways to love him. Sometimes I fuss at him and make sure he does most of the house work these days - the rest of the time I listen to his tales and watch him paint and feed him home cooked meals. And try to be a good sister to him. His being here at this point in our lives is another mystery...
And then I caught up with my daughter on my cell phone. And that has to suffice.
I suppose at this point I should thank God for cell phones. Or any phones, so I could at least talk to her and pray with her. I guess I will.
Thanks God.
But my heart isn't in it and You know it. My heart will catch up later.
Because I didn't want to leave my kids and grandson and move here in the first place...and the church that hired us kicked us out, breaking our contract and ruining us financially... and my husband Rex then got cancer (and thank you for healing him of that and my heart is in that thank you)...and we just closed the little independent church we were trying to build for people who are returning from jail or are in recovery because (o there is too much because, we will move quickly on)...and I have wanted to go see my children so bad I have been agitated for about three weeks and nagging my poor husband...
All of that is true. But - There is no bridge home right now. There is now way to afford that swim. And my arms ache to hold her.
This is life, eh? We are not the answer to all her pain anyway. I realize that. My wanting to be there is selfish.
She sounded good, for all that her heart is breaking. She sounded brave. That is what her name means, Breana - brave one. She cried and she laughed and she said - they will not take away my joy and all the progress I have made. I will fight hard. I will keep working with Amnesty International and will keep telling women - sharing this ugly - telling them to be safe.
But she wanted to know where You were (God I mean, not anyone who sits there reading this horror of a blog with pop-eyed wonder - and why You didn't "get her back" - why You let people DO that to her (she sobbed and so did I) when she was trying to help some young girls. She admitted she had tried to be the big hero - that she should have called the police and let them meet her there...but still, she was not doing evil. She was trying to do Your will, in her own small way.
These are the things that get us, Father. These are the hurts we cannot understand. And I give them to you. I hope she can too. Soon. I give you my lack of understanding and the feeling of betrayal and the anger - because You seem to want that just as much as my praise and singing and praying and so on when I am happy and think I DO understand.
Maybe giving you this pain and anger is even more a show of faith. I don't know. I just know that You are the only Truth and Goodness and Peace I have ever known in my times of black despair. And based on years of experience - I come to You because there is no other God. You are it and Jesus is my bridge to your presence.
So I close this blog, and this day, by walking off that wonderful Bridge - and feel myself fall, head first, into the cool waters of Your presence and love.
Good night, Father. Please heal my little girl. Please love on my older one. And all my family and friends. And all the strangers and ones who would be my enemies. And one day, when we are face to Face - I will give you the pure love you so deserve - and that you have lent to me her - right back. Until then...
Well - just Good night, Father...please, just a Good Night.
Suz
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