beauty in the heart of the beholder

She sits quietly
Waiting for class to start
And hoping nobody notices her.

She knows she doesn't fit in.
Her gait is awkward
Her clothes don't hang right
Her hair isn't becoming

Sometimes she feels that
she really doesn't have the right
To even exist.

And yet she goes to school
And she sits in her seat
And she does what she must
To survive.

There is really nothing wrong.
She's not abused,
She's just--different.

Her mother says that things will improve.
She didn't used to believe her.
But then--

One day,
Her mother showed her old photos
And there
In a chair
Was she!

But it wasn't, really.
It was her mother.
Equally gawky,
Equally awkward,

But so beautiful
and so loved
Now.

The remembered sight
gives her strength
to wait

and dream
of the future.

you don't know how much you mean

i received a card today.
there was no money inside
only a handwritten note
and inside,
two cards
scripture on one side,
a prayer on the other.

you don't know how much that meant to me.
you can't know that i rejoiced upon getting it
that i have it in my purse
and that i will take it to school with me tomorrow
and hang it up
with all the other cards you've sent me.

you brighten my life with your kindnesses.
you hear God's still small voice so clearly,
and you follow it to the letter.

i love that about you.

The phone call (yes, even depression has its funny moments)

Hello, this is your doctor's office.  Please press "8" to speak to the nurse on call.

(Press 8)

Hello, this is the nurse on call.  If this is a life-threatening emergency, please hang up and dial 9-1-1.  If not, please stay on the line.

(Elevator music)

Hello, this is Piyali.  I am a registered nurse.  What is your problem?

Hello, I've been suffering from depression, and I'm wondering if it's possible to get a prescription over the phone.  (Notice that's a yes-or-no question).

Thank you for your call.  How are you doing today?

(I'm a little depressed, as you might have guessed from the call--)  I am okay.  I've been having some issues with depression and would like to know if it's possible to get a new prescription on the weekend.

Thank you.  Are you feeling homicidal or suicidal?

Neither, I just…

Thank you.  Have you been depressed for very long?

I suffer from depression.  I am taking medication for it.  I take lkjlkjkjlj and lkrj23wlkrjeldskfj.

I see.  And are you thinking of killing yourself right now?

(well actually I wasn't, but since I've been on the phone…)  No, ma'am.  As I said, I need to find out…

Yes, yes.  Have you taken the medication long?

Yes, the kjlkjlj for many years and the other for about a year.

All right.  Let me get your first and last name.

Really?  Maybe you should have listened when I gave it to you the other time ! Yes, it's Margaret Villanueva, I go by Meg.  The last name is V-I-L-L-A-N-U-E-V-A.

Thank you Mar-ga-ret.  I see by your chart they you are currently taking lkjlkjlkjlk and werjewkelrkjwel.  How long have you been taking those medications?

Um, 
lady, have you been LISTENING???  Yes.  I have been taking the first for several years and the second for about a year.  It isn't working, so I was wondering if I could get a prescription or if I need to wait and call the doctor in the morning.

Well, Mar-ga-ret

It's Meg--

Well, yes, Meg, it sounds as if you are feeling depressed.  Are you sure that you are not feeling even a little suicidal?  Have you had any urge at all to harm yourself or another?

Hmmm….now that you mention it, I can think of one person I'd like to harm… No ma'am, I just want to know if I can get a prescription this weekend or if I have to wait for Monday to speak to the doctor.

Well, since you are depressed, I recommend that you lie down in bed and curl up to comfort yourself.  I also recommend that if you have any other problems that you call back the nurse line.  And be sure to call the doctor in the morning.

So are you saying that you can't get a prescription on the weekend?

No, but don't worry, the doctor will see the message.  And remember, if you are feeling suicidal, please call 9-1-1 immediately.

This was the actual phone call that I made this morning after I found that I had to leave church early since I couldn't control my depression.  There was more to the call, but this was the gist.  No wonder so many people suffer from depression!  

i will write

I can't write for myself write now,
I'm feeling much too blue,
But you might be feeling sad as well,
So I will write for you.

I have nothing left in me,
No spirit to renew,
But you might be feeling low as well,
So I will write for you.

I have no words left to give,
No ideas are brought in view,
But you might be the same way, too,
So I will write for you.

Are you alone?
Are you afraid?
Do you have demons
you must fight?

You're not alone,
I'm here with you,
To fight your demons--
I will write.

prayer request

Well, let's see.  What is there to say?  My depression doesn't seem to be going away, so I am afraid that I won't be able to write a post a day for the short term.  When I'm up to it, I'll write.  when I'm not up to it, I won't.  I'd ask a favor, though.  If you don't see a blog from me (those of you who look for them and read them), please pray for me.  I am not sure what is wrong.  I'm going to a counselor on Monday and will also ask my doctor if there might be a medical problem, but until I'm on a more even keel, please keep me in your prayers.

I think that is the most important thing that we have together as Christians and as friends--prayer.  It keeps us going to know that people care.

untitled

Relax.
Breathe.
Look around you--

Focus.
Support.
Listen to the sound of your own heart beating.

In.
Out.
Realize that God has made you beautiful.

One.
Unique.
This is what God sees in you.

the deceptiveness of simplicity

When I last spoke of simplicity, my friend Roseann--the one with the beautiful picture of the little girl playing--told me that it might have looked simple, but it certainly wasn't simple to make!

That started me thinking. How much of what we see and delight in as simple beauty is actually intricately designed and thoughtfully created to be the simplicity that we see.

I'm reminded of an article about death that I read once long ago.  A man spoke of coming in and seeing a friend who had just died.  He spent time with the friend, and it seemed that he had just gone to sleep.  The simplicity of the picture was very healing, and he appreciated the time he had at the bedside of the loved one.

Later, he was in a position (I forget just how) to be at the bedside of someone who had died moments before.  This was no beautiful picture.  The man had not died easily.  He was anything but peaceful-looking.  The man then realized that his loved one probably hadn't been either.  Someone had given time, love, and effort to make those coming moments that he would share peaceful and beautiful.  He spoke of being grateful to be able to do the same.

Sometimes simplicity is celebrated because of the horror that comes before.  About once a year or so, I fall into a deep depression.  Falling is the appropriate word here.  Depression, for me, is much more manageable if I can see it coming.  This one took me unawares.  It lingered and lingered, and I felt that I was living in horrific darkness--a place totally devoid of light.  This Sunday, though, it began to dissipate.  I'm so thankful for the simple fact of being in the light once again.  Nothing spectacular is happening--I'm just free.  What a simple thing--but what a blessing.

Roseann spoke to me of simplicity in art, and I'd like to close with this.

In my opinion, the best art looks effortless, as if the strokes of paint had just flowed 

perfectly from the brush, resulting in a lovely, "simple" creation. Sometimes that actually 

happens, as if I had been touched by a magic wand and given a gift. I live for those days!

 

More times than not, however, it is a slightly more complicated process. Often, many hours

 of comtemplation and visualizing, sketching and seeking sources for accuracy must take 

place before ever putting brush to canvas. If done correctly, the result is pleasing to the 

eye, flowing nicely from one point to another without apparent hesitation, creating 

"simple" beauty.

 

In my opinion, less pleasing art is created when the piece looks labored or contrived. 

If the viewer thinks "My, that must have taken a long time and it certainly looks hard to do. 

What skill!" ...then I , at least, am not a happy artist. I want the viewer to feel the same

 joy as I felt when when I have really enjoyed the process of creating the painting.  Summary:  

It can be hard to make it look easy.

I want the viewer to feel the same joy as I felt…that is why we strive to do anything, isn't it?  So

let us serve, in simplicity, both God and man.  

 

today's events--the Boston Marathon

Today was going to be part two of simplicity, but I can't.  I am uneasy, sad, and still somewhat in denial.  How could someone have done something so heinous as to bomb the Boston Marathon?  And having done that, why would they plan the explosion so that first responders had just enough time to reach the wounded before another bomb went off.  And why would they put shrapnel in these bombs?

I am so sad for those people who were out having a good time, being healthy, and cheering on their families and friends.  I grieve for those who died and were injured, and I pray for whoever decided that the best way to seek justice, revenge, or whatever it was they wanted was to hurt innocent people.

We have entered into a new time in the US.  We are no longer able to be carefree, not even during events that have nothing to do with politics or anything else.  I am sorry for my country today.  I pray for justice today.  And most of all, I ask God to watch over and protect us today.

I know that these things happen, but God, please stop them from happening any more.

Amen.

the simple things

I caught the last part of an NPR interview about John Denver.  "Sunshine on my shoulders makes me happy.  Sunshine in my eyes can make me cry. Sunshine on the water looks so lovely.  Sunshine almost always makes me high."  The simplicity of that verse!  Some might say that it's too simplistic, but most agree that the simple verse and the single guitar accompaniment that is the only thing heard through the verse combine to make the song haunting and beautiful.

Daisy in Purple
Roseann Munger

We try so hard to be beautiful, don't we?  We try so hard to be perfect.  We seem to strive unceasingly for complication, for the most brilliant, for the best--and yet the simple things can be the loveliest.  Have you ever watched a young child at play?  Roseann Munger, an artist friend, drew a beautiful piece of a young red-haired girl at play.  Nothing fancy, nothing formal--just the simple joy of childhood.  She has drawn many other works that I admire, but "Daisy in Purple" is one of my favorites.  It's so simple--the beauty of childhood.  A little girl playing with ribbons in  ballet dress--but the motion, the beauty, the sheer innocence--I could look at it all day.  It makes me happy in a way that other art doesn't.


You may feel that you have nothing important to give.  Your art, your music, your poetry, your writing might seem so simple to you that you're embarrassed to show it to others.  Show it anyway.  Write anyway. Draw anyway. Share it with us--the word needs simplicity--simplicity is truth.

how to cope with depression-or at least how I do it.

I know what you're thinking…
What?  Cope with depression?  Based on the earlier posts, I doubt she copes very well with depression!  Dear reader, I want you to remember that this blog is not only me trying to be a writer.  It's me crying out to those people who read, asking for prayer and hoping that I strike a chord with others who understand how I feel.  In fact, blogging is one way that I cope.

I have struggled with depression since I was young--probably since I was a little girl.  I was officially diagnosed in my 40's, but I knew that there was a serious problem much earlier.  When I was younger, every time depression cycled through, I became hurt, angry, bitter, judgmental, a victim, a user, and just a not-very-nice person to be around.  I'm sure that my depression was an important part of my being so isolated in school.  Yes, I was bullied, but so are many others.  Others were able to deal with the bullying and still have friends.  I was not.  The bullying entered into me, fed my depression, and made me both afraid to reach out and sure that I was exactly what they said I was.

When I was a young mother, I found out that I had hypothyroidism.  I received meds for that. Meds helped.  They helped a lot.  My children even remarked about it--I remember my son Val saying that I was mean mommy before, but I'm nice mommy now.  However, the meds didn't make the depression go away. Every once in a while, I would get really sad, really angry, get hurt really easily, just really depressed.  I saw my father going through the same thing, and I hated the way he handled it--manipulating us to try to get attention and help his perceived need.  I saw that he was driving his family away from him and I determined that I would never do that. What I didn't realize was that he probably had little control over his depression.  I don't know if he even saw it as depression.  I know that I didn't see it that way.  I felt that he was cruel and unfeeling to his children, that he tried anything he could do get attention, and that he never thought of others, only himself.  All of this was true, at least in part.  But with the wisdom of years, I can also see these behaviors in myself--with the important addition of feeling on the inside what he must have been feeling.  I now understand the sense of impending catastrophe that he must have been feeling.  The difference, though, is that I try not to feed on it and not to let it overflow onto others, at least not verbally.  It doesn't always work, but often it does.

When I'm depressed, really depressed, nothing seems to help but time.  I have to do the daily things everyone else also has to do--go to work, go to rehearsal, go to church.  But I try to be as quiet as I can about my depression.  I know that I look like I'm hurting--there's nothing I can do about that, other than take the day off work or  stay home from rehearsal, etc.  When I'm in a situation and not talking about it, the worst thing that you can do is try to talk me out of it.  Nothing you can say will help, and many things you say can really make it worse.  I am amazed by those who decide that they have the right answer and are able to fix another person.  If I ask you for advice, that's one thing.  But if you come up to me while I'm trying to stay out of the spotlight and thrust me into it, you deny me the ability to deal with my pain and force me to listen to you.  While others might benefit by this treatment, in me it revs up depression into either anger--bad--or despair--worse--or hopelessness--worst.  I am in a public place not to make you feel bad for me but to a) do my duty (or my job) or b) try to get some contact.  What I need is the freedom to be.  I will appreciate a friendly smile and maybe a hug far more than your words of wisdom.

Sometimes, however, I do come to a meeting or public place with the specific goal of trying to get help, or at least to make my voice heard. This morning was an example.  I came to a meeting where the three of us all talk about our issues and how we dealt with them over the week.  I was asked to go first, and I thought for a second about hiding my issue and saying something neutral.  Rightly or wrongly, I didn't. Having opened up, I then received both friendship and advice.  That's fine--it's the proper venue.  But if you give me advice, no matter how good it is, please don't expect me to act or respond to what you say with any sort of emotion or gratitude.  It's not that I'm angry at you or refuse to take what you've said seriously.  I don't respond because I need time.  I sometimes can't push out of my depression far enough to give you the socially acceptable response.  That's one reason I try not to be in these outlets unless I know the people involved and feel very comfortable around them.  This morning, I was advised several things, one being to lay on the floor and ask the Holy Spirit to indwell me.  I couldn't get to a good enough place to acknowledge the wisdom of that remark--but I did try that when I got home.  Did it help?  Maybe.  And that leads me to my next point.

Don't expect depression to come and go at will.  At least in my case, it cycles.  Something might start it, but equally often it just comes.  When it comes, I pray that I recognize it.  I have come to realize that I can recognize it when it comes out of the blue; I can't recognize it when it comes as the result of another issue.  For example, my depression really started this year because of tiny little triggers.  I caught a couple, but they kept coming and coming and I stopped counteracting them.  It became overwhelming, and at some point I lay down and let it bowl me over.  It didn't happen overnight and it won't go away overnight.

Having said all that, maybe at this point you're thinking that depression is too overwhelming and hopeless to deal with.  That's not the case.  Here are some things that I know to be true.

• Depression can be managed, at least in part, by medication.  If you don't have a reason for your depression and you are depressed anyway, you should talk to your psychiatrist or doctor and see if you need something to take the edge off.  Again, though, you have to be realistic.  The commercial with the girl who has coat on or the rain cloud over her head shows truth:  the coat is near her, the rain crowd is off to the side at the end of the commercial, but they never go away.  Medicine will not save you from depression--it will help you control your depression.

• You need to be self-aware, not self-absorbed.  When I'm depressed, I look at myself to figure out if there's a reason.  If there's a reason, I try to understand why I'm depressed because of that reason.  Usually I can, and usually that helps.  However, please don't think that the reason I give you for my depression is the only (or even the most important) reason.  Unless you are my counselor, I probably won't tell you the full story.  I might even give you the least offensive of reasons that I'm depressed.  I'm just like everyone else.  I don't want you, my friend, my family member to see how someone's actions have set me off--especially if they're your actions.  Again, the difference between depression and getting your feelings hurt or needing to confront is vast.  I sometimes have to get the depression to a manageable level before I can begin to work with what is bothering me.  When I do, what is bothering me might stop bothering me.  I can only realize and properly deal with its smallness when I'm free of the cloud of depression that was its companion.

• Find an outlet.  Yes, it can backfire.  Right now, Part of my situation is fueled by issues regarding my avocations.  That does not mean that I should quit my avocations.  The fact that I continue in spite of the depression is a sign to me that I can continue to function in spite of myself.  The fact that I can blog through this very significant depressive episode gives me hope that next time the episode will be less.  Yes, I have thought about quitting.  No, I am determined not to.
• Finally, take care of yourself.  I want to do nothing but eat and sleep when I'm this depressed.  So right now I'm chewing gum at the computer. I did go to Burger King and take a nap, but I refuse to let my weak moments define me.  I'm up now. I'm not eating now.

If you also suffer from depression, I'd love to hear from you.  Many of us suffer alone, and I know how hard that can be.  I am determined never to allow that to happen to me again.  I know that there will always be depression in my life, but I have decided to always allow sunshine in my heart as well.  So if you want to talk further, email me at meggiev7777@gmail.com or comment.  We are a brotherhood, and there is strength in numbers.

Upbeat for a change

It's Friday--my favorite day of the workweek.  Everything looks a little better on Friday, doesn't it?  I am determined to be upbeat today.

This Friday is an extra special day, in part, because it's payday!

Driving to bell rehearsal yesterday, I prayed (again) for the Lord to bring enough people so that there would be a full drive.  That would be a miracle at this late date.  Clearly and distinctly, I heard his answer.  I have always been in charge of this drive.  I will always be in charge.  Let me take care of it. Oh yeah!  Why do I forget that?

It's an easy answer, really.  When I'm in charge of a project, I'm in charge.  It's usually pretty simple.  But this time, I got stressed really early and that stressed built and built.  To be honest, I did much more complaining on here than I did to God.  I should know better, but I know I'm forgiven and I'll move on.

So today, I'll be upbeat.  I'll smile at people returning permission slips, returning donor registrations, coming for materials.  I'll eat lunch in the lunch room.  And I'll be thankful with whatever happens.

Amen

more of the same--but only a bit

Wishing I could control myself
hating the way i feel inside
and wishing that what others think doesn't affect me so much

But I can't,
and still it goes on,
and it does.

i have always felt this way
if i am not the best, the most on top of things
the smartest

i am nothing.

and when i climb out of the hole,
it seems that i fall right back in.

nothing is really wrong
it's just not as i would have it.

i'll get by.

the longest week of my life

I still am standing.  Not much sleep, but that's to be expected.  I want life to be exciting--I surely got my wish!  But excitement leads to stress, stress leads to depression, and depression leads to pain.  Maybe some day I'll learn to manage it better, but I hope that happens soon.  After all, I'm 55 years old!

I walk daily through this maze of stress, and I am learning as I go.  One thing I've learned is to pace myself.  I've realized that something will have to give.  For me, today, that means giving up a voice lesson that I love.  I realize that I need the rest more than I love the lesson.

Last night, I learned another lesson--even if the buildup of pain is unavoidable, it can be reasoned through and dealt with.  I used to be an alto.  I can read music, and that's where they put you.  I sang alto for many years, and every time I finished rehearsal, my throat hurt.  So yesterday I found out that I was given a solo part in a big piece--3rd soprano!!  It hurt.  I felt like I was being demoted.  On top of everything else, it was the straw before the straw that broke the camel's back.  I was perilously close to tears.  But as the rehearsal continued, I remembered back.  I had told my director that I used to be an alto.  He asked me how long I'd sung alto.  And I know that of the three women picked, my voice and talent were the right ones for that part.  I can find the notes, and I can make the low harmonies work because I have the notes in a way that other sopranos don't.

Later, as I was driving home, tears did come.  I was sorry my son had to be there for it.  He really doesn't understand--he tries to give advice, make it better, and I appreciate that in him.  But what I needed was a good cry or a long shower.  I chose the shower--had to wash my hair anyway!!

So, dear reader, today I'm asking for your prayers.  It's a very stressful morning, leading to a stressful afternoon, leading to another rehearsal tonight.  But I know that God is always behind me, before me, under and over me, and within me, so I can handle it.  With his love and your prayers.  Thank you.

bleeding inside...

Okay, no more poetry.  Sorry, Nanowrimo, but I can't do it.  There's too much pain and hurt for me to try to bring my thoughts into neat little lines.  So )()(*I)(* it.  I can't do it today.  Not today.

You might ask why?  What's happened? Why are you so hurt/sad/depressed?  Lots of little things all together.  I thought that I was bigger than this, but I guess I'm not.  I can usually deal with things (nothing is all that big, after all), but too many little things all pushed together becomes a big ball of stress and hurt lodged in between my throat and my heart.  It's too much.  I can't bear it.  And yet, who else will, if not me.

Please don't say "God".  It's all well and good to say that, but you know what?  I LOVE God.  I have known him and loved him since I was FIVE.  But sometimes it's not enough.  Don't tell me that means that somehow I'm not letting him in.  When I get like this, I just have to fight through it and realize that he's behind me, pulling for me.

It's times like these that I realize how very alone I am.  I feel sorry for my son--he shouldn't have to see me go through this stupidity, but he's good about it.  That's something, at least.

So if you want to help me, pray.  My problem, at the core, is that I'm too stressed, too tired, have too much to do, and feel that I'm letting people down.  I know that's stupid, but that's how I feel.  Just in writing this, I know what I have to do.  I have to write to the person that I feel that I'm letting down and explain that I'm doing the best I can and she's going to have to deal with it.

I feel better already.  Not.  But at least now I know what I have to do.

To Frank the Pug

Oh Frank,
I wake up in the middle of the night,
and you're there.

Faithful friend.

I get up in the morning
And you follow.

Loving companion.

A dog like you is without price
Beyond compare

Except,
my dear--

You snore.

waiting

Frustrated with waiting I sit,
Staring at the door which stubbornly refuses to open.

Thinking about times past,
Wondering if today is just a token
of things to come,

Or if my life will once again reverse,
become the life that once it was,
that I thought it was meant to be.

But we
are not gods.
We do not know
the future.

In fact, sometimes
it seems
that we hardly know
the present.

And so,
I sit
impatiently waiting
for something
to happen,
for something
to change,

for something
to finally
start.

Lord, You

Sometimes I'm so high that it seems
Life will never
be anything
but rainbows
and sunrise,
and wildflowers
And I thank you for that.

But sometimes I'm so low that it seems
Life will never
be anything
but heartache,
and pain,
and death all around me.
And I thank you for that.

I thank you for the sunlit times
Because I know that they are what they are
Because of you.
I thank you even more for the times of despair,
of hopelessness,
of weeping and sorrowing through the night
Because You are the Joy that comes in the morning.

angel in the icu

the waiting room was empty
who would be there
anyway
at 3:30 in the morning
unless they had to be.

unless they had just heard
that their world
their life
was ending.

he was brain dead.

nobody could have foreseen this happening.

but there she was.

she had been there before,
though i was never sure why.

she was there when i came
and she was there when i left

i never actually saw her enter the icu

she said that she had a brother in there

and it never occurred to me to wonder
why she never visited him.

that day, though,
there was no pretense.

she wasn't there for a brother

she was there for me.

she saw me and gave me an encouraging smile
as i opened the door
and spent the beginning of the last day of his life with my husband.

no response to pain
no gag reflex
three major strokes
had taken my warrior away from me
away from my children
away from his mother and all his family.

i stayed the allotted time
and when i left,
expecting nobody

there she was.

she said not one word
just came to me
enveloped me
and held me while i cried.

when i was ready,
i left.

i never saw her again.

i don't know for sure if she was an angel,
but she will always be an angel to me.

friendship and sharing

When I woke up today, I knew one thing for certain.  I did not want to go to my sharing group.  I don't know why I didn't--I just didn't.  Not wanting and not doing, though, are two very different things.  I went, and I went, in part, because I have learned that the more I don't want to do something, the more I need to do it.

That's how it was today.  Yesterday seemed to prepare me for today.  One person was missing, but the friend who was there was a person who understood, and I was able to share a lot, get a lot of things in the open.  It helped me to have someone nonjudgemental there, someone who understood and was okay with my weakness.

Do you have someplace you can go to share?  It's really important, you know.  If you do, you're blessed.  If you don't, think about areas in your life that might present themselves for that reason.  You'll be glad you did.

Thoughts on an alternate universe

People congratulate me on my ability to talk about my past.
They marvel at my dry eyes as I speak of life,
and suffering,
and tragedy,
and death.

What they don't realize is that I am not talking.
The person who speaks so sincerely
is from an alternate universe--
a universe where pain doesn't exist,
and where words are devoid of meaning and emotion.
Not for the listener,
but for me.

It isn't that I have no tears.
I have them,
they just don't come out during talks,
or during demonstrations of others' suffering.

When I speak, I might get a bit hoarse,
a bit breathy,
but I don't cry.
When I listen to others speak,
tears generally don't come,
and when they do,
it's only because
for a slight moment
you have breached my alternate universe
and touched the real me.

The real me feels.
The real me still,
even after 20 years,
sobs uncontrollably at the thought of my husband
growing cold in his hospital bed.

It hardly ever happens when I think of my husband, though.
It comes unexpectedly,
when Rose is separated from Dr. Who by an impenetrable wall
and she must live out her life in an alternate universe
where she is surrounded by beauty
and love
and people who love her--
in fact, she is surrounded by everything…
except the one person that she needs more than anything else in the world.

How did you eventually come to feel, Rose?
I mean, before the happy ending that was truly bittersweet.
Did you learn how to live again,
or were you stuck in a universe within your universe
where you existed as a shell,
perfect and beautiful on the outside
and dark and void on the inside?

I know that I might
one day
live to love again.
The question is
do I want to?

How could I ever open up my heart again,
knowing that it could all come crashing down
as it did before?

It has taken so long to feel healed--
I don't know that I could survive it,
should it happen again.

And so, I continue on in my half-life.
I live in the moment
and I try not to think of the people that I've lost.

But every once in a while,
I will turn on a show
one that ends in happiness or sadness,
it's all the same to me, really,
and I will feel a strange sort of satisfaction
in the tears trickling down my cheeks.

No, they're not tears about my situation--
that is too painful to inhabit--
but they are tears, nonetheless,
and it feels good
for a time
to feel normal.

am i getting old?

I look at my face in the mirror
and see a woman that I barely recognize.
She is wrinkled,
her hair is dyed to hide the grey,
but she knows that every red highlight hides a grey hair.
Furthermore,
she has those lines going down her throat--
those lines that you only get when you are getting old.

Am I getting old?

I listen to my friends reminisce happily about past things--
Gilligan's Island, rotary phones, stick shifts,
and I remembers every one.
What I don't remember,
more often than I'd like to admit,
is the name of the person that I'm talking about
or to.
I thought that only happened when you got old.

Am I getting old?

My children are grown,
most of them are gone,
and there are grandchildren galore.
My youngest,
the child I had in my 30's,
is now twenty.
I look around at the mothers of my students,
and their parents are old enough,
some of them,
to be my children.

What happened?
I don't remember getting old!

But old, they say, is a state of mind.
Old, they say, is what you are,
Not who you are.
Maybe so,
although I feel that the people that say that
are even older than I am.

I might be getting old,
but, as they say, the alternative is worse.
So okay, I'm getting old.

I'm really okay with that.
Really.
Well, sort of.
On a good day.
But whether or not I'm okay with it,
It's happening.

So I will enjoy life while I can,
plan adventures,
visit new places,
revisit old ones,
and enjoy life while I can--
while there's still time.

I might be getting old,
But I'm not dead yet!

Every day holds new promise,
and so I will hold on to that promise
and I will continue to walk,
until the day comes
when I can fly.

about writing and stray ideas

I used to despair of my life.
It wasn't easy, living inside my head.
For one thing, it was noisy.
There was always some pesky little idea,
longing to get out,
that kept me up at night
until finally--
usually at 2 in the morning--
I would give in,
get up,
and give voice to that idea.

Next thing I knew,
it was 4am,
and I would go back to bed,
jubilant,
but knowing that jubilance wouldn't help when the alarm rang
in less than 2 hours.

Today, things are different.
I sleep through the night,
usually,
and rarely does an idea cry for release.

Instead, I spend my nights in dreamless slumber
and wake at the alarm
go through my day
and then come home,
sit down,
and summon ideas.

They no longer annoy me into being.
Instead, they are polite and wait to be thought into existence.

You know,
I miss them.

sheol

I would love to tell you that everything is beautiful
Here in Abraham's bosom.

Don't get me wrong--
It is as good as good can be, or as it can be now.

But every day there is the reminder
God is not here.

We are the righteous,
But we are not free.

Every day it is the same.
We are comforted,

and we wait.

We have waited for so long that some of us
have started to wonder
if we will ever
ever
be free.

Not that things are bad here,
They're not.
In fact, they're quite nice.

But hell is just across the chasm,
and we are reminded--
constantly reminded--
that we are as separated from God's love
as they are.

But we wait
and we hope
and we pray…

Wait--who is this man?
He comes in as we did,
Nail scars in his hands,
fresh wounds throughout his body.

He should go to Father Abraham and bow--
What's this?
Father Abraham bows before him!
He takes our father in his arms,
lifts him up,
and promises him freedom.

Freedom?

Who is this man?

Paul

Born into the law,
Son of  a Pharisee
 a Pharisee himself.
Paul knew the law
Forward and back,

Hearing of this Jesus,
He was unimpressed.

How could someone
so lawless
so little inclined to following the rules
be Messiah?

It was inconceivable.
And so he did not consider it.

His disdain,
he felt,
proved accurate.

This man,
this Messiah--
crucified?
Ridiculous!

The Son of God put to death upon a cross?
Inconceivable.

He felt himself justified in his unbelief
and he began zealously persecuting those
who persisted in their foolishness.

Others believed as he did.
They acted upon their beliefs
And he held their cloaks.

He continued blindly in his zealous conceit
Until that day
on the road
to Damascus.

"Saul! Why are you persecuting me?"

A voice so strong, words so deep,
that all around him heard the message meant for him.

"I am Jesus, who you persecute!"

And in a moment of blindness,
All was made clear.

He continued to Damascus
led by the hand
And found himself in the care of Ananias.

Who showed the greater faith--
The blind man, trusting that God would provide
or the faithful man, healing the man
who delighted in persecuting his people?

From that time on,
Saul fed the church he had persecuted,
Both physically
and spiritually.

God chooses those that he chooses.
He uses those that he uses,
and always for his glory--
They come to tell his story.

to those who changed my life by their deceit

why do you suppose
that it is okay
to state that black is white?

why do you suppose
that god will be in favor
of your deceit?

do you really think
that pretending to be one thing
is just or right?

i trusted you,
i followed you,
i thought that you were real.

but you let deception in,
and in doing so,
you forgot yourself.

i long for the days gone by,
days when it was joy to worship with you.
those days are long gone.

now, all is different.
all is strange
and i no longer fit in.

i have long since moved on.
i have found peace in a new place,
but i still remember.

napowrimo

Hi everyone--
This is National Poetry Month and I am, among other things, a poet, so I am joining the napowrimo challenge.  This month, I will only be writing poetry.  No worries, though.  I always (almost) write poetry, so nothing much will change :)

The Poet

It used to be that the poet sat at a table in a bare room--
preferably somewhere in France--
solitary, poor, and wholly devoted to the MUSE.

Times have changed.
The poet today sits at a computer desk--
wishing she could be in France
(or England, Ireland, Italy or the Tardis)--
at times when she can be solitary.

She is not always poor
Because she finds that she cannot devote herself wholly to the MUSE.

There are mouths to be fed, bills to pay,
and so the poet
writes before work,
or when she goes home
or surreptitiously during breaks.

At least that's what this poet does.

What do we both have in common?
We dream.  We seek. We write.

And sometimes, if the mood strikes,
We rhyme.