Unfurled

All the banners of I've been under:
My father's, the church,
the crest over my heart on my school jumper
My place in the halls of learning
Bumper sticker theology
A daughter of dead soldiers
Catechumen to grace
And now sir, yours.

You unfurled it to press
To make ready the ramparts and comforts of home
Laundered and threads checked
Bed linens smelling of lavender and Spring Hope
Watered with the tears of years past
His heart and his heart and his heart
His rough words
Now soothed under the kind sound of your name

But taken aback!
Back! Back!
Sound the retreat and the scurrying of who-knows-who
Till lonely on the barren fields
I take hands with Uriah
And together we march on, alone.

The spoils of hope

On almost sunny afternoons

A quiet heart is free to muse

On questions unasked

Sighs that fill those spaces

Between Fear and Knowing

All that has ransomed our plans

Where weaker minds and youthful 

Dreams went unexplored

That land of weeping

Now swept with a fog

A rolling heaviness

Almost romantic

Books closed, tea unsipped

Pretty hands folded neatly on chintz 

Naked fingers curl round 

Some phantom we almost grasped. 

And a deeper pain

A quieter pain

Spills tears, and goes silent.

"I have been dealt a blow, Jane.  Dealt a blow."

Mr. Rochester had many secrets that he kept from Jane.  They eventually came back to haunt him, to ruin their plans for marriage (since he had his wife locked in an upstairs room), and break Jane's heart.  It took her wandering off across the moors, almost dying, setting up life in a new place and starting over, forgiving him somehow, turning down her cousin's (!) offer of marriage, Rochester losing everything and going blind, and her returning, for things to work out.

That's a lot of pain to suffer through for love.
Jane was 18.
Jane had her whole life ahead of her.
But not much because all she wanted to do was fly away and be free.
I cannot imaging how much her wedding being interrupted at the altar must have crushed her.  I cannot imagine taking my next breath.


I have been dealt a blow.
Not quite as bad as Jane's but in the same vein.
I am suffering right now.
I feel like something very precious has been taken away from me.
I am hurting so badly.
I need prayers, please.
I don't have any secrets.  My father has secrets.
My father told him not to marry me.
My father put conditions on me.
My father has cast a shadow over my life, even without being in it.
Here I am, wandering across the moors.
I am the first to admit I need help.


I am holding onto a few things, now:
Faith, my faith in Jesus Christ.  Church attendance.  The sacraments.
Grace.  Hope that God really does love me, somehow.
Hope that there is help.
Hope that my father doesn't have the final say in my happiness.
Jesus.

That's about it.
Please pray for me.

Space between sighs

Shall there be dawn beyond the empty blackness?
That space between sighs

You've given me pain, Lord.
You've set me up for glory
Planned me a coronation
And then given me pain.

Why?  What good could possibly be in this dust
Falling, crumbling between my slender fingers
I couldn't stop it for all the money in the world

just like I couldn't pay to calm your heart
I couldn't spend enough to pardon my own soul
To bring healing to the wounds
Caused by the rough words of a father

I didn't ask to be wounded.
I didn't ask to carry his cross
You could tie me to a rock
And blame me for not moving
Fast enough.  Or now too slow
That molasses was sweet
But dripped in my eyes, and now I can't see.

He held my heart close to his
Safe in his dear rough hands
Carried to the place of treasure
In his sweet eyes

But then asked its price
Appraised its worth
Called down the sellers and the buyers

And now I've found myself in the dust
On the dust, under the dust
Made of dust

Ashes.  Ashes and dust.
Terrified of which questions in my heart
I shall not ask.  Shant ask.
Ashes and dust and diamonds and dust.
Once brilliant sun, now mocking me.  Blinding me.
Shaming me.

Like the calendar on the wall which mocks my days.
Unfeeling papers planned before my time.
"The way it's always been".
Someone decided.  But they didn't tell me.

A broken spirit and a contrite heart.
These, Lord, You will not despise.


Do not despise me, Lord.
Remember me, Lord.

A Second Chance

I thought my world had come to a crashing halt a few days ago.

Things got rocky.  Really rocky.  I didn't see a way out.  It less than fun.

I was thinking back on 10 years ago when I had a horrible breakup about this time of year.  I got so depressed that I stopped going to work for a few weeks.  I would sit at home on my couch, all clinched up.  I was so incapacitated by anxiety and depression that I could barely breathe.  Or eat.  I lost weight (I liked that part!).  But life was grey and dark and I didn't see much of a reason to live it.

This time wasn't like that.  The world got dark for a few days.  But I realized, and my mom pointed out to me, how much stronger I am, now.  Granted, I'm ten years older.  But I'm tougher.  I got up, scrubbed my face and went to work, sans makeup.  I taught my voice lessons.  I went to bed and got up the next day and did the same thing.  Between those things there was a lot of crying.  The were was a lot of steering wheel gripping and whispering "God help me" as I put on my cheery voice and face for the next voice student coming in for a lesson.  But I kept going.  This is a big step for me.  I didn't let emotional turmoil take over my life. 

And in that vein, I'm kind of done with emotional turmoil.

I've thought a lot about it.  Growing up incredibly scarred by such a rough relationship with my dad, emotional turmoil has been my comfort blanket.  It feels safe.  It feels like home.  Crying and not knowing what to do is just that...it's not doing anything.  It's putting energy into not doing.  It's diverting away from facing the real problems of pain, disappointment, hurt, broken friendships, breakups, getting fired, etc.  And putting it into harming myself and those around me with a deluge of tears and anger.  It's not pretty, and I'm not pretty when I do it.  

The cool thing is that I have a choice, now.  I have tools to help me, now.  I have a way out.  

It doesn't have to FEEL like there is a way out for there to BE a way out.

It doesn't have to feel right to be right.

It doesn't have to feel right to be the truth.

If it feels like the end, it isn't always the end.

I don't need to self-destruct because the world will try hard to destroy me anyway.  I don't need to help it.

There is a man who I love, dearly.

And I harden my heart to him when I'm afraid.

I get angry when things don't go the exact way I want them to.

I close myself off to him when he messes up.

I try so hard to protect myself and get defensive when I get hurt.

When all the while, his love, kindness, forgiveness, hugs, and presence are the very things I need.  Emotional turmoil hurts me, but it also hurts him.  I am so angry at myself for reverting to this stupid childhood technique of coping with abuse.  He's not abusing me!  But when I feel hurt, I cover up with things that don't protect me.  Things that hurt both of us more.

For the very first time in my LIFE, today, I felt the healing of Jesus.

I have begged Jesus for years to heal my heart.

To heal my hurt.

To heal my brokenness.

To heal the ways I try to cope that hurt me.

To stop the crying.

To stop me from being hurt by friends and family.

And it never seemed to help.

So this horrible time I've been through the past fews days left me terrified that I was going to lose the very thing that I love.  It made me more scared and angry and just...an emotional hurricane.  And I heard Jesus asking me, once again, to trust Him.  I guess what?  I opened up just a teeny tiny bit and let go of my pride.  Just a bit.  Seriously..not much.  I'm NOT good at this trust thing.  And Jesus reset my heart.  I stopped crying.  I felt calm for the first time in days.  I felt like I got a second chance to love Him.  And to love Christopher.  And to love myself. 

I am NOT patting myself on the back.  At all.  Please don't think I am! 

I really am not good at this stuff and I hope I don't fall into sadness again.  But I want to praise Jesus for helping me in a supernatural way, and I hope He does it some more.  And I hope I'm not too broken to love.  I hope that I can just be calm and happy and mature.  And that God will prevail even though I'm a beginner in being merciful and trusting.  A beginner has gone farther than a skeptic.  

I volunteer to take another step, if Jesus will have me.  

To life

You brimming bucket of catch-all maddness
Youthful exuberance mixed with a smattering of
Useless days, wasted expectations
Old ovaries and too many phone conversations
And starting over.  And over.  And over again.
Like looking in the mirror and seeing laugh lines
Turn to wrinkles, not from frowning
But too many days in the sun, too many
Too many cares and untied ends
Till it drifts again into an unending parade
Of alarm clocks, hitting snooze, feet on the cold floor
Coffee cups, watching the hours tick by
Trips to the bank, waiting for...what?
Acceptance from a shattered childhood
Memories burned into hearts like brand irons
And handkerchiefs full of millennial angst caught forever
Between cotton fibers, like running between raindrops
Raindrops, or were those tears?  Falling cautiously
Back to you, little bucket.  Half-full of life.
Or half empty?