A misused, mistrusted, mistaken word.
In all its complexities, it really is just very simple. The thing that complicates it is fear. We are so afraid to love. We are so scared of giving love and not receiving it in return. People allow themselves to love when there is a sense of promise that they will receive it in return. I'm guilty of this. I won't allow myself to love until I see at least a glimmer of hope that I will too be loved. This is romantically speaking.
In our self righteousness, we determine who deserves our love. Those who are rude, mean, bitter, angry, hateful, do not deserve our love. I met a man at work who had some difficulties in getting his check cashed. He was rude, he was loud. He was wearing a shirt that said" homeland security, Arizona division" that made my blood boil. I seemed to have won him over because he began to smile as I reassured him that I would do anything possible to get his check cashed and that if I couldn't it was something I could not control. I smiled at him and he settled down. I was able to do his transaction. Oddly enough, my blood didn't boil too much. It had settled. I prayed for love that was beyond my own. I chose to show this man, this stranger love in the form of kindness.
There are people in my life that are so easy to love. They welcome it. They give it back. There are kind strangers in my life that make it so easy to show kindness.
What about those who don’t make it so easy? What about those who have abused your kindness? What about those who have hurt you, deceived you, made a fool out of you, and those who have misused you? What about those who don't see life as valuable and destroy it? They are obviously undeserving of anyone's love. What about yourself? You of all people can hurt yourself so easily by taking so little care of yourself, how do you love yourself?
Yet, above all these, is the greatest love. The love we reach out for when we can't find it our hearts to love. It is the kind of love that sees past the deserving and the undeserved, the kind of love that loves us, even when we don't love back.
Wouldn’t it be beautiful to love like that?
Was he not afraid to love us? Does he not know that we ( people) may not love him back? Yet, he does. He loves us.
Tuesday, February 19, 2008
aches
The ache begins in my fingers then trails up my arm, through my wrists, and into my shoulders. The muscles in my back feel like they are burning. Then the burning turns into a tightness. This slowly pulls down on my neck. My head tries to fight the pull so instead, a throbbing pain ignites on my left temple. I wish it would end here but it doesn’t. It starts to creep behind my eyes, and blurs my vision a little. Just enough to even out the head ache to both sides of my skull. So I reach for a glass of water and some little red pills. Too many of these begin to wear down my stomach so now; my stomach joins in on this brigade to wear down my body.
I know there is worse. I know that I don’t have it all that bad. I know that there are people out there with incredible pain that I can’t even imagine tolerating. I know that there are others out there with bones as brittle as glass. I know that there are people out there with muscles that burn with every move of their body. I know there are stomachs that hurt so bad they force you into a fetal position searching for the comfort of a mother’s womb. I know these things. The slightest pain in my body reminds me of these things. So I keep typing. I keep writing. I keep drawing and holding my pen awkwardly. I keep popping the little red pills, in moderation to alleviate the pain. I keep moving because I can. I know I am hurting, but in relation to the world of pain out there, I am okay. My aches are minimal. Knowing this, I keep moving. It’s physical.
The thought begins at the mind. It begins as a question, a curiosity, an insight. The thought stands at an edge of reason. It stands at a crossroad. The thinking begins. “Do I go left? Do I go right? Do I go at all?” What happens if one goes, what happens when one falls? Would it really be safer to stay? Should I wait for the sun to set or would it be too late by sunrise? Am I already late? Fine I’ll go. No wait. What would happen should one prevail? What if things fall into place and that’s not where you had expected? What do I do then? How will I react? Will I react? Will I do the right thing? Or will I fall into the same hole I've fallen into so many times? What will make this time different? Will it be different?” it’s so permanent. Steps taken can’t be taken back. Words said can be mistaken, and actions misinterpreted, or interpreted too well. . The thought takes form. Thought turned emotion begins to trail down my head, and into my throat. I swallow the saliva that has been sitting beneath my tongue. It passes through the knot in my throat, and into my heart, making it beat faster and harder. The beats are so heavy they hit my stomach and I begin to feel nauseous. My heart feels like it has sunken into my stomach. How can a thought do this? Fear begins to run down my arms, and down my spine. My bones feel naked. My skin feels cold. My breaths get heavier. My head feels light. There is no pill I want to take. There is no “thought medication”. Sure, simple solutions can provide for quick fixes. Pop a pill to ease the symptoms, but soon that pill will dissolve and leave me alone with these thoughts and these emotions. The fear will return; the irrational fear. By this time, the mind has surpassed that crossroad. Common sense settles in and alleviates the tension in my brain. There’s nothing to worry about, there is nothing to be scared about. Just relax. It’s not the end of the world. I know this. I know that whatever happens, I’ll be okay. I know there are larger than life worries out there. I know there are uncontrollable situations that instill fear that is paralyzing. I know this. Still. It’s too late.
My body is in motion. Internally, the fear turns into a heart beat and rushes up my throat and unravels the knot that was there before. The tears begin to flow. The words begin to spill out of my mouth. Some are understood, some misunderstood. Some are taken, some are mistaken, and some are dismissed. Actions are acted out and left to the mercy of an audience caught off guard.
Then it’s over. The thoughts subside. The fear is gone, and all that is left is a naked, pile of bones. A naked pile of bones that doesn’t see that there in front of her was a warm body taking in her words, taking in her actions, taking in her emotions, and wanting to take her in completely.
I know there is worse. I know that I don’t have it all that bad. I know that there are people out there with incredible pain that I can’t even imagine tolerating. I know that there are others out there with bones as brittle as glass. I know that there are people out there with muscles that burn with every move of their body. I know there are stomachs that hurt so bad they force you into a fetal position searching for the comfort of a mother’s womb. I know these things. The slightest pain in my body reminds me of these things. So I keep typing. I keep writing. I keep drawing and holding my pen awkwardly. I keep popping the little red pills, in moderation to alleviate the pain. I keep moving because I can. I know I am hurting, but in relation to the world of pain out there, I am okay. My aches are minimal. Knowing this, I keep moving. It’s physical.
The thought begins at the mind. It begins as a question, a curiosity, an insight. The thought stands at an edge of reason. It stands at a crossroad. The thinking begins. “Do I go left? Do I go right? Do I go at all?” What happens if one goes, what happens when one falls? Would it really be safer to stay? Should I wait for the sun to set or would it be too late by sunrise? Am I already late? Fine I’ll go. No wait. What would happen should one prevail? What if things fall into place and that’s not where you had expected? What do I do then? How will I react? Will I react? Will I do the right thing? Or will I fall into the same hole I've fallen into so many times? What will make this time different? Will it be different?” it’s so permanent. Steps taken can’t be taken back. Words said can be mistaken, and actions misinterpreted, or interpreted too well. . The thought takes form. Thought turned emotion begins to trail down my head, and into my throat. I swallow the saliva that has been sitting beneath my tongue. It passes through the knot in my throat, and into my heart, making it beat faster and harder. The beats are so heavy they hit my stomach and I begin to feel nauseous. My heart feels like it has sunken into my stomach. How can a thought do this? Fear begins to run down my arms, and down my spine. My bones feel naked. My skin feels cold. My breaths get heavier. My head feels light. There is no pill I want to take. There is no “thought medication”. Sure, simple solutions can provide for quick fixes. Pop a pill to ease the symptoms, but soon that pill will dissolve and leave me alone with these thoughts and these emotions. The fear will return; the irrational fear. By this time, the mind has surpassed that crossroad. Common sense settles in and alleviates the tension in my brain. There’s nothing to worry about, there is nothing to be scared about. Just relax. It’s not the end of the world. I know this. I know that whatever happens, I’ll be okay. I know there are larger than life worries out there. I know there are uncontrollable situations that instill fear that is paralyzing. I know this. Still. It’s too late.
My body is in motion. Internally, the fear turns into a heart beat and rushes up my throat and unravels the knot that was there before. The tears begin to flow. The words begin to spill out of my mouth. Some are understood, some misunderstood. Some are taken, some are mistaken, and some are dismissed. Actions are acted out and left to the mercy of an audience caught off guard.
Then it’s over. The thoughts subside. The fear is gone, and all that is left is a naked, pile of bones. A naked pile of bones that doesn’t see that there in front of her was a warm body taking in her words, taking in her actions, taking in her emotions, and wanting to take her in completely.
glass
You know that moment when you feel the glass slipping from your hand?
Slowly you feel its smooth side glide along the ridges of your fingers pushing them back…and as much force as your fingers alone can put into holding onto the glass, its not enough to hold on. It’s almost as if the rest of your body has deserted your hand, allowing it to fend for itself. Your arms are useless, your eyes can only watch what is happening, but your brain doesn’t quite compute it until the sound of glass breaking on the floor smashes through your ears. Then your lips open, your tongue separates itself from the roof of your mouth, and the air inside you comes out as a gasp.
How could you grow so numb? How could you forget what you were doing? You were standing there, holding it, and somehow, you managed to get so lost in thought, your whole body followed you. If your heart didn’t know how to beat on its own, it would have stopped beating. If your lungs needed you to expand and contract, you would have stopped breathing, but fortunately for you, they do it on their own. The rest of your body grew cold. Your eyes got caught staring at completely nothing, slowly blinking half way, slowly reaching a full blink.
Then the crashing sounds of glass as the pieces hit the floor, over and over, bouncing off each other gets your body moving again. Your head moves, your eyes look to see what made such an intrusive noise.
Oh yeah, you were holding a glass. How could you forget? All the colors of the room you had been standing in come to life. The world continues to move and the glass lies still on the floor. Your tense shoulders drop, slightly to a slump. You grab a napkin and carefully pick up the pieces. Tiny little pieces scattered like glitter on the floor. You’re careful, because your feet are bare, so you do the best you can to pick up every single little piece. All of this because you got lost in thought.
Slowly you feel its smooth side glide along the ridges of your fingers pushing them back…and as much force as your fingers alone can put into holding onto the glass, its not enough to hold on. It’s almost as if the rest of your body has deserted your hand, allowing it to fend for itself. Your arms are useless, your eyes can only watch what is happening, but your brain doesn’t quite compute it until the sound of glass breaking on the floor smashes through your ears. Then your lips open, your tongue separates itself from the roof of your mouth, and the air inside you comes out as a gasp.
How could you grow so numb? How could you forget what you were doing? You were standing there, holding it, and somehow, you managed to get so lost in thought, your whole body followed you. If your heart didn’t know how to beat on its own, it would have stopped beating. If your lungs needed you to expand and contract, you would have stopped breathing, but fortunately for you, they do it on their own. The rest of your body grew cold. Your eyes got caught staring at completely nothing, slowly blinking half way, slowly reaching a full blink.
Then the crashing sounds of glass as the pieces hit the floor, over and over, bouncing off each other gets your body moving again. Your head moves, your eyes look to see what made such an intrusive noise.
Oh yeah, you were holding a glass. How could you forget? All the colors of the room you had been standing in come to life. The world continues to move and the glass lies still on the floor. Your tense shoulders drop, slightly to a slump. You grab a napkin and carefully pick up the pieces. Tiny little pieces scattered like glitter on the floor. You’re careful, because your feet are bare, so you do the best you can to pick up every single little piece. All of this because you got lost in thought.
live for pain as you would for death
“Live for pain as you would for death” essentially meaning to prepare for pain and death without forgetting to “live” life. Those words came out a friend’s mouth over fried pickles and beer.
She compared it to something I’d said earlier about living a vulnerable life. My thoughts were as follows;
I decided to embrace who I am and who I have always been, but in recognizing it I am hoping to control it a little better. I believe I have to be vulnerable in order to achieve any sort of happiness. I can either live in seclusion from anything that could possibly hurt or change things for me and be comfortable in not feeling anything but the occasional loneliness or I can step out of these walls, open myself up to something new and terribly scary and either get slammed right on the ground or have the best experience of my life. Thing is, how do I keep from getting “slammed” and turn that into a “trip” or a “stumble”?
I am the one who always makes up some excuse for whatever is done to her. I am the one who puts a lot of the blame on herself. I try not to be the one who automatically assumes the world is out to get her. That annoys me. People are always getting so upset as if the entire human race was so caught up on intentionally making the world that much more difficult for that person. I can take that too far. And not see what is being done. Not exactly the intentional attack but the carelessness and clumsiness that placed a rock right in front of me that caused me to trip and fall flat on my face. I give reason to madness. I give justification to injustice. Somehow I feel this is an unintentional way of excusing a lot of things and mistakes I myself have made, towards myself and other people. I never thought forgiveness could be such a handicap for me. I forgive a lot, and maybe I expect forgiveness too much.
So I keep giving chances to those ahead of me. Regardless of what the person right before them has done. Do I change at all? I’m not sure. Do I keep running through the way in the maze ending up at the same dead end? “Maybe this time it will be different” I say to myself. Thing is, I really do believe that maybe this time it will be different. Why would it not be? Every person is completely different, and I can not assume that people are made definite patterns.
I so I get back up. Look at that rock, linger on what just happened. “What recklessness. What carelessness. Why did he put that there? Did he not see me walking? Wait, how foolish of me, why didn’t I walk around it? Why didn’t I see it?”
What does it take to look at what was done. Distribute the responsibility of the action and move on without being so jaded that I refuse to walk near anything or anyone who could possibly put another rock right in front of me.
It is what it is. It was what it was and it could have been something completely different than what I thought it was. It could have been exactly what I thought it was.
The right amount of vulnerability is essential. To take what I needed to take out of the situation and leave the unnecessary baggage behind. I want to be vulnerable enough to allow for great things to happen yet to be careful and aware of those rocks on the path before me, and still prepare to fall again, and get right back up. “To live for pain, as I would for death.” ,Knowing that it not only might happen but will happen, and still keep on living, in life’s fullness.
That is when God’s grace comes into the picture. It should have been since the beginning but as often as we declare his work in our lives, we hardly let him in. Where does that vulnerability come from? And where does that strength in knowing that it might lead to something really painful and hoping that it can lead to something incredibly beautiful come from? I alone can not conjure up the energy to even process the thought. Yet from him I get the overwhelming peace that it will be okay. That I will in fact fall and I will get up and walk again.
I have made myself vulnerable to many people. I have made myself vulnerable to my family, I trust them not to intentionally hurt me. I have made myself vulnerable to my friends hoping that their friendship is genuine and even though they have the ability to deceive me, they won’t. I have made myself vulnerable to many guys, who have hurt me and some who have not and I will do it again, or be alone for the rest of my life. I have made myself vulnerable to a God who I have not seen with my own eyes, but have felt in my heart, and who works I have seen in my life. I have faith and hope in his love for me and have opened myself up to him. Even when I don’t open up completely and shut him out of my life at times, he takes those areas of my life that I have given him and makes mountains out of grains of sand.
He has given me the heart to forgive and to be forgiven. I can only hope that in that strength I find more consistent peace and discernment. How do you find the right portions in vulnerability and strength? I found it through Him.
She compared it to something I’d said earlier about living a vulnerable life. My thoughts were as follows;
I decided to embrace who I am and who I have always been, but in recognizing it I am hoping to control it a little better. I believe I have to be vulnerable in order to achieve any sort of happiness. I can either live in seclusion from anything that could possibly hurt or change things for me and be comfortable in not feeling anything but the occasional loneliness or I can step out of these walls, open myself up to something new and terribly scary and either get slammed right on the ground or have the best experience of my life. Thing is, how do I keep from getting “slammed” and turn that into a “trip” or a “stumble”?
I am the one who always makes up some excuse for whatever is done to her. I am the one who puts a lot of the blame on herself. I try not to be the one who automatically assumes the world is out to get her. That annoys me. People are always getting so upset as if the entire human race was so caught up on intentionally making the world that much more difficult for that person. I can take that too far. And not see what is being done. Not exactly the intentional attack but the carelessness and clumsiness that placed a rock right in front of me that caused me to trip and fall flat on my face. I give reason to madness. I give justification to injustice. Somehow I feel this is an unintentional way of excusing a lot of things and mistakes I myself have made, towards myself and other people. I never thought forgiveness could be such a handicap for me. I forgive a lot, and maybe I expect forgiveness too much.
So I keep giving chances to those ahead of me. Regardless of what the person right before them has done. Do I change at all? I’m not sure. Do I keep running through the way in the maze ending up at the same dead end? “Maybe this time it will be different” I say to myself. Thing is, I really do believe that maybe this time it will be different. Why would it not be? Every person is completely different, and I can not assume that people are made definite patterns.
I so I get back up. Look at that rock, linger on what just happened. “What recklessness. What carelessness. Why did he put that there? Did he not see me walking? Wait, how foolish of me, why didn’t I walk around it? Why didn’t I see it?”
What does it take to look at what was done. Distribute the responsibility of the action and move on without being so jaded that I refuse to walk near anything or anyone who could possibly put another rock right in front of me.
It is what it is. It was what it was and it could have been something completely different than what I thought it was. It could have been exactly what I thought it was.
The right amount of vulnerability is essential. To take what I needed to take out of the situation and leave the unnecessary baggage behind. I want to be vulnerable enough to allow for great things to happen yet to be careful and aware of those rocks on the path before me, and still prepare to fall again, and get right back up. “To live for pain, as I would for death.” ,Knowing that it not only might happen but will happen, and still keep on living, in life’s fullness.
That is when God’s grace comes into the picture. It should have been since the beginning but as often as we declare his work in our lives, we hardly let him in. Where does that vulnerability come from? And where does that strength in knowing that it might lead to something really painful and hoping that it can lead to something incredibly beautiful come from? I alone can not conjure up the energy to even process the thought. Yet from him I get the overwhelming peace that it will be okay. That I will in fact fall and I will get up and walk again.
I have made myself vulnerable to many people. I have made myself vulnerable to my family, I trust them not to intentionally hurt me. I have made myself vulnerable to my friends hoping that their friendship is genuine and even though they have the ability to deceive me, they won’t. I have made myself vulnerable to many guys, who have hurt me and some who have not and I will do it again, or be alone for the rest of my life. I have made myself vulnerable to a God who I have not seen with my own eyes, but have felt in my heart, and who works I have seen in my life. I have faith and hope in his love for me and have opened myself up to him. Even when I don’t open up completely and shut him out of my life at times, he takes those areas of my life that I have given him and makes mountains out of grains of sand.
He has given me the heart to forgive and to be forgiven. I can only hope that in that strength I find more consistent peace and discernment. How do you find the right portions in vulnerability and strength? I found it through Him.
Thought and Emotion
Why does Thought provoke Emotion? It taunts Emotion. There sits Emotion, at the bottom of my heart, and Thought comes along and pushes it. “Remember this?” It says. “Remember those words sung so sweetly? Don’t you miss that? Don’t you want that?”
Worst part is Thought doesn’t even know what it’s talking about. It doesn’t even agree with itself. When Emotion finally gives in and says, “Yes, yes I do remember that!” As it weighs even heavier on my heart and starts kicking at the walls…Thought scolds it for being so stupid. Thought reminds Emotion that it was better without that in their lives, it was for the best.
Then Emotion, shamefully, agrees, and feels foolish for allowing itself to get so riled up. It stops kicking, and agrees to move on.
This will last for a couple of days, or at least until Thought gets bored and starts to taunt Emotion again.
Poor heart, it gets caught in the cross fire.
Worst part is Thought doesn’t even know what it’s talking about. It doesn’t even agree with itself. When Emotion finally gives in and says, “Yes, yes I do remember that!” As it weighs even heavier on my heart and starts kicking at the walls…Thought scolds it for being so stupid. Thought reminds Emotion that it was better without that in their lives, it was for the best.
Then Emotion, shamefully, agrees, and feels foolish for allowing itself to get so riled up. It stops kicking, and agrees to move on.
This will last for a couple of days, or at least until Thought gets bored and starts to taunt Emotion again.
Poor heart, it gets caught in the cross fire.
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