Antithesis

This
is about to be
awful.

Probably
dumb even,
as my nearly five-year-old grandson would say.



(Nearly five years old.
Lord, have mercy!)

This is a step, though,
and one that I must take in order to take the next step forward.
(Don't ask me which step it is, though,
as it's been some time since I studied on all that.)

The thing about this is that before I can go any further forward,
I must go back a few.
I must review.
I must confront.
I must acknowledge.
And then maybe I can deal.
Deal like a real person, and not like some character in a play.

↬

That tree has been up for four days without lights.
There's a scattering of other Christmas decor just beyond view.
There are groceries on the counter, and yes, even some frozen ones that should have been put away minutes and minutes ago.

But I have reached critical mass.
I must either do this or crack open like a wasted acorn* and lie forgotten and decaying in the moss.

(I've read some stuff this last couple of years.  Like, REAL stuff, and it's left in me a deep and mournful yearning to say beautiful, painful things that might cause your bones to ache.)

(first pang.)

(This is going to be more for my own sake, apparently.)

↯

"Walk through these gray days oneself as an announcing messenger.  So many need their courage strengthened, so many are in despair and in need of consolation, there is so much harshness that needs a gentle hand and an illuminating word, so much loneliness crying out for a word of release, so much loss and pain in search of inner meaning.  God’s messengers know of the blessing that the Lord has cast like seed into these hours of history." Father Alfred Delp

I saw this posted in my ig feed this morning along with, 

"Words matter.  Especially now." Kimberly Coyle

People keep telling me to write.
They say that I should, that I can, that I underestimate my ability.
Again, though, I've read some STUFF, and it's left me feeling smallish.
I must acknowledge, though,
that feeling smallish is an affect of my affliction.

⇟

Sometime this year, I was diagnosed with poly-inflammatory arthritis.  I remember how confused my doctor looked when I kept saying, "oh, thank goodness."  I was really just glad to know that something real and not imagined was happening, grateful that I had not accidentally written a chronic illness into my story.  (You ever done that?)  I wonder now if that initial reaction might have affected some of his choices regarding my treatment plan.  (No need to elaborate.)

I guess this turns out to be not a great thing to have since every time I tell someone older than me that I have it, they give me the sad and sympathetic groan, as if my entire future will be dimmed in comparison to the role that this thing will play.

Right now, I'm getting it.  Like, I get it.  I'm having a flare-up.

[(Look, right here, what I want to do is insert 

some kind of frou-frou text image 

and maybe a swollen middle finger, 

but I'm supposed to be better than that.)  

(I'd probably do it anyway if I had time.

Just to be entirely honest about it.)]

The arthritis thing is real, and it's coloring the background of everything else.

Until it takes its place, center stage.

Truth is, it's been easy to ignore, to do what they say, to take what they prescribe.

There's been So Much else to think about...

This is my story, and no-one else's, so who even should remember all the other things?

Like, do you remember that I used to write a Christmas post which included a family picture?

After that very first year, I knew that taking the picture of my family all together on Christmas morning would be a long-standing and severely important tradition.

Truth is, I wondered that very first year about who would and who would not be in the next year's picture.

⇅

On Christmas Eve of 2015, my mom and I sat with my little sister, my only sibling, as she left this world.  I drove home that night, made breakfast the next morning, and took a picture.

Last year, I did not travel, but stayed quiet through the holidays.

(first tears.)

On Christmas morning, I made breakfast for my family, and I took the picture.
I could not write the post, though I've mental-ed it out all through this year.

↭

(now I've lost it.)

I feel bad for all your sakes for what I'm about to write, but I can't not do it.
[(A part of me is hoping nobody reads this.)  (Not a first.)]
I feel especially for those of my family who will feel this all so fully,
like an ache down deep in the bones.

I wish
Lord
I wish I could skip this, but I've held in so much.  I've kept so many words for so long that I have to wonder if I really have some diagnose-able, tangible, recognizable condition, or if this pain is really just the essence of words not said.

↹

I lost a nearly four-year-old grandson this year in a tragic accident.
God bless his momma and his daddy and his cousins and all his other grandmas and grandpas, all his other family, all those who knew him and know the void he's left behind.

God help me, how will I take a picture this year?

↳ I just will.

God help me, I will do it.
I will do it for those of us still here.
I will do it for Joshua.
I will do it for Jenny.
I will do it because it's Christmas.
We're celebrating the birth of Jesus.
And it is because of Jesus that I will see them again.

⇱⇲

Their lives, our lives, these words ... matter.  Especially now.

[going to put away my (wasted) groceries now.]

*As I proofed this, the analogy of the cracked seed came alive for me.  Cracking open, of course, is not the worst thing that can happen to an acorn.  No need to elaborate.

Words, Like Children

i think it's not that i have no words.
i think it's that i don't recognize them.
i think the words are in there,
but look more like bits of shattered glass,
dirt thrown across the way,
piles of paper everywhere,
dried leaves and pressed flowers.
and the words are hiding too,
like children playing an innocent game,
some of them in my heart,
some of them in my marrow,
some of them gone further out into the field,
having forgotten that we were engaged in mutual affection.

In The Desert

the things you see in hindsight ~
the real-life
life-flashes-before-your-eyes vision(s) ~
that you have what?
once?
one last time?

fresh start

all the time
i think,
post apocalypse,
or just one good emp,
and all the digital record will be gone.
i should write on paper,
i think,
but then it might be good,
i think,
to start fresh.

Bio-Degrading

I've been at the Bargain Box for a good, long time now ~ certainly long enough to say which of our problems are bigger than others.  Here's a list I'm working on:

- determine the problems in order of priority
- solve the problems in like order

Our ministry and our business issues ebb and flow like most things in life, but there's one particular thing, one solid pattern I've noticed through the years, and it's this:  if anyone ever gets the idea that we are throwing something away, there's a nearly instant sense of insult and injustice.

Please, no one person should feel I'm pointing directly.  It's been at every opportunity, I've noticed, whether I post to our page, or say something out loud, or carry something to the dumpster:

"Are you throwing that away?  Are you seriously just throwing that away?!  There's probably some homeless shelter nearby that could use that stuff.  Or an animal shelter.  Or a ... just ... anything, but throw it away!  That's just shameful."

I've learned to count to ten, remind myself that you just don't know what you don't know.

Here's another list of things we either have done or currently do with things we cannot sell:

- throw it away
- give it to homeless shelters
- give it to animal shelters
- give it to elder care centers
- give it to Goodwill so they can bail it
- make grab bags so that folks can buy 20-40 articles of clothing for $1
- recycle every possible thing we can

But somebody's gonna stop at "throw it away."

We're in the season of Lent now, and people understand Lent in different ways.  For some people, it means they're getting rid of stuff, and that's really great.  We like it when people bring us their stuff, because selling it is how we support missions all around the world.

Take the 40 Bags in 40 Days Challenge¹, just for instance.  In our particular case, lots of local folks are participating, and so lots of folks are bringing us lots of stuff.  At times, we have more stuff than we have the manpower to manage, and so we have to make some choices.  Refer to that last list.  I am regularly calling on our other sources to take some of our stuff, but guess what.  They also regularly have too much stuff.

One of my favorite things about Jesus was the way that he answered questions.

"Why's that guy blind?"
"Can't I just put her out?"
"Why's that woman wasting the good stuff?"
"Who do you think you are?"

He almost always answered with his own question and the question usually pointed to something that the seeker already knew.  It wasn't that people didn't know the answers.  It was that they didn't want to deal with them.








1 This girl's totally on the right track.  I recommend her articles.

Housekeeping

A real writer probably would have pushed his pain through the pen, but I think no longer that's my calling in life.  Much can change in a year.

Found a new blogger who said,

where has she gone?  i suspect she is living.

Language Arts

photo source:  internet

you know that stupid-a$$ cliche'* meme about always being kind because everybody's fighting some kind of battle?

*(do I sound angry?

i think i sound angry.*)

but don't we all know this by now?

that we should always be kind?

that everybody's dealing with some kind of something?

but then

i want to shake people in the grocery store*:

"do you know what has happened?!"

[(*have i used this line before?)

(nothing under the sun is truly new. Ecc 1:9)]

and then 

i think about all the things i probably don't know about you

and then

about the things i do know

and how i've just lost touch
while i'm dealing with my own kind of whatever.

this has been a hard-a$$ couple of months, and
i'm really grateful for all the people who speak my language, and
who are kind and patient and forgiving when i use words that i shouldn't.

i pray to be as kind to you.



*i'm really not angry ~ not right this second, 
but (obviously) i've had to deal with angry.