Fighting Rest

Come to me, all you who are weary and heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Matthew 11:28

Rest? How can I rest? How can this be what God is asking me to do? I'm weary, that's for sure.  I've been trying to organize my life, my future, which feels a lot like its dependent on how I perform for interviews and such things.  It means waiting, not knowing, while fearful visions of failure or being forgotten, or not quite being good enough play themselves out in my dreams with alarming frequency.  And God wants me to rest?

But, that means that I have to hand it all over to Him, because as I've learned over the last few nights, holding on to the stress and pressure of it all, makes for an uncomfortable mattress.  The students in my classes look at me with alarm and ask, "Are you tired?" Tired? I'm exhausted.  But, if I want to sleep, that means giving it all up.  Handing it all over, and not being in control.  I don't like not being in control. Because, if I'm not in control - what will that mean? 

I guess it means, that still, after everything, I don't trust God.  I think that I have the one answer, the right answer, and have barely consulted Him about the question.   That he truly couldn't have what's best for me at heart, because he's busy with other things.  Haven't you watched the news? It's overwhelming.  God must have his hands full - and then what are things left up to? Chance? I don't like chance.  Besides, I'm a Christian, and if God is busy helping elsewhere, I should be competant enough to take care of myself. 

But, the words don't change.  Come to ME. If I take the time, and go to Him, I might find that His hands aren't full after all.  All you who are weary and heavy laden. He want's me to put this burden I am carrying down at his feet?  To just leave it there unattended? Or worse yet, what if He goes through it and finds that all of the things I am trying to control are really little and kind of embarassing after all.  I will give you rest. Sleep.  Refreshment. A long chat, where He reminds me again that He loves me, and He wants the best for me. When this is all over, and I look behind me, I think what I'll see is his leading, all the way along, and all of my carrying, picking things up to tote around and worry about, won't amount to anything after all.

Just Get Over It

I haven't been able to write anything I've been happy with for the last two weeks.  I used to think that when hard times happened in people's lives, people wasted time over exaggerating their circumstances. I always wondered was there really an excuse not to function?

And yet, here I am trying to make decisions about a future that is out of my hands, impress a boss at work when I feel overwhelmed with what's already on my plate - in a place I literally, barely understand. I am pretending that I know how to be a Christian wife and mother with a positive and enriching home environment, when I feel like if I have to have one more sudden death match over cooked asparagus, or the wii, or bedtime, I'll just have to let the cats raise the kids, 'cause they'll do a better job. Not to mention, that sometimes I really don't think I understand my husband at all and we're supposed to be best friends.  Hand in hand is the pressure of trying to please everyone all the time - because still, at thirty, sometimes I feel like I just want people to like me - and I'm not sure if they do - I'm not sure if I do. 

I'm not trying to fish for accolades or compliments, or even condolences.  I also sincerely apologize to those of you who read this and can only think, For goodness sake, quit complaining - get over yourself, get over IT. I'm not saying that this little slice of reality is pertinent - I'm just saying that, it's real. I could go on about how to stifle the negativity in your own life, tell you about some magic solution I've developed to push it away, but I'd be lying.  That's one thing I'm not, a liar.  In fact, I think part of the problem is, I've been pushing it down for far too long.  I don't like to deal with negativity - I like to ignore it.  Save it for another day, but the only problem is, it compounds, it doesn't disintegrate.  It creeps in, and suddenly I've made myself sick, I can't write any more, and the thought of running my own life is overwhelming. 

I heard at church last week, that time doesn't heal all wounds.  I think that's true.  I know that God heals, but if I don't bring him my struggles, my hurts and the truth of my own darkness, then I'll never get anywhere.  You can’t force these things. They only come about through my Spirit,’ says God-of-the-Angel-Armies. Zechariah 4: 5-7 or Not by might, nor by power, but by my Spirit, says the Lord of Hosts. It's not within my strength - it's God. He is the only one that can take me - or any of us, from the truths of our own realities, and move us into the life that he wants for us. Of course, I want to offer a solution - it's only natural for me, I feel as a writer, my writing should always conclude. But this one doesn't. Know that whatever is the truth of your reality, you aren't alone - I'm walking through it too. Day by day, sometimes moment by moment, God is with you, like he's with me.  Just keep walking with him, going to him, because he is the truth, and he says, Come to me all you who are weary and heavy laden - and I will give you rest. Matthew 11:28. 

Scaling the Wall

Unfortunately, lately I've been stuck where no writer enjoys - standing beside a great chasm and looking across, I can catch the smallest glimpse of a fertile land with ideas frolicking beside a bubbly spring, and characters sprawling languidly on the grass, waiting to tell me their stories.  I can see them, I can almost hear them - I just can't reach them.  I'll find a way to get to them, but for now, I'm sitting and looking at the gaping divide and I know I have to fly over, I just don't have anything with which to make wings...

Though you hear about it most often from writers, I am sure that others must experience the same phenomenon. Like...a Baker's Block, or Musician Misalignment or Cook's Catastrophes, I don't know, but this particular evil can't only haunt writers...it wouldn't be fair. So, what causes it? Life? Maybe...my last writers block lasted nearly two years - the business of a baby, and being a new Mom didn't lend itself well to my imaginary friends and their interesting issues.  The only time I had to talk to them was in the shower, or in the car, and who has a pen handy on such occasions as those? Maybe stress? I've been experiencing a bit of that lately - and my propensity to latch on to any niggling worry that floats through my skull might be somewhat of a distraction.  

Or maybe, just maybe - the thing that makes you good at something, that brings out the very best in you are the times where your own creativity and passion have momentarily dried up.  It makes me aware of them, aware of myself. Maybe it's good to fight through something now and then, to build that determination that pushes you forward.  Uncertainty is a hard one for me, it makes me feel like someone else is directing my future, and I don't like that.  But, I'm learning - slowly - that part of the fight is letting it go, giving it up, and letting God take things in his hands. It's then I find that I didn't actually have to fight so hard to work things out my own way, that what I saw as a chasm was only a crack. 

The Curse of Beautiful

Today I had the opportunity to sit and talk with one of my students.  Earlier in the year she wrote an essay for my class called Beauty and the Beast, in which she explained in a very heartfelt manner her own perspective about beauty. Her point of view was very focused on finding what is beautiful in people, instead of always looking at someone's appearance.  She is a beautiful girl, and sometimes I've wondered, and judged her, about the depth of her own character.  She showed me a message she received from a male friend that she had sent her essay to. She put a lot of time and effort into her essay and he had returned it with a "kind" but scathing review, particularly of her opinion.  

Though his words reeked of that rhetorical pseudo-maturity so often found clinging to the shirt tails of misguided early twenties university goers - I could tell she felt like she didn't have enough of a point to respond to his argument.  As I read the message over, with her sitting with me, we talked about his words and I started to point out some of the problems with his logic, and I could see her turning these thoughts over in her mind.  His general point was that all women can be beautiful, if they choose to treat their bodies properly, are thin, then they can be adored by their peers.  His point was that beautiful was defined at a thin woman, no matter what she was like.  He even went so far as to say that if his own daughter was overweight, he wouldn't force her to diet, but he wouldn't go out of his way to tell her she was beautiful, either.  The first thing that ran through my mind, was that this young person was going to get the shock of his life when he became a father, but also it saddened me to see the hurt in the eyes and heart of my student.  When we were finished talking extensively about his words, she looked at me and said, "He actually kind of proved my point. I used to think that he was good-looking, but now seeing what he thinks, he's not so hot anymore." I was proud of her.

I can't wait for her to find out that not all men are like this boy, who says he's her friend.  I can't wait for her to learn that whatever imperfection that she may see, the rest of the world sees as uniqueness that make her shine.   It is for all of us to remember...beautiful is an opinion, and yours is the only one that counts.

Dove Beauty Sketch 

I watched this link earlier, and very much appreciated what it had to say.  

To Have and to Hold

Celebrating 65 Years of Marriage
John and Louise, April 1948
We Love You

 There are times I feel like I live in a small, protective bubble.  I'm not a marriage expert, I've only been at it for eight years. I don't have a perfect marriage - I couldn't even really say what that looks like. We fight, we laugh, we talk, we agree to disagree, and I could definitely live without the burping. My husband is my best friend, my soft place to fall, my security. I love him more than Elizabeth Bennet loved Mr. Darcy, when I see him gather our children in his arms, and love them and hug them and breathe them in. If the words I love you were currency, we'd be millionaires, and we are - in more ways than one.  

But, recently I have connected with people who's views of marriage are drastically different from my own.  It is their cage, their battlefield, their nightmare.  Marriage is supposed to be a sacred, safe, loving place, and these problems between husbands and wives seem to be suddenly common.  Cheating - the sanitized word for adultery, sexual addiction and deviation from marriage, rejecting children and destroying family, pulling away from the sanctity, the safe place in marriage for purely selfish reasons - no thought to the future.  My heart breaks, and I don't know the answers, because I feel like I won the lottery, and how can someone who's indescribably rich reach out to someone who is poor?  I only know that my heart breaks, and that I need to give.

For those of us who are so blessed, protect your marriage, keep the spark - the work is well worth the reward.  For those of you who find yourselves in desperate situations, reach out. There are people who love you, who are ready to support you. For those of you starting out, a poem I read by Lena Lathrop when I was young really spoke to me, and stays with me even today.

A Woman's Question
By Mary "Lena" Lathrop


Do you know you have asked for the costliest thing
Ever made by the hand above--
A woman's heart, and a woman's life
And a woman's wonderful love?

Do you know you have asked for this priceless thing
As a child might ask for a toy,
Demanding what others have died to win,
With the reckless dash of a boy?

You have written my lesson of duty out,
Man-like you have questioned me;
Now stand at the bar of my woman's soul
Until I shall question thee.

You require your mutton shall always be hot,
Your socks and your shirt be whole;
I require your heart to be true as God's stars,
And as pure as heaven your soul.

You require a cook for your mutton and beef;
I require a far better thing.
A seamstress you're wanting for socks and shirts;
I look for a man and a king.

A king for the beautiful realm called home,
And a man that the maker, God,
Shall look upon as he did the first
And say, "It is very good."

I am fair and young, but the rose will fade
From my soft, young cheek one day,
Will you love me then 'mid the falling leaves,
As you did 'mid the bloom of May?

Is your heart an ocean so strong and deep,
I may launch my all on its tide?
A loving woman finds heaven or hell
On the day she is made a bride.

I require all things that are grand and true,
All things that a man should be;
If you give all this, I would stake my life
To be all you demand of me.

If you cannot do this -- a laundress and cook
You can hire, with little to pay,
But a woman's heart and a woman's life
Are not to be won that way.

For my dear Grandparents.  
Thank you.  

Ugly - A Disease of the Mind

I have been doing  a lot of thinking since the post called The Looking Glass. I received what I consider to be an overwhelming response from people who read the post. I was both humbled and honored by people's kind thoughts and words. The responses came from friends and acquaintances of all shapes and sizes and backgrounds, yet what they said to me was resoundingly similar -  I had spoken out loud what they thought on the inside. I am ugly.

 Ok, so not everyone was so dramatic, but the theme was I'm not happy with myself as I am. At first, this made me so sad.  I mean, I always think that I am capable of handling those nasty, hurtful thoughts that swirl around biting at my heart, I'm strong, I can deal with it.  But, listening to your voices brought tears to my eyes.  I know that it hurts, I've experienced it, I don't want anyone else to live out the same day after day personal torture.  The demand I place on myself to be a specific weight and look a certain way, and appear to others like I've got whatever-it-is all together is a full time job in itself.  

By nature, I'm a fixer. I want to fix things - especially when it comes to other people (and if I can fix a problem by bringing you food, I usually feel like I've won a prize) Unfortunately it's not typically that easy. Finding a source to blame is simple enough, watch TV, look at the advertisements in front of every store, for every product.  Apparently a thin woman with perky boobs can sell anything.  The only problem is, I've noticed that even though I can assign blame to society or someone else, it doesn't fix anything.  I was at a coffee shop this weekend, visiting with a friend, and a tall, bigger lady came in wearing a obviously too tight spandex pants, unfortunately, the pants did not cover her backside and her shirt was riding up her back.  Immediately I was embarrassed to look at her and just tried to ignore her poor wardrobe choices.  Unfortunately as she left to go to her car, her tight attire grabbed the attention of some prepubescent boys at a table next to us, who laughed and jeered at her. It broke my heart - I felt what she would feel as if I were her.  It was my worst nightmare played out in front of my eyes.  Yet, I realize, I am no better than those boys. I was embarrassed to look at her.  Was she beautiful?

I can remember a long time ago, I used to think, once I have a boyfriend - then I'll feel pretty.  Once I am married, then I'll feel beautiful...and granted my husband works hard at telling me he thinks I'm beautiful, but strangely I find it hard to believe. My own brain is betraying itself.

So, what to do now? For all of you dear Ladies who've looked in the mirror and judged what you've seen there, where do we start? How do we kill this disease before it reaches our daughters? I don't know all the answers, not yet, but I'm not letting this drop or die or go away.  I want my daughter to look in the mirror and see herself for how beautiful she really is, because she knows her mother does the same.

The Auburnhead Dairies - UPDATE

Dear all Faithful Readers,
So as to not take over The Dunamis Project, I have moved my serialized writing to a new blog set up for that purpose called Inkwell Treasures. The Auburnhead Dairies has moved to that blog site.
Thank you,
Jana

http://inkwelltreasures.blogspot.ca/