Everything is going to be o.k. (?)

Remember the 1965 version of  Cinderella with Lesley Ann Warren and the song "in my own little corner, in my own little chair?" Well, this isn't a corner - it is more of a cubby - an awkward little space between two closets and here I sit. This was my daughter's chair - one of the Ikea Paong chair. I always loved to sit in the chair at her house and one visit, she sent it home with me. I still love it. So comfy. I sit in it, a place I go to hide, to be alone. A place to sit, watch movies, read or blog.
My poor blog. It has become a dark, sad place to go. People ask me if I am still blogging and I say "some - but you don't want to read it." I know everyone has to deal with their own grief in their own way. A lot of people don't want to hear about it - or think it should be over. The first year is hard - the year of firsts without her. And, it will never be over. When you lose someone you love, you just have to try to learn to live without them. The people who are the most understanding are those who have lost their mother, or had a similar painful loss.
Mother died in March and then my new granddaughter was born in June and then my son married in July and then I went to see my girls in the middle of August and ever since I returned home I just kind of fell off. I haven't been working out which isn't good. I'm not as cheerful and enthusiastic and happy as I normally am. I've made some bad decisions and I'm sure that is part of it all. It is kind of like when you go through a divorce - you feel crazy and you are grasping and trying to find something that will make it o.k. and for a long while, nothing really feels o.k.
Ever feel like the whole world is mad at you? I feel like that. And, it isn't the whole world - it is some people who will never understand how I feel about a certain subject. I stood up for myself and now things are a mess. I find myself wondering how or if things will ever get worked out. I have apologized, but was told it was "too late." It is never too late. What if people just didn't apologize? And I do know people like that who think "they will get over it." What do you do when you apologize and it isn't accepted? I was told my words were meaningless. My words are not meaningless. And even if the apology doesn't mean anything to the one who said that to me (who was not the person I apologized to), my apology is still there.
I find myself wishing I was Catholic. I don't even know too much about the Catholic faith, but I want to be absolved. I want to talk to a kindly old Father - someone like Father Tim in Jan Karon's books. (He is actually an Episcopalian.) I want a wrinkled, old, warm, soft hand, the skin on the back of the hand covered in liver spots, to pat mine and tell me everything will be o.k. I want to look into kindly clear blue eyes that are filled with care and love and understanding. I want someone to tell me what to do, how to fix this mess.
You know that smell in an old church? I love that smell. That Christmas eve, baby dedication, funeral, cold Easter morning smell. The smell of years of furniture polish rubbed into gleaming old wood, of wool coats in winter, of old pages in song books, of candles snuffed out and holiness. That is what holiness smells like to me. I want to slide into a pew and listen to a sermon of compassion and encouragement.  I want to sit in the congregation and feel that the minister is looking right at me and he knows what I'm going through.
I sound as if I am a pile of mush on the floor.I'm not. I go to work. I work hard. I am good at my job. I have this house clean, finally - prompted by a guest - I am a neat freak, but had not really cleaned probably since I lost mother. My house is clean. The pumpkins and gourds and mums are in place, the fall scented candles about the house. I keep moving. I keep walking, putting one foot in front of another. And I anticipate the next visit to my son's or daughter's and the happiness I feel in those visits -  a little hand in mine, a little girl yelling "grandma!" A baby making eye contact and smiling.
Some how, some way, everything is going to be o.k.
Maybe I'm not the only one who needs to hear those words.

art therapy and more

Last night, I had to have some art therapy. You know the kind...when you sit down and all of the bad stuff just ooozes away? Plus, I made something for someone else and I always feel better when I do something for someone else and take my mind off of myself.

I didn't have a great day, yesterday. Most of my days are good. For the most part, my life is good. But yesterday, some yuckiness surfaced. It was dealt with and resolved, but painful. I always joke that my blog is "the life I wish I had." For the most part, I am realistic about my life- I just usually tend to leave the bad parts out. There are not a lot of bad parts in my life, but when life gets yucky, I tend to shut down. Maybe it is self-preservation- like a turtle pulling her head into her shell. I just tend to retreat and don't have a lot to say. If I am quiet, I usually don't feel well or something is wrong. My friend and colleague, Mary Jo, is moving to a different department at the university. I will miss her and made this for her going-away gift.

I made it last night and gave it to her, today. She likes birds.

I have been reading our book club selection, which was my choice, and I like the book a lot. It makes me think about a lot of different things. I am in the middle section where she is at the spiritual retreat place, (ashram) and the way she learns to seek God through prayer and meditation is interesting. I don't feel I've ever really meditated, although I have spent what I would consider a great time in prayer. Prayer isn't something I would want to lie about, but I believe I pray every day at some point or another during the day. If no other time, when I go to bed, before going to sleep. It helps me to relax. I've written about my faith in the past. I believe faith is a very personal part of my life. I don't like people to be in my face about things, or shove stuff down my throat. I know what I know. I don't really enjoy arguing politics or religion. And I don't like judgmental people who tell me I'm not this or that I'm that. There is only One who may judge me. Overall, at this point in my life, I feel as if I am fairly liberal, but I take comfort in my faith.

When I went to bed last night, I was still feeling sad and I cried as I prayed. I asked God to show his love to me and that I might feel his touch in a special way today.

When I first moved to Bloomington, I went to work at a law firm. I didn't really care for working at the law firm and was only there for three months before I got on at the university, but in that time, I made some good friendships. I call them "my law girls." They are both about the same age as my daughter. (Mid-late twenties.) We had not seen one another for while, so I emailed to see if they would like to go to lunch today and one of them said yes. I felt so much better after seeing her and talking with her. So, I felt as if my prayer had been answered.

Today was a good day. I was tired because I didn't sleep very well and didn't feel great, because my angst tends to affect me physiologically, too- but it was a good day. I will sleep better tonight.

"Take up thy cross and follow me."

I try to take different routes to work. Sometimes I drive through town and sometimes I head north via State Road 37N. This past week I took 37N. Then I take the bypass to head back towards town. The first day I saw this man I almost drove off of the road gawking at him. My initial reaction was "WHAT was that?"

As I've told you, I usually try to have my Nikon with me at all times. Yesterday, I just hit my flashers and pulled to the side of the road to shoot these photos. facing east towards the sun
he walked back and forth

shot these looking west, with the sun at my back

modern day Christ in blue jeans and a flannel shirt

The scripture says: "If anyone wishes to come after me, let him deny himself and take up his cross and follow me." Mark 8:34

(Just one of several scriptures with this admonishment.)

I have read stories in the newspaper about men carrying crosses, but had never seen anyone in person. It was interesting. It did make me think. I wondered if he was doing it for his own personal satisfaction or what? He apparently wanted others to see him as he walked back and forth over the bypass. I wanted to go up and walk with him and ask him a lot of questions...what do you hope to accomplish, why are you doing this, have you done this in years past? Was he a minister or just a follower or just someone living their faith walk?

I shot these photos yesterday morning and I was glad I did, because he wasn't there this morning.

Tell me the old, old story - in a brand new way.

I just finished reading this book. The church I grew up in was the Foursquare Pentecostal. This wiki link explains it well enough. After my divorce at age thirty, I basically left the church. I still love to attend there and do so on a rare occasion with my parents. I now live two hours away from the church in New Castle where I attended. My membership will remain there until the day I die. PBS recently ran a very interesting show on the life of our founder, Aimee Semple McPherson. I just googled PBS to share the link with you and found they have featured her twenty-nine times. My great-grandma told me that Sister Aimee was quite scandalous in her day. I admired her just because she was a leader in days when it was unheard of for a woman to be a leader, never mind a leader in the church. Now, when I do attend, I attend this church, which is a good place of spirituality for both Doug and I. I love this poem, which sums up how I now feel:

My church has but one temple,
Wide as the world is wide,
Set with a million stars,
Where a million hearts abide.

My church has no creed to bar
A single brother man
But says, "come thou and worship"
To ever one who can.

My church has no roof nor walls,
Nor floors save the beautiful sod
For fear, I would seem to limit
The love of the illimitable God.
author unknown.

All these years, I have carried my faith inside. It is personal and I keep it close in my heart. And when I feel as if I am most at worship, I am in nature.

As I finished this book, there were tears running down my cheeks. The scene where his eyes are touched so that he might see as they see was beautiful. Each creature worshipping. It brought to mind all of the places where I have found most holy- the Smokey mountains of Tennessee, the Rockies of Colorado, sitting beside Lawn Lake with a sky full of stars pressing down on me at midnight, the Boundary Waters of Minnesota, the Grand Canyon, sunset at Cedar Bluffs which is very near my house, laying in the grass to photograph daffodils and literally hearing the grass growing...these are the times I listen and hear and see the majesty of His Holiness. These are the times I am in awe and worship.

I found William P. Young's interpretation of an age old story to be amazing. No matter what your belief is regarding your faith, if you haven't read this book, I would urge you to do so. It is beautiful.

Thank you, Debbie, for loving me enough to share this story with me! Love you! Me.
Debbie & me at my party the day I graduated from Ball State University, 5/5/07.