Enough

My heart longs deep to not just know who I am, but to whom I belong. We were born for relationship and for lack of a significant one, I find myself restless and without the proper framework and structure to hold me. It sounds like a recipe for codependency, but there’s a part of that label, that ‘diagnosis’ that I don’t agree with. We were never intended to be alone. We were created for dependency. From the beginning of time, ‘It is not good for man to be alone.’ The Creator of the Universe said so Himself. The deep unquenchable yearning is not a weakness or something that needs to be fixed, but something built into the human form. He created us in His likeness and His likeness is about relationship. And while I have friends and relationships and a wee one who carries my heart outside of my body, there still exists a fire that burns to share this life with a companion; one to whom I belong. I don’t feel like a half without this companionship. I don’t feel like I NEED someone to define who I am. But there’s something about sharing life that somehow validates existence. Not that things are not real without certain companionship; and not that I must wait to live until someone is firmly planted into my world; and not that beauty seen with only one set of eyes is not beautiful…

I know that tangible companionship is not perfect and I cannot depend on it to satisfy or complete me fully. I know that loneliness can happen even with companionship because our hearts deepest and greatest longing is for the One who knit us into our mama’s womb and it will not be fully satisfied until He takes us Home.

In the mean time and over the past many years, my heart and mind have wrestled with identity and relationship and I’ve thrown myself in many different directions to try to find this elusive thing; identity. If I am a missionary and doing something important for the least of these, I think my heart will be satisfied. If I am a photographer and capture beauty in a frame, I think my heart will be satisfied. If I am a writer and paint a picture with words of the complicated and intricate meanderings of feelings and emotions, I think my heart will be satisfied…and maybe fill the space of all my perceived inadequacies, too. But all of it…It only deepens and intensifies the longing because while each of these things is a part of who I am, they alone cannot define me. They were knit into me, but not to become me.

And the things I think I fail, the things greater than the importance of these other titles, the messy and uncomfortable things, the things I try with all my might to embrace but can’t seem to for the jagged edges that pierce so frequently…these relationships…if I was created for relationship, then I was created for this. As much as I flail and fight and yearn and need and resist and reject…all of this…is enough. To escape it, is to escape who I am. The very thing I long for is the very thing I run from.

Because I am scared.

Because relationships hurt sometimes.

But it’s the very thing that hurts us that can heal us.

And so today, as I seek to know who I am and to whom I belong, I can find some solace knowing that who I am, is enough. Right here, right now, in this moment…all that I am, and am not…is enough. The fullness and emptiness of this moment, is enough. And my sitting right in the middle of it is enough. There is no measuring device or means of comparison. I am. No-thing will change that about me or make me any more valuable or fulfilled. No man or child or other human being. No picture. No act of service. No book or written piece. No house or physical thing.

To whom I belong…I am His; the One who created the heavens and the earth; the One who knit me in and knew the number of hairs on my head before I was conceived; the One who creates masterpieces and the One who knows my heart and its deepest longing; the One who doesn’t hurt and will never leave me; the One who is the giver of all things good and knows the gifts we need and when we need them; the One who knows the perfect timing of all things. I am His, who will bring satisfaction in the way only the designer of a piece of art can understand the source of its inspiration; the One whom relationship does not hurt, and I can rest; the framework and foundation I seek. He is a parent and a friend and the lover of my soul.

And should He never arrive or gift me in the manner of human form for life long companionship… then He alone, will be enough.

(Picture borrowed from Victory A Cappella)



From the Mouths of Babes...

We were driving down a gravel road the other day and my daughter says this:

"I really like rocky roads. They take us to where we need to go and sometimes back to places we miss."

The Mama, she learns from her very wise wee one. :)

Light-in-Gale

I'm sitting in the living room of the Harbor House on a lounge chair that looks like it's made from blue pool noodles with my feet propped up on a futon. I rest my head on the back of the chair for a moment and consider the view through the large paned window. The sky is cloudy but bright and there are patches of blue scattered. A very gentle breeze rustles the leaves on the tree outside and birds sing their delicate tune. I hear the motor running of the refrigerator and the clicking of the keyboard as I begin to process the weekend's events.

I'm not sure where to begin, but it is certain that I must...begin. 

I felt compelled to come here. I love to retreat and I love to write, but this trip is pregnant with so much more than just retreating and writing. Once I arrived, it was clear that most who came, were also compelled. There was something that needed to happen here, with the select of us who were drawn in to its embrace. 

I've never been in a room full of other creatives. The spirit of this community is alive. It is raw. It is rich. For those of us who feel drawn to write, whether songs or poetry or screenplays or a blog or books or articles or whatever... the radiance that shines out of the vulnerable expression of  experience and emotion channelled through words, is intoxicating. 

One of the first exercises we did as a group was to be given a new 'gang name', as initiation into this new 'gang'/community, which embodies acceptance and mutual respect for one another's story. My name was Mama Light-in-Gale; where light shines in the storm. I find this to be true for all who are compelled to creatively express. They are the light...in the storm of their life, called to express in order to relate and bring community to the human experience of life laboring grief. As varied as people are, so too are their storms/stories. Stage four breast cancer of a very young 32 year old woman. Sudden death of a wife after giving birth to a daughter. Living death of divorce or loss of friendship.  Abuse. Abandonment.  The list can and will go on and on. Circumstance of life so wildly out of our control the only way to get through it is to process it out of the mind and heart and onto a page and hold hands with those who know the same pain. 

Pain is universal, but is and can manifest in so many different ways. And regardless of the degree of pain, whether death, terminal illness, a broken friendship, single parenthood, etc...there's no scale of comparison. He lost his wife 27 hours after giving birth to his premature daughter is vastly different than abandonment to pregnancy and single motherhood and it can be easy to invalidate our own story because it's not 'bad enough' or as bad as another's. Our pain is valid, regardless of the variety. And our story, too, deserves to be heard. Because there IS someone else out there who needs to know they're not alone in their similar pain. 

So we are challenged to be free in our pain...to shine our light in the storm. To tell our stories with reckless abandon. It's not easy to do. Stepping into vulnerability with purpose...for the purpose of reaching an audience, yet without regard for it in its expression. A reconciliation of our own soul's ache, in order to reach another, in theirs. 

As the Dawn Breaks

I'll be attending a writing retreat this coming weekend and I'm very excited for respite, for one, but also to chat with other writers and be in a writing 'space' for a few days; to be one with my thoughts and pen and/or keyboard. The resort on an island tucked into the northwestern waters of the Washington Pacific coast is the inch thick frosting on the cake of this opportunity. I am excited with a giddy anticipation for all that this little trip will hold. :)

In preparation for the trip, I read two of the authors' books to better learn about who will be presenting and to get an idea of their writing styles. Both of these books were memoirs from drastically different circumstance, but share a common thread of grief. After I finished the second one, I had a moment of panic. Because I'm a believer that all things happen for a reason and everything fits together in some form or fashion, it frightened me for a moment that somehow this could mean I should prepare myself for a grief process of my own; that something could happen requiring me to bear down and endure... And then I redirected my perspective to consider perhaps its less a preparation for personal grief, but how to understand others'. Of course that is a whole lot lighter a burden to carry than the one of impending doom...

While I was reading the second book, my heart was heavy because the author endured a grief process for ten plus years as she learned both her parents had cancer when she was 14, it taking her mom's life when she was 18, and her dad's when she was 24 or 25. For very different reasons, I could relate to the years of slogging through existence, wondering if or when the cloud will ever lift.

After I put the book down and allowed time to place certain things into their right perspective, I read a bit more into the grief process. As I read and took it in, I realized the dark cloud and mire of life the past seven years has been my very own grief process. And the light bulb was illuminated...the sliver of dawn's first light peaked over the horizon.

Grief does not just happen when a terminal diagnosis is received or there's been a sudden death or trauma. Grief happens when there's a shift in life direction, when things seem to tilt on its axis. It doesn't always have to involve trauma, but can happen with positive life events, too, like moving to a new home or job or having a baby. When the terrain of expectation we've had in our mind has changed from our own ideal, to an ideal vastly different, it takes time to find balance and a sense of comfort in the new normal. There is a grieving of all that was and thought to be; discomfort and fear break in.

Sometimes this process takes a few months and sometimes it takes years, depending on the event that threw a bucket of new color onto the future's canvas. The event for me was the day a '+' sign appeared on a little bitty stick and the walls of the bathroom stall closed in around me and my entire existence flashed before my eyes. To be clear, I was born to be a mama and always hoped and dreamed for children. But not like this. Not with a man I barely knew, who ejected pretty immediately after the news was delivered. This life altering circumstance was mine to bear alone. And it was something that never EVER crossed my mind as a possibility. Oh, I'd passively pondered and joked about artificial insemination at some point as the proverbial clock of biology ticked loudly, in case a man of permanence didn't ever come into the picture; but choosing it and it being chosen for you are on polar extremes of the spectrum.

I've struggled mightily with the joy of being a mama and the struggle of doing it alone and have failed at finding peace and reconciliation. I've wrestled with and been hard on myself for not pulling myself together in a more rapid period of time. I mean, it's been almost seven years since this journey began and sometimes I wonder if this is my lot; that I will drag this mountain behind me for the rest of my life. It is exhausting and tiring and wearying and there are moments of sunlight, but they quickly fade back into the relentlessness of the gray cloud hovering. It makes it worse when resignation and surrender seem the only options left... that this is in fact, my lot. I've tried to accept it because at least acceptance is a personal choice and it seems lighter to carry. As mentioned before, choosing circumstance is better than it being chosen for you. But I've struggled to accept it. I cannot seem to will it to happen.

Bringing everything into grief's light, however, changes the scenery. There is light, in grief. Grief is a process and it can take a very long time, but the light and hope is that it won't take forever. That there is an opening on the other side that will bring us back into the abundance of life and joy. There's no formula for how long it will take, how it will carry itself out, or how it will resolve itself, but the light will come. And this truth allows me to finally accept things where they are, accept myself for where I am, and allows the natural progression of this thing to work itself out. I can stop beating myself up for not having 'arrived' at some elusive destination in a more timely manner. I am exactly where I am supposed to be. And I can now perch on the porch of this existence with a perfect cup of coffee and watch the newness and possibility of lighter tomorrows break over the horizon in the slow, but sure manner that is as guaranteed as the air I breathe.

Just Do the Next Thing

Yesterday was Wednesday, Awana day for the girl, and grocery shopping day for the mama. It's like a mini vacation going to the store without a bouncy little appendage that touches and asks for everything. :) I like to take my time and stroll up and down the aisles...and actually see if there's anything new to discover and maybe read a label or two. A luxury I haven't had in about six years two months and two weeks.

Yesterday I savored the time bringing vittles home to nourish the bouncy little babe and I. And it was a lovely relaxing time. But when I got home, something shifted (which happens often) and I was suddenly overwhelmed. There were so many dishes in the sink (which is not a lot, but my kitchen is tiny and a cup and bowl is too much sometimes) and now groceries on the counter, and as I glanced into the dining room and living room and the messes in there, my world starts to tilt a little bit by how exhausted I am and oh my gosh, will I ever stop being so exhausted and overwhelmed?

This kind of overwhelm can be paralyzing sometimes. I can't move much or well, so the messes just get bigger and so does my anxiety. But I looked at the sink and started whispering to myself, "Just do the next thing. Just do the next thing. Just do the next thing."

And so I put the dishes in the dishwasher.

And I put the food into the refrigerator.

And I put the girl to bed.

And then I went to bed, too.

And I left the messes outside of the kitchen alone.

Because I've resigned myself to the messes of one very little, but very big creative little girl. You know when you drop a liquid and it spills and flies everywhere and you clean it up, but it seems for weeks you're still wiping up newly discovered spots and then wondering, how in the world did that get over HERE?! Yeah, that is what happens 2.5 seconds after I close the door to her room. It opens and then suddenly I'm just a visitor existing in her space, and how in the world did this get over here? It's okay if its all her space. It really is. And I know that I have very little control over anything in this life, which has been proven again and again and again, but every now and then I'd like to have a moment to recharge and regain my bearings and be refreshed enough to sit in the middle of the mess and still be able to breathe.

And its funny because I say from one side of my mouth that it is okay for my house to be a disaster because it is all hers and she's all mine and that's just perfect, and then I say out of the other side of my mouth how exhausted and overwhelmed I am by the vision of such messes... and I desperately try to find a happy medium somewhere, but...I can't. And on some days, when I'm least expecting it, I have a moment of sunshine and peace and wonder what all the fuss has been for. And then the fuss returns and I wonder how in the world do I get back that little beam of sunshine?

As I wander the interweb watching single mama's manage their kids and their jobs and their homes and their social lives and their education and their creative efforts and their boyfriends and their ministries and whatever other things there are to do with ease and grace,  I realize first of all that comparison will kill me. It will always communicate that I am not one of the super single mamas and provide a sickly dose of guilt that I'm not measuring up. Most days without thinking, I hope and pray I don't ruin this sweet little girl gifted to me because I'm an anxious bunch of crazy on more days than I'd prefer. I could never be one of 'those' kinda super single mamas.

But then I realize...I AM one of them. What I see on the outside of all the others is the same exact thing that I do every day. I juggle just like they do and no human has died or gone ker-SPLAT because I've managed to fail so horrifically that my license to live and function in this life has been revoked. I'm still existing and managing and juggling and successfully feeding and clothing and putting a roof over the wee one's head. I would even bet that most people who are not super close to me (because they know all my kindsa crazy) would think I handle things with ease and grace, too. Well now you know better. :)

Exhaustion and overwhelm are my constant companion. And I have managed to do this thing now for six years, two months and two weeks and somehow life just keeps moving onward and forward. And she seems to be a happy and balanced and well adjusted little girl. I must be doing something right. And besides the trauma I feel in many moments, I have not had many catastrophes, save those inside my head. And if there be any victories from this endeavor they've been achieved by the tiniest of actions; I just do the next thing.

And if you're a single mama who feels a little bit crazy and overwhelmed on most days, too and wonder how you will ever get through this thing alive, just remember you ARE DOING IT. Victory is and will continue to be yours by simply doing the next thing.

There are some seasons that just require a certain fortitude only achieved by wee movements into the next thing.

From an old English parsonage, down by the sea
There came in the twilight a message to me;
Its quaint Saxon legend, deeply engraven,
Hath, as it seems to me, teaching from Heaven.
And on through the hours the quiet words ring
Like a low inspiration–”DO THE NEXT THING.”

 

Many a question, many of fear,
Many a doubt, hath its quieting here.
Moment by moment, let down from Heaven,
Time, opportunity, guidance, are given.
Fear not tomorrows, Child of the King,
Trust them with Jesus, “DO THE NEXT THING.”

 

Do it immediately; do it with prayer;
Do it reliantly, casting all care;
Do it with reverence, tracing His Hand
Who placed it before thee with earnest command.
Stayed on Omnipotence, safe ‘neath His wing,
Leave all resultings, “DO THE NEXT THING.”

 

Looking to Jesus, ever serener,
(Working or suffering) be thy demeanor,
In His dear presence, the rest of His calm,
The light of His countenance be thy psalm,
Strong in His faithfulness, praise and sing,
Then, as He beckons thee, “DO THE NEXT THING.”

(Source Unknown, however, referrenced often by Elisabeth Elliott)

 

(picture with permission from www.gracelaced.com)