A Letter

Dear H,

We've been through a lot, you and me. We've gone to some very dangerous places together. You never listened to me very well- but then, I wasn't very assertive so I suppose you didn't know you had to. 

I never understood how you could be deceitful and the wellspring of my life. But I understand a bit better now. In your quest to be lovely, you trespass into places you shouldn't go. My dear, you've got to just let yourself be- where you are. There you are enough. But you chase things that aren't good for you and in your desperation you become deceitful. Anything to get what you want, even tricking me. It's rude you know, you know it doesn't work. 

You only hurt yourself- and the rest of me, with your schemes to get what you want. But you don't know what you want. And more importantly, what you need. When you let yourself just be, you realize, I know you do, that you have everything you want and everything you need. When you look around you, you understand. 

My dear, I can't keep you safe. Every minute, I can give you to the One who can. That is what I can do. That is all I can do. That has to be enough for you. You have to accept that. This is no longer containable inside of me. Darling, I'm giving you up. I know the warnings to guard you and keep you safe, but I've tried and I don't know how to treat you right. So I'm giving you up. Please accept that. 

I understand now, I hope you do too.

Sincerely,

P

My heart has been feeling rather raw. Perhaps it is the time of the month, probably partially at least. It has reasons that do not want shared here. But tonight I walked down to the river, just as the sun was starting to set, and I sat and relaxed and then I called my friend. We talked for half an hour- the deep things, and then I swung swang swinged on the swings for a long time. Then I walked home, getting home just before it became all the way dark. 

Some things I was thinking about:

How amazing it is that when I am swinging, nothing else matters. It is just me and J. I am God's girl and that is all. Just me and J and the sky.

America is (just) a place. Like any other place. It's just different in that I know the language and the culture and I look like the people around me. It's quiet in my town, generally, and there is space. But it is still a place like every other place.

I have to choose to choose J.

I have amazing lady friends. :)

stream

What do you want to do, she asks me. I have to fight the urge to grimace. ummm I don't know, I say. I want to work with people. 

They laugh. Good. Most jobs you work with people.

We talk some more, me fumbling over my words, trying to express.

She asks if the international part appeals strongly to me.

Yes, of course, but then I say I feel sort of called to America. The call word slips out. I meant to say pulled. I correct myself, but it's already out there. Is it true? DO I feel called to America? Or is it just a slip?

And then too late I remember, who knows what will bring in money to pay the bills, but I want to bring life to the empty.

It's cloudy and cool. June 5th, and 70 degrees all day.

Guests for dinner- she used to live on my street, and now she lives in Maine- my home Maine- my home where I've never lived for longer than a few weeks at a time. And another neighbor, one who is also her friend.

My mama asks if she can pray for the meal. I love that. I file that away in my head to pray for meals out loud with friends. Especially when it is food I have cooked. It just sounds so loving, so genuine.

We have pierogi soup. Usually a winter meal, perfect for this cool day. And salad with strawberries and bread. It is delicious, and even better, it is four women sitting together, ice water with lemon and soup. Bright inside, drab outside.

It sort of awakens something in me- or stirs something. I sit up straighter. This is what I want to do. I want to love people with food and generosity and prayer. I want to cook for people- provide things they need.

Then we drink tea. Mine is green, with lotus.

Full.

stirs something in me that has been bubbling for weeks.

june 4

Some days the words just spew and my heart remembers that it loves you.

I think there is an adolescent blue bird on the roof outside my window, hopping around loudly. I like it.

I took a walk this morning in the fresh blue morning air because my heart needed it. Always does, I think, but today my mind agreed.  And as I walked I remembered why quiet walks with J are so good. Because when I let myself just be as I am supposed to, little young me taking a walk down my street staring at the sky, I can remember that I am God’s child, and that is my identity, and that is all I need. When I let my heart just swell with love I remember that God is all I want. Just to be with him.

And standing here at my kitchen window staring out at these adolescent blue birds being just as they were purposed to be and staring at the sky, it just awes me. A blue sky will never cease to amaze me, and it shouldn’t. Staring at that blue snaps me out of my entitlement and brings me into grace.

Even the wind and waves obey Him. I have no reason to be anxious.

When I take myself out of the busyness, when I close the computer and turn off the music and go outside, I get to enter into something so rich. To step on the ground that no hand even had a part in creating…

In suburban Ohio, or the Himalayas, His hand is the same. His heart is the same. He is the same.

The blue sky captures my eyes with splendor. The grey sky reminds my eyes that the ground is beautiful too.

(before the throne)

....later....

This morning was totally great. Walking, painting, drinking water. And then my heart went askew and the day went down hill. 

and then M said she wanted to skype. Skype wasn't working so I took my phone outside (no service in) and I walked around in the beautiful night- full, GORGEOUS moon and the stars and wispy clouds and we had suuuuuch a good talk and my day brightened. 

and then A and A were being amazing on facebook. not as good as real life but it was still life-giving. and beautiful.

goodnight.

A Sunday afternoon panic

You wouldn’t know it to look at me. It feels like my insides are being twisted and pulled apart. “She’s not feeling well” says my mother. Understatement. I feel like I’m dying. It’s a loud, aching pain, unable to stand or sit or lie down comfortably. So I pace back and forth in this small room until I am dizzy. I walk around the block, fast, standing up straight, doesn’t help. I swing, doesn’t help. I pace. I’m hot then cold. I press my hands into my stomach, hard. No relief. I take two pills, think to myself, how long to sink in? They don't sink in. I wonder if the pain would be so much worse without them, or if I just wasted two swallows. How many hours of this? 

You wouldn’t know it to look at me. I think I’ll just go camp out In the bathroom.

This is a whole different animal. Whole different kind of pain. Woah.

There needs to be a support group for people with angry uteruses. 24/7 support.

Phewph. At two hours in, the pain meds have apparently either sunk in a bit or the cramps are dissipating. Still a twinge of pain, but not ANYTHING like before.

Thank You Jesus.


...and then the headache hits. and honestly, I'd rather be pacing around feeling like my insides are being ripped out than headaches.

I desperately need to spill.
Over cocoa or ice cream.

Five Minute Friday: See

Here's the rules: Write about this word (see) for five minutes flat, whatever comes to your mind. And then click publish. No editing, no worrying, just let yourself be.

Everything has begun to look like poetry.

This rainy day, with wind.

The goal to read to page 150 and then we’ll make cookies.

This desk light making my fingers gold on these black keys.

I am glad I can see

and/but I am sure that if my eyes stopped seeing colored shapes or/and my glasses broke, the seeing would be different, but not gone. I am sure that I would see with textures and the poetry would be the same.

And sounds. Birds and wind and Aradhna’s desperate songs.

And I am sure that if my eyes vanished, my ears and hands would take care of this need to watch.

Everything, everything has begun to look like poetry.