Thin Places and Mountain Tops

(A sneaky beginning to a glorious story of a tribe of women, buffalo women, who finally met each other face to face after years of interacting online. Actually, this is just a teaser. . .)

These are pictures from one of my favorite "thin places," a small open-air chapel. I've posted pictures of the building before. It had been a very long time since I'd been here, and I needed the visit.

I googled and found this article that did a decent job of writing about thin places. I've included some of my favorite parts below:

"I’m drawn to places that beguile and inspire, sedate and stir, places where, for a few blissful moments I loosen my death grip on life, and can breathe again. It turns out these destinations have a name: thin places. . .

Thin places relax us, yes, but they also transform us — or, more accurately, unmask us. In thin places, we become our more essential selves. . .

Yet, ultimately, an inherent contradiction trips up any spiritual walkabout: The divine supposedly transcends time and space, yet we seek it in very specific places and at very specific times. If God (however defined) is everywhere and “everywhen,” as the Australian aboriginals put it so wonderfully, then why are some places thin and others not? Why isn’t the whole world thin?

Maybe it is but we’re too thick to recognize it. Maybe thin places offer glimpses not of heaven but of earth as it really is, unencumbered. Unmasked." Eric Weiner

I can think of several places right now that qualify for me as thin places. Most of them are simple places: the Baptist camp where I spent weeks in the summer and later worked as a teen and an adult, the retreat center where I did my first silent retreat, often our place in the country qualifies, and sometimes, oddly enough, I feel it in a cemetery, mostly when I also have my camera. There are other places, come to think of it, where I experience the feel of being in a thin place, mostly when I have my camera. Like the author says, the thin places are where we become our more "essential selves."

Speaking of becoming my more essential self, let my say here that being with my tribe of women on that weekend in Caprock Canyon was both a "mountaintop" experience and a "thin place" experience. It feels, in some ways, disrespectful to write too much about the experience. I will say here, now, that I had high expectations for the visit, and it was way more than I ever could have expected. Using the word "glorious" would not be an exaggeration in describing it. I have pictures, and I have more to say, but I am still savoring the whole glorious experience.

Easter Wedding

Easter Sunday was also the day of my son’s best friend’s wedding,

a bittersweet event.

There were tears of joy, there were tears of grief and sadness.

People asked:

Why?
Why have a wedding on Easter Sunday?

Don’t they know people have other things to do on Easter Sunday?

Oh, how I love this young man. 

He hugged on me and loved on me and kissed me and patted my back 

and stomped his foot and said:

“Dammit, he shoulda been here.”

And we all cried at the poignant truth of his words.

Still, what better day than Easter Sunday to celebrate love and a new marriage?

There is so much good with the bad,

so much happiness with the sadness,

or maybe it's the other way around:

much bad with the good,

much sadness with the happiness,

I don't know.

What I do know is that life goes on.

Beautiful brides still smile as they hold the hands of their husband to be

and speak their vows of love.

Even as mourning mothers watch,

their eyes brimming with joy and sorrow.

Meeting SpookyRach

 

One of the reasons I keep writing here is because it is an outlet for me, a way to put down some of my stories and thoughts and observations. It’s not so much a journal as is my written journal (and for some reason, I have not written there so much since my son died) but it is a repository of the stories that are uniquely mine (and yet, I find, are also shared by many others). I realized this as I reread the whole blog over several days while putting categorical “labels” on most of the posts. I knew then that if nobody else ever read what is written here, or commented on it, the blog would still hold value for me as a sort of "memory box," evidence of a life; my life.

But the other reason I continue to write here is because I seek connections with others who are creative, or are hurting, or who value growth in whatever form that takes for them.  And, amazingly enough, I have made a few! One of the things on my “Unofficial Bucket List” is to meet some (several, as many as I can?) of my blogging friends in real life. 

This past Tuesday, June 5, 2012, that is exactly what I did! I met SpookyRach! In the cemetery! We took pictures! It was so much fun! I brought along a real life friend who had also hit it off with Rachel and really, we had a blast.

In real life, I don't do well at meeting new people (although in so many ways, Rach is not new to me). I am very quiet, and it takes me a while to warm up to people and start talking. I was not worried, but very curious about how it would go. What if we had nothing to say to each other? What if we didn’t hit it off at all? What if she really was an axe murderer? Silly me! I brought along a real life friend who had also hit it off with Rachel online and really, we had a blast.

We stayed in the cemetery (actually, it was SEVEN cemeteries in one area) for quite a while taking pictures and talking and getting extremely hot. It was funny how quickly we went from "just a little awkward” to settling into a groove and feeling like we had all seen each other just last week at some other cemetery. SpookyRach and my friend Denise are quite entertaining in the cemetery. We left around one, looking for lunch, where we met her family. They are just as delightful and personable as Rachel is. 

I’ve been blogging since 2004 and I’ve finally had a blogger meet-up! I hope eventually to get to have many more. 

Rach, it was so much fun to finally meet you, and getting to meet your precious family was lagniappe (I won’t tell anyone about the hugging, won’t mention anything about your sweet and friendly demeanor….).

(So many of the statues in these cemeteries have been damaged over the years by various storms. This poor woman had no thumbs (wish I'd look around to see if I could have found either of them laying on the ground-that would have been a cool, and most appropriate!, memento of the trip!) and both her hands were wired together. I put them in black and white here, and may eventually do some sort of "thang" with them. I'll probably try to post more photos here soon. I have another couple of blog posts brewing in my head and want to devote more of my time to blogging. If you are interested, I have the deal set up at the top right column where you can sign up to receive new posts by email...)

Weather Vanes and Decision Making

I know a lot of people aren't bothered with this problem at all. I am trying to learn not to be bothered with it but it is a hard habit to break.

I've been thinking about reopening my Etsy shop. On the one hand, I'm telling myself I need to take myself seriously and on the other hand I am telling myself I shouldn't take myself too seriously. After that brilliant discussion, my inner gremlins start coming out of the woodwork and they tell me all kinds of ugly things!

I just have to get a little balance and make a few decisions. It doesn't have to be perfect right from the start. Does it (raising weather vane in the air)? It is probably quite natural that things would evolve gradually.

Anyway, I've been thinking. Let's hope all the thinking eventually leads to action!

Changes!

I've changed things around! I don't know that I am totally satisfied with what I have done but I will sit with the way it is for now.

I'm still walking around with my drain pouch and my ear helmet and my gauze "scarf" wrapped around my neck. The pain is easing off a bit but I'm still not up to full speed. There are times when I think I could make a run to Michael's or to the bookstore but then I remember, I look sort of like Frankenstein's bride! I go back to the doctor on the 5th of March. Hopefully he will remove the drain tube and maybe take out the stitches and staples and let me get back to work! Back to my new theoretical normal!

Most of you may have already seen this but I thought I'd put it up here anyway. I keep thinking I heard someone say exactly this, and wondering if I should try to figure out who it was or where it was I heard it so I can give proper credit. But on the other hand, it is something that has been said for years in many different ways so it is a common sentiment.

I cleaned and reorganized my art room over the Mardi Gras holiday and I'm anxious to get in there and do some stuff but I don't know what I want to do!

Loyal

 The vase came in last week and they mounted it on the vault. You can barely see it but it is a cross shaped vase on all four sides. It wasn't until I got away that I realized I did not get a good picture of the vase. I was enamored with the fact that I could sit on my grandmother's tombstone  and rest my feet on my son's vault. I don't think she would mind. :) Three times up there and I'm just now figuring out how to make myself comfortable! Red geraniums please me to no end, even if they are just silk.

 Don't know if you can see it but my grandmother's name was Loyal. Seems like a fitting place for me to be a sitting. My husband took this photo for me. He took it about five times before he got it like I wanted it. We were unusually patient with each other. He doesn't usually participate in my artsy-fartsy escapades.

I have realized with great sadness that I don't have a recent picture of just me and my son together. Neither one of us liked having our picture taken and both of us were very crafty at avoiding having our picture taken. Now, thanks to our silly stubbornness, I suppose this one will have to do.

Strong Women Do Cry

I went Friday morning to do blood work for my primary care doctor's appointment. I did not have a copy of my orders so I had to sit and wait a few minutes for the receptionist to find the paperwork. I was a bit stressed at having to wait because I was afraid I was going to be late for work.

While I was sitting and waiting and watching all the other people go in ahead of me, tears started slipping out my eyes and down my face. It was like the whole last two months was washing over my brain and leaking out my eyes. I sniffled a few minutes and tried to keep anyone else from noticing. Finally, I got my "number" and was called in to have my blood drawn. I was still discreetly sniffling.

I sat down at the chair and saw that it would be more convenient for the blood lady to take blood from my right arm. But my left arm is the better arm for getting blood. And I had so recently had all that struggle at the hospital with them trying to draw blood and get medicine into me through my veins. I was fighting not to lose it. So I spoke up for myself and told her it would probably be better to use my left arm. Then I told her in the briefest and calmest way possible that I had been in the hospital in November, had surgery and came home and my son died and somehow this experience today just brought it all back and she didn't say much but she got me a couple of tissues and proceeded very gently to work on taking blood from my left arm while I mutter something to myself about how "they" said it would hit you at odd times and I just couldn't help it that "it" had hit me at this time.

Sometimes you don't want to tell your whole life story but you do want to get across that the reason you are upset and crying is not just that you are a big fat wuss about having your blood drawn.

I've been so strong through all of this. And I've told anyone who marvels at my strength that it is God's grace that is holding me up. 

My inner Pollyanna is often conflicted. She knows there will be brighter days but she can't deny the presence of all the misery that surrounds her these days. I'm working to convince her that it is not a negation of God's grace if we just sit down a little while and allow ourselves to shed a few tears without worrying about having to be strong and discreet in our mourning.

Lamentations

I go back to work tomorrow. I have thank you cards yet to write and I can't get myself motivated to do them. There has been so much kindness and thoughtfulness and I am very grateful, but I still feel a bit lost in the wilderness and can't get myself to sit down and write those notes. I'm embarrassed that I have not done them yet.

There are things I need to get done and worked out at work before I can schedule my second surgery.

I'd really like to crawl in a hole somewhere and hide for another month or two.

This is not the shape in which I thought I'd be entering into 2012. No, it's not.

I know things will get better, or easier, or both, but right now things are tough.

It snowed the night before he died. This is the last text I received from him, with the simple caption of "snowman", as if I couldn't figure it out! Earlier, he'd told me he liked it up there and he was learning a lot.

It takes a lot for me to leave that cigarette in the snowman's mouth. It is a painful, embarrassing (and now public) reminder of lifestyle choices he made that I would never have approved of, choices that were way off the track of the things I had dreamed for him. But, on the other hand, he was so much more than just the painful, embarrassing and public crummy choices he made.

He had friends who loved him so much and who will miss him, friends who spoke of his good and kind heart, friends who could not save him, just like his mother couldn't save him. And he leaves the biggest, fattest hole in all our hearts.

I am grateful for my faith, that tells me he is at peace, that tells me there is hope for those of us who are continuing our journeys without him, grateful for healing that will come, though there will be scars.

Yesterday in church, we heard of another family who lost their son under similar circumstances. Such sadness. And another family was there with a son-in-law who has been in rehab and was out on a visitation pass. Such hope. I thought of all us mothers and family members who have such hopes and dreams for their sons and loved ones. Life can be such a bittersweet experience.

Dadburn Mountains, Horizons and Never Arriving

Yeah, I know I just put this "thang" up in yesterday's post! The message is still very important to me, but there was a nagging problem with it. I couldn't quite put my finger on what was bugging me. After reading this essay (go read it, I love it, isn't it the most beautiful thing?), I was able to do a better job of figuring out what it was about my words that sort of bothered me.  

The problem for me is the words “you are being made whole.” They imply that there is a place to which I will arrive which will be better than where (or who) I am now and when I have arrived there, I will be something, which to me equals something like this: if I am now broken and then eventually made whole, then I am worthy. But if I am presently broken, then I must now be an old piece of crap.

When I read, “I will not get to the mountains. I’ve been told as much, but you can’t swallow this kind of knowledge until you have some perspective,” I thought of a friend who often reminds me that we never truly arrive. And just now, in writing this, I am also reminded of my favorite quote from photographer W. Eugene Smith, “Never have I found the limits of the photographic potential. Every horizon, upon being reached, reveals another beckoning in the distance. Always, I am on the threshold.” All of these messages are hard words for me to swallow.

Oh how I have complained about always being on the threshold. How hard I have worked at trying to figure out how to arrive faster so that I can finally let go and sit down and quit struggling! And yet, here is the “why” of why I can’t put too much stock in my “message” that “though I am broken, I am being made whole.” If I am spending too much time looking forward to being made whole, then I am not spending enough time looking at the ground that is beneath my feet right now. It is as he says, “If you can’t reach the mountains, you might as well get to know the trail.” And if I am not aware of the ground that I am presently standing on, I am not living, I am wasting my travels.

Wow. Just think, if one can accept that you will not reach the mountains, or that you will not arrive, or that there will be another horizon, one can quit struggling so hard. Whoa. That is a whole 'nother level of enlightenment for me! I'll have to think some more on that one!

(I've written before about Eugene Smith's quote and what it means to me, griped about never "arriving," about always having another horizon. Check it out if you are interested: Blooming Late, It's Better Than Not Blooming At All and Walking To Paradise Garden, One Day at a Time. What a blast from the past!)

Freedom

I wrote an idea for a thang in my notebook, about how joy is supposed to come in the morning, and how sometimes the night lingers on for so long. Late in this morning's church service a woman came and sat beside me. I was a bit sprawled out and had to readjust to make room for her. She smiled and said "excuse me." I soon realized her husband was across the aisle. There was not so much room for them to sit together. He is the man who has been battling cancer for a couple of years. There is nothing more he can do. The cancer is in a knot on his neck and they can't stop the growth or remove it. At this point there is nothing for him to do but wait for the growth to run into that artery (the one my father just had surgery on) and for it to burst, killing him instantly. But the man keeps on living. He is not dead yet. How I admire that in him. And he says he would not trade this experience for anything, for he has learned to live, and has moved closer to God, and relationships have been healed. He has experienced a very long night. He looks gray with death but he is living until he dies. That man is free.

I hesitate now to say I want that kind of freedom, because I don't know if I am willing to pay the price. . .

Tales of the Hapless, Nervous Photographer

I was chatting on Facebook the other night with a friend and she said this about faith. I liked it a lot and asked if would be okay for me to use it in one of my “thangs” when the proper photograph presented itself. She said it was fine with her and I began to think of what photo I might use. This is a boat (a pirogue, actually) she and I have often noticed on one of the local bayous. It is in sort of an out of the way spot and most people would not notice it. But we noticed and often said we wanted to get a picture of it before it disappears. They are doing construction on a small bridge in that area and I don’t know if the person who owns the boat will be able to keep their boat their much longer. I decided I wanted a photo of that boat for this “thang.”

As it is, the land around where the boat is tied is messy from the construction and the dirt they have brought in. And I am such a nervous photographer when it comes to getting pictures like this (I know, I just need to get over myself! No one is concerned about that crazy lady down there in the red shirt taking pictures!). I had to park on a short cement drive very close to the road. Then I had to get out of the car and walk a little ways to get closer to the boat. The grass needed mowing and it was still a little wet from recent rains. I was wearing flip flops in high grass near water. That is not real smart. There could have been snakes in the grass!

As I was maneuvering my way through the grass and trying to figure out my best plan to get to the boat, I was trying to get my lens cap off my camera. I also had my cell phone in my hand. The camera strap was around my neck (I’m not that dumb!) but I dropped the lens cap in the grass. I looked and looked for it but could not find it. I was so self-conscious because I figured people driving by on the road and could see me (with my butt up in the air) looking for something in the grass. And of course I had on the brightest reddest shirt I owned (note to self: buy some camouflage t-shirts).

Finally I decided getting the picture was more important than finding the lens cap so I moved from the high grass onto what I thought was firm ground. It looked like packed sand. But as I took a few steps more and more of it started sticking to my flip flops and I started to slip and slide a bit. Then I started to sink. I moved over to a grassy spot that looked solid but it was also sinking (and then I said to myself, “oh, self, you should have told someone where you were going this fine morning that might also be your last morning”). I had to move further away to get to more grass like the tall grass I had started in and then I had to step over some black mesh to get closer to the edge of the bayou, where it was easier to walk. 

I took my pictures and fiddled around a little while. I usually get into a zone when I am taking pictures and I forget all about being self-conscious. When I finished I went back to the spot where I dropped my lens cap and looked again for it but did not find it. I came back home and worked a bit with the photos I’d gotten and this is what I did. Then I took myself to Best Buy and bought me another lens cap. Because I would have just died if I had not been able to replace that thing this very day.

Truth is I am standing on wobbly ground right now (sometimes it doesn’t seem like I ever get very far from it). I told this same friend sometimes I think being “on the edge” is supposed to be my place of service, the place where I let my little light shine. But it’s not shining too brightly at this present moment. This is a temporary thing. I know it will pass. But in the meantime, I sort of wish I had me a little red-trimmed row boat to paddle around in.

Whole Hearted Living (Brené Brown)

"Wholehearted living is about engaging in our lives from a place of worthiness. It's about cultivating the courage, compassion, and connection to wake up in the morning and think, No matter what gets done and how much is left undone, I am enough. It's going to bed at night thinking, Yes, I am imperfect and vulnerable and sometimes afraid, but that doesn't change the truth that I am also brave and worthy of love and belonging."  Brené Brown

I mentioned in a post on July 17^th that I was taking an online class that would likely “drag up a bunch of stuff for me to deal with”. Well, it’s hard to believe but that class is ending now and I have a few things to say about the experience.

First, let me tell you what I told a dear friend about this class:

"She (Brené Brown) has these "badges" on her blog that are for putting on your own blog. One says "I choose authenticity" and the other says "I choose to live and love with my whole heart." That's what the course is theoretically leading up to. I will make a little progress but I will never be able to choose authenticity or to live and love with my whole heart. Never. I can't let go like that." --Me

For a long while now, I have just been trying to work on accepting the “fact” that I am just hopelessly broken and can only go so far in my personal growth. I considered the idea of worthiness and living and loving with my whole heart as being totally out of my reach because of that “brokenness.” 

For a long while now, I have also lived with a very guarded heart. I feel like I’ve kept it fairly well hidden, that I was good at pretending and playing along at being open, but when it was just me, myself and I, I knew the truth, and that truth was (and still is, to some degree), I will only let people so far into my heart. I am very protective of me. And all the vulnerability stuff she talks about? Don’t even get me started on that! I HATE vulnerability! But there were some things I heard in this class that meant a great deal to me. One of the things I heard was that you can’t have community without vulnerability. And I know that I desire a sense of community so I guess I am going to take some risks. (And of course, the very safe and protective part of me is saying, “Remember, she said to tell your story to people who have earned the right to hear it, in relationships that can bear the weight of the story.” So yes, I will still be somewhat guarded, I suppose, but I will also be more mindful about paying attention to the possibilities of connection and less worried about self-protection. And now that other part of me is also saying, “Remember, she said you won’t do this perfectly.” Now THAT’S a more helpful reminder, Miss Safe and Protective part of me!)

I was not always this way and I have my suspicions as to why I became this way. I think part of it has to do with one of my first great sorrows (see quote in the photo below). I may write more about that sorrow one of these days. At the very least, I will spend some time in my journal trying to pull apart the threads. Maybe healing will come in that area of pain. I’d sure like that.

Goodness, I haven’t said anything about what this is really all about! It’s really about SHAME and how people experience shame in their lives and how nobody wants to talk about it. The very same friend who I told I would never be able to choose to live and love with my whole heart was the first to gently point out that some of the things I said and believed about myself come from a place of shame (give credit where credit is due, he is not a “normal” everyday friend, he is a therapist, so he knows about these things!). So when I heard Brené’s talk on shame and vulnerability, believe me, my ears perked up and, give me credit where credit is due, I KNEW she was talking about stuff I desperately needed to hear. 

So, today, I have added the dadgum badges. They will remind me of the life I hope to live, of the person I’d like to be. We were asked early in the class which things we might take on our journey into this new experience and which things we would leave behind. Two of the things I said I’d leave behind were the lock that goes on my heart and the shield that covers my heart. Lord knows, that shield is heavy and as I’ve said before, “a locked heart is a useless heart”.

"When we start engaging with the world from a place of worthiness, the opposite of shame, from a place of “I am enough”, we walk into our power, we walk into our gifts, we walk into possibility, we walk into love and belonging, not only the ability to give it but to receive it, to let ourselves be seen and known and I think that’s what it’s all about." Brené Brown

Lord, I surely do hope so. May it go straight from Brené’s mouth to your ear.    : )

(If any of this resonates with you, or if you just want more information, here is the link to the TED talk that first got my attention, http://www.ted.com/talks/brene_brown_on_vulnerability.html. She also has many talks on YouTube. She is an engaging and funny speaker. Also, here is the link to her website, http://www.brenebrown.com/welcome. I would put a link to the course but I did not see one. Maybe she will offer it again sometime. The course is called "Ordinary Courage".)

Delight

Here is the latest prompt from our Facebook writing group, Write, Eat, Post, Bathe. I am delighted about how the group came together and about the reconnecting we have done around our blog writing.

Optional prompt of the week: Take note of the things that annoy you this week. See if there is a pattern. Time, place, person, situation. Don't write about the annoyances. Just note them for your own record and ponder. After a few days of that, pick something that delights you and write about that. Poem, a few pithy sentences, short story, essay, flash fiction, shopping list, any genre. Let's see if we can take note of the bad but write the good. (This prompt is something I especially need.)

Delight

Oh, delight. Wherefore art thou, delight?

I am that first cup of coffee, helping you to greet the morning. I am that feeling you feel when you walk out the door of your building at work and you see the quad with its winding brick path and all those centuries old live oak trees. I am the one who is with you when you go out with your camera (weren’t you going to give your camera a name?) to capture your images of the world around you. I am the smile you smile when you are sketching a face and you get the lips just right, or the eyes both looking in the same direction, or the nose shaded well. Whatever, I am the concentration you bring to the drawing. I am that feeling you get in church when are enveloped in music so loud you can’t hear yourself sing (which, frankly, is just as well) and your heart is so still and quiet and you realize God is there with you in all the raucous and joyful noise. I am the golden heart-shaped leaves of your redbud tree, harbinger of fall. I am the green heart-shaped leaves of your redbud tree, reminding you, again, that spring and warmer, brighter days will soon come. I am the light-hearted loving moments in your family- don’t lose sight of me in their eyes, find me there. I am that small glass of wine at the end of the day, saying “goodnight moon.”

I am yours, my love, if only you will look and see.

You Are Not Alone

I still remember how comforting it felt when the old guy at the teen rehab center bent down to look me in the eye and tell me "you are not alone" and then bent down and reminded my surly son as well. He was busy doing what he had to do, guiding my son and his suitcase to the back so my son could change clothes and he could check the suitcase for contraband. We'd never been through that before, my son and I, and it meant the world to me that the old man stopped and made eye contact with each us to tell us we were not alone. I was scared to death at what I was doing.


And that is today's lesson in this Ordinary Courage course I am taking: You are not alone.


It never hurts to be reminded.

I Write Because I Still Have Work To Do

I write to figure out what I am thinking.

I write to tell of the things I see. But I am subtle about it. I won’t come straight out and say what I see.  I want the reader to see what they see, not what I tell them to see. 

I write with a loose hand, knowing that when I let my words go, they are no longer mine, hoping that people will take from them what they need.

I write to record my version of the story, which will not be like any other person’s version because no one else has my eyes or ears.

I like when I have written something that resonates with others.

I don’t talk much so it seems I have to write.

I will probably never write in any professional capacity, though sometimes I dream of writing a book (but what would I write about?)

I got away from writing on my blog when I started hanging around on Facebook.  Then I started to feel like maybe I didn’t have much to say after all. And when I tried to think about writing on my blog, I started to imagine how goobery I might sound to people from my real life. I feel like I have found my tribe in those of you who still read my blog, like I have found a group of people with whom I share common traits and a common need, which is to write. Online tribes are very special and I am grateful for the sense of community. 

I am learning that I worry far too much about what other people think about what I am doing or saying. I am learning that it is okay for me to see what I see and feel what I feel. But It’s a long slow process.

It seems I still have quite a lot of work to do. . .

Convergence

What happens when lines converge? We know if we swam or walked to the "end" of the lines in these photos, we'd still see the same two lines we see now, with the same convergence going out of the top of the photo. 

 

But look at the photos. Here we are at the beginning of the journey. We have a left and a right. We have an inside and an outside. If we were a boat or a train, we'd definitely have a right and a wrong. A train can't travel far when it is off the track (reminds me of one of my favorite "Little Golden" books, about Tootle, who has to take lessons on "staying on the track no matter what"). When we are young, we need to learn to make these distinctions. Friend? Stranger? Good behavior? Bad behavior? 

But when we are older, and if we grow wiser, we begin to realize that some of those distinctions are no longer as clear as they used to be, nor or they as necessary as they used to be. The lines that used to be so clear begin to blur. And then what happens?

I think freedom happens.  And self-acceptance, which leads to healthy self-love. When that happens I think you settle into an ease, with yourself, with the world, with the people closest to you, with your faith. I think the heart gets larger.

(I'm not quite there yet. It's one of the reasons I don't allow "annie" to be on Facebook. But I'm working with myself on that problem. I have the right to be who I am. I have the obligation and the responsibility to be who I am.)

Do What You Can...

This one started off with a dictionary page glued to watercolor paper and then painted with the little girl added as a transfer.The last layer was the text which was printed and stained with paint then glued on. I've been thinking I might go back and add a layer of machine stitching around the text paper. I've had trouble with these darker backgrounds trying to figure out how to make the text more readable.

The text says "Do what you can, suffer when you must, love and grow as you are able." Really, what else can we do?

I talked yesterday with someone who was complaining about a mother who was being pushy in trying to get help for her young son who has developmental issues. The mother was angry with the insurance company about not providing for certain services for her son. The mother was pushing on the office that was providing the services. The mother was suffering.

I wondered out loud whether or not the mother was struggling with letting go of the dreams and hopes she had for her son, just beginning to mourn all the things that would not be, and not yet "there" in terms of acceptance so that her battle to help her son was still a little awkward.

The mother is suffering. How does that old saying go, "suffering in inevitable, growth is optional"? I had these flowery thoughts that I hope she grows into her suffering and becomes a formidable advocate for her son. I do hope that happens (and I believe it will). But right now, today, my biggest prayer for her would be that bitterness does not touch her. Because sometimes, when you see suffering lying there on the table, and you start thinking of all the losses and the things that will not be, well at the beginning, you have no way of knowing the good that often comes from suffering. You see the suffering and the loss and you can't imagine that any kind of brightness could come from such loss. But so often, there is brightness. And there will be brightness here, too. She will see it if bitterness does not sneak in and cloud her eyes.

May she more often than not be met with patience and grace on her journey. And may she have more than a few friends along the way who are willing and able to hold the light for her and who are wise enough to gently remind her to "Do what you can, suffer when she must, and grow when you are able."

Change

This is a quote from Hope's blog (http://asongnotscoredforbreathing.blogspot.com/2011/01/that-mysterious-wedding.html), A Song Not Scored for Breathing. I think it is a well-spoken thought and absolutely true. It is an encouraging thought for me. Thanks, Hope!

Anthropomorphic Carvings

I think this is one of my all-time favorite cemetery statues.

Is that despair or mourning or regret I see?

Someone said they thought she was praying.

I wish I'd had more time to spend with her. She might have had something to say to me, and I to her.

Healing and Hope

I decided to go check out the local thrift stores today. At the third one, I saw two Willow Tree angels. They were priced at $1.99 each. I grabbed both of them and finished looking around. When I went to pay, she only charged me $1.99. I guess they were having a year end clearance sale or something.

 One was the angel of healing.

 The other was the angel of hope.

I'm taking their appearance to me today as a sign of healing and hope for the new year.

Happy New Year!!