Shards of Words

Waves crashed in the background as the kids and I sat down for a scrumptious barbeque. We chatted about our Made-Up Holiday and our bonfire plan. 

All laughed in unison, “AND NO TRASH!" 

Then came the usual question, “Did you get that scar here? On this beach?” 

I smiled.

I was 20.  Freshly graduated, boxes were piled in an apartment. The new job started Monday. My first night of adult independence. My date and his friends picked me up, stopped at a store to buy libations, then off we went to the beach. They encouraged me to pick something.

“We’ll buy it. You’ll be fine! In a month you’ll be 21. It won’t matter!”

I protested, but their arguments seemed logical. I had followed the rules up to this point.

What havoc would one bottle unleash? I picked a fruity Bartles and James wine cooler. 

The Jaunty Jeep parked near the beach bonfire area. We walked until a recently abandoned one was discovered. The guys gathered trash to quickly pile it on the faintly glowing embers. The guys blew full lungs of air on the smoking pile, suddenly flames roared to life. We crackled with excitement about the summer plans and savored those flavors of adulthood.

Near the fire’s edge, an rim of red peeled a paper bag. There lay a capped beer bottle. 

I queried, “Guys, should we take that bottle out of the fire?”

Date said, “Na… it’s only coals. The fire isn’t hot enough to do anything. It’s fine.”

 His logic seemed wise. Girls don’t play with fire, I thought. Boys do. He probably knows better.

The ocean breeze grew cold. Date gave me his ski jacket and took the thin windbreaker I was wearing. Our conversation lulled like the coals. Friend Guy started to kick the capped bottle around the embers.

The glass cracked a bit and foam eased out.

Jeep Driver said, “We should move it. That doesn’t look right.”

Easy conversation continued about our futures, crazy college stories, and again our voices grew quiet.  

Embers nearly cold now, Friend Guy gingerly pulled the bottle into the center with his foot.

Then rolled it around. 

Not too much. 

Just... 

enough, 

to watch the beer foam from the cracks in the glass. They commented on how cool it was to watch the foam ease out of the fissures. The cool science of pressure relief continued. I tuned them out and listened to the waves wash the shoreline. 

POP!

I saw them jump back and brush their chests. They were all over six feet tall, so I was confused. Why didn’t I feel anything in my chest? 

Then I realized my face was their chest height.

I put my hand to my left jaw.

I didn’t feel anything.

But I felt a knot in my stomach. 

“Um…. Guys… I think I’m bleeding?”

With eyes wide, they raced over. I lifted my chin. 

Date said, “Don’t bleed on my jacket!”

"Oh! I’m sorry.”  I rushed to take it off trying not to get anything on it. “Here.”

I didn’t feel like I was bleeding. But... it was his jacket I was borrowing, it kinda made sense.

I shivered a little, “Um… what can I bleed on?” 

He handed me the windbreaker, his tone softened, “Here, you can use this.”

Jeep Driver said, “We should go.”

“I don’t have any insurance. When I moved out my Parentals told me so. If we go to a hospital, they’ll know I’ve been drinking and arrest me. I can’t afford to pay for the hospital. My job doesn’t start until Monday.” I panicked. 

Someone said, “It will be ok. You have to go to the hospital.”

We piled in.

The Jittery Jeep’s racing engine was the only sound through those dark curvy roads. Loud thoughts lectured me about the mess I was in. This was God’s judgment on me for drinking. Now the Parentals would know. What would they do? What would they say? I was terrified.

Well...maybe now he will listen to me. Maybe my opinion will mean something. This scar on my face will show him that I know what I’m talking about. Maybe it will be worth it. It could be a blessing in disguise.

At the ER and in the care of nurses and doctors, my face was draped. A gentle nurse held my hand and talked to me because I couldn’t see. A compassionate doctor numbed my jaw and gave me 10 stitches.

My retelling of the scar story was interrupted.

“Mom! How could you think like that?” We all laugh at that young, gullible, innocent girl. 

Now, I can laugh at myself about it all.

I know a Loving Higher Power would not throw a glowing hot glass shard at my face, narrowly missing my jugular vein simply to punish me for drinking a wine cooler a month before my 21^st birthday. Of course, an action like that would never be a blessing. 

 My part in this whole tragedy of errors is the bottle was an issue for me. 

I should have taken it out.

I didn’t feel safe with a full, capped, carbonated glass bottle sitting in embers. I didn’t believe in the value of my own words. I held no value in my own opinion. This scar on my face reminds me that I knew what I was talking about. I didn’t see my own worth. I’ve learned the importance of my words. If I’m going to speak, it needs to mean something to me. I practice confidence in my voice.  If I’m not being heard, I stop arguing, evaluate the topic for either a redirect or to simply drop it.

That scar on my face is a gift. It gives character to every word I’ve spoken since.

I Don't Miss It

I miss you.

Sometimes those words give my heart a warm pitter patter of fluffy bunny memories. Laughter until my sides ached and ice cream sundaes. Dance parties, horse back riding and secrets spoken in the dark. A place of safety, innocence and mutuality.

Other times...

My heart freezes, bracing for the next blow. Trapped in the torture of a toxic relationship these words are bait. Scars flame in memory of pain and rejection. Words spoken in the past bounce around my head - judgement, blame flavored with bitterness.

It took a long time for me to learn what my part in a toxic relationship was. Boundaries I overstepped. Vulcan logic heard as insult and judgement. Once I understood, I reached out to make amends and make a behavior change. I listened more intently so as to not make the same mistake again.

Only to step into a new minefield labyrinth of mistakes. Like a starfish, a limb would be lost, but I would grow it back again: all in hopes that at the end of the day the relationship would be filled with love, grace and equality.

Then I woke up. I made of an ass of myself. I assumed the person wanted me in their life. My presence was more than just geography and convenience for them. I believed the other person honestly liked me and valued the journey we walking together. The reality; my existence in their life was by default not desire. 

In order to thrive a paradigm needed a shift. I disciplined myself to reciprocate. If someone had a need, I could happily serve. As I watched satisfaction color their soul I felt joy. I needed nothing else. Some of my relationships now are one sided. Others are mutually beneficial. I have found fulfillment in both. The difference is, my worth as a person does not stem from the success or failure of these affiliations.

On occasions, my path crosses those past acquaintances which proved to be most painful. Three little words spoken and I freeze the urge to vomit. I wonder what is missed about me. Who would miss a bull after he left a china shop? Would anyone regret removing the pebble in a shoe? I cannot respond because of the word constipation in my brain. Those three words are irrational.

Then I saw this quote and understood. It put the word "miss" into a different context. I miss the smell of summer thunderstorms of my childhood. The romantic idea of becoming a famous singer/actor. It isn't the person, it is the idea. The presence. The fragrance. The romantic idea. 

That is logical. It hurts to visit that ideal, because it was so wrong. Contentment is within the reality of today. A peace of mind built on trust. Teaching myself not to jump to conclusions, but allow a camaraderie to grow organically watered with mutuality. Value for value. I weigh my words before they are spoken. Then ask myself: am I listening as much as talking? Love ebbs and flows. People weave in and out of life on their own paths. Finding the joy in the moment with them is what matters.

Walk with Dogs- Virtuous Sleep

I am reluctant to fall asleep at night. Cultural Christianity teaches Proverbs 31 as a Godly Woman litmus test.  According to King Lemuel’s Mother, a wife of noble character never sleeps. As a result, we women show up to church or Bible Study with perfect hair, make-up flawless, wearing fashionable yet modest clothes. A smile on our face and a twinkle in our eye we project flawless contentment.

We. Are. All. Liars.

Photo taken by loneangel

The Virtuous Woman starts out the day with the best of intentions. Shegets up while it is still dark for a Quiet Time of scripture and prayer. Family stirs and breakfast is cooked with a smile as ordered in Proverbs 31:15. She begins checking off the Virtuous Woman boxes.

The business of the day: house, work, kids, husband’s needs, community. The sun sets with the dawn of reality.  Over a sink full of dinner dishes, she pants with exhaustion.

Toys and clutter fill the living room. Laundry covers the bed, overwhelmed she musters her last bit of strength. In a sweet siren voice she sounds the call for bedtime.  

Kids’ shenanigans are the final strike. Pushed beyond her limit, her image of perfection slips away and she turns into a drill sergeant harpy. 

There is no fun in Mudville.

With the kids are tucked in she turns on her overdrive. The day is not over until she falls asleep. There is still time to complete the missed household chores while husband sleeps. When he wakes up, he will be amazed. She will hear the praises of her husband just like Proverbs 31 says. Dinner dishes neatly placed in the dishwasher. A whirlwind pick up in the living room. Fueled by a feeling of victory she walks through the bedroom door to attack the laundry monster. 

Photo taken by Alvimann

Husband is laying in repose upon the laundry. The dulcet sounds of a show waft from the laptop.

Does she wake him? Does she ask him for help?

No.

A deep sense of failure, with a chaser of shame, sets in as each piece of laundry is brought into submission, Husband’s comfy bed shifts. He awakens. Unaware of her Virtuous Woman burden, he turns off the computer.

“That can be finished tomorrow. Come to bed.” He moves to push the rest of the laundry onto the floor.

That wife looks into the eyes of her lover.

A Virtuous Woman demand rings in her ears:  “She sees that her business affairs go well;her lamp stays lit at night.”

Her defeated reply, “You go ahead. I’ll be there as soon as I finish this.”

Proverbs 31 has been twisted into a burden of legalism. Within this Cultural Christianity application there is no room for grace, love or laughter. God does give us tasks to keep us occupied; but they are never to become a litmus test of worth. Ecclesiastes tells us that we are to eat, drink and enjoy the good that results from those tasks; it is a gift from God. Part of that good is rest and sleep. The Psalmist says that unless God is our center focus, we get up early and put off going to bed in vain, for God “provides for his beloved, even when they sleep.”  

Photo taken by hotblack

When I trust in divine rest, my soul is renewed. I am no longer weary; God clothes me with strength and dignity. I am able to be patient in the face of a determined child. My arms are strengthened for the day's tasks. I have energy to serve my won family along with attending Divine Appointments that interrupt my plans. I am able to laugh at the days to come.

Define Value

Originally posted on June 11, 2011

We often base a person's value upon an ability to produce a tangible product: monetary wealth, possessions or humanitarian success and notability. If one cannot perform or produce do they have value? How about a person who survives a serious accident with brain damage? What can a baby born with difficulties and only days to live offer? Should we revert to the Spartan way of life; leave them to nature those who cannot fend for themselves?

            

What if a person's value is existence? The fact that I breathe air, move through space and think gives me importance. I think of the baby that lived ninety days.  His value to his family and community was that he lived. They were able to lavishly love on him. The baby was unable to "do" anything, his mere existence created meaning for those around him. 

             

The idea that mere existence is enough is the basis for intrinsic value. A worth not based on what I produce, but what I am. This value can have a positive or negative effect upon the world around me. If I treat those around me with equal value and reciprocate the actions they extend to me, then I increase the significance of life around me.  If I treat those around me as if they owe me and I do not return equal action to them, then I am looting another's creative purpose. 

Photo taken by anitapeppers

            

If we are made in the image of a Loving Creator who is the embodiment of value then our simple

existence is valuable.  It is from Him that our meaning springs. We all are endowed with the ability to create. Our responsibility to discover what form it is to take, develop this creative purpose, and apply it to daily action. If the creative purpose is to respond to people, like the infant, then duty calls for me to execute it with focus. It is out of loyalty to the Creator that I join with people who support my creative purpose. My obligation lies in returning support extended to me. Value for value.

            

 Wisdom guides me in discernment of whom I trust within my life. She guides me away from those who would loot my purpose through distraction or use me for their own benefit. I am foolish if this type of person is allowed in my life only to complain about it. It is impossible for me to think of myself as a victim if I am aiding them in their thievery. The difficult choice for me is to believe in the value the Creator places in me. I need to be brutally honest with myself as I examine relationships where I have taken selfishly and offer amends.  From this evaluation I will feel freedom to become who the Creator purposed me to be.