avoiding myself

I spent the better part of today working on one project in order to avoid working on a few others. Alongside three of our sons, I cleaned their room, dusting, vacuuming, dragging and disposing. The room looks great, and once I find a home for an old "kid" piece, will be a bit more usable for a while.

Oftentimes when I have a deadline or a due date for something, I find myself cleaning instead of getting to work. When I was taking my college classes and had a big paper due every five weeks, a new room was organized and squeaky clean with each submission. I'd like to say it's because I want to have the order to clear my head and put forth my best work. But I know it's a matter of avoidance. 

Until tonight, I didn't really think about why I was avoiding; why I tend to put myself under pressure to finish. I always put it down to an unavoidable tendency to procrastinate since I am an Aquarius. Tonight, though, as I considered the projects -- for church, for the team, and for professional reasons -- I admitted to myself that I kind of like the feeling of importance running up against a deadline gives me. I'm glad it's not an everyday thing. My sensitive skin couldn't handle that any better than my heart could! But there is a little bit of "needed" attached to deadlines.

And there's another reason that was even harder to admit.  A quieter, older and more uncomfortable reason. If I put off doing or making, and the finished product is a flop, I have an excuse. The hard truth is, I have a difficult time feeling worthy, capable, talented. I know that I am (which may or may not sound arrogant to you. It's not meant to be. I am; therefore I am worthy and have been given talent that I am capable of cultivating) and yet, no matter how many times I think I have, I just can't shake that niggling doubt.

I put things off because I'm afraid to succeed.

If only I knew why. The best I can come up with right now is that I still have some me to learn about. I've come a long way, but I know there are questions I still don't know how to ask. Or have the nerve to ask. There are still things I don't know how to say. I know because I can see them, hear them, feel them inside my head, and in my heart. I know that's progress because I've never had things bounce around my heart before, trying to get out.

My list is made, and in the morning I will systematically attack each project. I'm looking forward to it. I know I won't finish them all before the weekend is over, but I'm armed with a bit more knowledge of who I am and how I tick. And that's a good lesson learned. 

scare the world

Goofing off, avoiding what I really want to do (and need to be doing) now that I feel better after a few days of being sick, I came across this. It struck me, because of how much I still sometimes fear being me. Not because I don't know who I am (which used to be the reason), but because of the reaction that typically follows.

Unfortunately, I think the "scare people" part is spot on. I scare people. I've never intended to. To be honest, I don't think they are actually afraid; I think they think they are because they don't know how else to define it. I make people uncomfortable. I'm an introvert who doesn't like to pretend. I can; I just don't like it, and I'm not very good at it. I don't like to talk about nothing, and I don't like to talk about people, and I don't like to talk about personal things (my own or others') with people I hardly know.

Bottom line: I'm a mom. I always have been, and I always will be. I have a job, but it's just a job to me, it's not a career. I suppose there's a possibility that there is plenty of time for a career for me, but in all honesty, being available for my kids -- and now my mom -- is far more important to me. When all of them got old enough to be alone for extended amounts of time, I was told that I would feel more gratified, more satisfied, happier, even, if I started working full time. Actually, the opposite is true. I feel far less appreciated, needed, capable now than I ever did as a stay at home mom. Both at home and in an office. Don't get me wrong; I like my job as much as anyone else. I just feel less connected to my family, and less able to finish anything that I start.

One day, I will be replaced at my job. It's inevitable, whether it's two months, two years, or two decades in the future. I will be replaced, and that is a good thing. Nothing can ever replace my family. More often than not, that's where I am in my thoughts when you see me; I'm with my family. Always. Or I'm praying -- that they know that I am not trying to find fulfillment somewhere else.

full of grace

On this date, seven years ago, my father opened his eyes for the last time as my sister and I sang to him a prayer to Our Lady. It was 3:05. Today, an alarm goes off on my phone each day at 3:05 as a reminder to say a little prayer: "Jesus, I trust in you. I will sit at your feet and listen to you speak." It has little to do with that day, and yet everything.

I was devastated at that moment. Standing at his bedside as his heart beat its last, I felt that I'd been cursed with the experience. The last thing I wanted to remember about that day was that moment. But my sister, when she looked at the time, cried out that it was the hour of Divine Mercy. I had no idea what she was talking about, or why she found it to be so fitting that we had been singing the Hail Mary at that moment. It would take years of searching for me to realize the power in that moment. And now, after seven years, I almost wish I could experience it all again so that the memories could be different.

The first thing is that I wasn't even supposed to be there. I had an appointment to get my hair cut at noon, and after that, the earliest I could hope to arrive was around 5:30. Dad would be fine, after all, and it was silly to change everything just because he'd been taken to the hospital. But I'd cancelled the appointment, and left at 10. My sister was surprised to see me. My brother had arrived before me, and had been visiting--sitting vigil, I realized. I was taken aback by what I saw in Dad's corner room of the ICU. When we heard that another brother's flight had just arrived, I offered to pick him up, but since I was the newest arrival, I was told to stay. Brother left to get brother while sister stayed with sister. Still two siblings outstanding, and none of us wanted to believe.

Not really knowing what to do, we chatted awkwardly, then began to sing together. Eyes opened, eyes searched, eyes closed, heart stopped. And I was filled with tremendous guilt. My brother had gotten there first; he should have been there. My brother had just landed; we should have waited to pray. Mom should have been holding his hand; not us. Who wants to be there to see someone they love die, anyway? Guilt gave way to anger, frustration, pain, sorrow......questions.

So much has happened, has changed, has been explained since then. So much has healed my soul, although there is still -- will always be -- a gaping hole where he would be in my life. When I have questions or complaints about life. When the boys do wonderful or irritating things. When I just need to hear his voice, feel his hug, see his silly dance, feel his shoulder under my head.

Not long ago, I read about a volunteer initiative at a hospital that ensures that no one dies alone. These people sit waiting on call or in the chapel at the hospital and sit with those whose families are not available, or who don't have families, and love them to the next world. Sometimes with prayer or song, sometimes in silence, but always with a hand to hold. The article warmed my heart, and made me long for the opportunity in my own community to be a part of something so generous, so loving, so beautiful, and I realized I had turned a corner. Being there at that bedside was a blessing, whether I wanted it to be or not. I still wish my brothers and my other sister could have seen him before he died, and I still wish I could share a cup of coffee or a glass of wine with him, but the most important thing is that we were there, and we recognized his life in his death.

I've since learned so much about Divine Mercy, and about mercy in general (though 'in general' does not begin to address the beauty and magnitude of God's mercy) and I am so awed by the timing and the significance of the moment. After seven years, I'm willing to say that I would not give up that memory, despite years of trying to forget. Thank you, Lord, for answering that prayer in the way that only You know is best.

be strong, be courageous

Just what does courage mean? Does it mean not having that heart-racing, hand shaking, blood chilling feeling when faced with something that is wrong, or dangerous? Or when I know I need to stand up for myself, or someone else who needs a voice?

Or does courage mean that despite the tremors and feelings of faintness, I still speak, stand, act?

Will I ever have courage? Do I have it and just not know?

musings

Birthdays make me happy. Doesn't really matter who in my family is celebrating one, they make me happy. From time to time, a friend or acquaintance will tell me that they hate the counting of the passage of time, or that birthdays make them feel bad/sad. I respect that. But birthdays make me happy.

To me, birthdays are great days to look back, to look forward, to live today. My birthdays are about the people in my life. When I look back to grade school, I remember the cupcake days, sharing birthdays with the kids that I spent more time with than with some of my family. Those kids became family to me, in so many ways. I can't think about growing up birthdays without thinking of those classmates. We grew up together, and even now, their presence in my memory continues to shape me.

So many of my birthdays after grade school blur into the regular days of everyday life. There are certain special ones: my first birthday away from home; that year we got engaged; my first as a mom, the first time it fell on Super Bowl weekend. But usually on my birthday I look back at where I've been--or, more specifically, where I've come from. Not just over the past year, but overall. And I look toward where I'm headed, changing direction, dreams, even fears, to a certain extent.

I like best when my birthday falls on a Sunday. I was born on a Sunday, shortly before 9 am. Legend has it that since Dad was lectoring that day at Mass, he sped from the hospital to the church, window down, horn blowing, yelling out the window, "It's a girl!!" Sometimes when he'd tell the story, he'd say that he told everyone in church, too, when he got up to read. Somehow the entire story seemed out of character for him, and yet, I still believe there must be truth. On my birthdays, I also remember and ponder the births of each of our children. Everyone loves to see a new baby, and when that new baby is to be a part of your life for the rest of your life, there is definitely a part of you that wants to scream out about the wonder of wonders, miracle of miracles, joy of joys that has just been placed in your arms. Despite the pain in the neck I know I was as a kid, as a teen, I like to remember that my first breath brought that kind of delight.

This birthday has been wonderful. Low key. Nothing super unusual about it. No special presents or cake. Kind of a normal day with an extra little smile in my heart all day long. Just what my soul needed. And when I look back on it, I'll certainly remember how beautiful the day was, how wonderfully warm from my own special joy.

on my way

There's something truly special about moments when things come together as a result of careful planning and coordination. All the hard work developing ideas and finding ways to implement them seems worth the effort, the time and energy, and even the stress and headaches that may have been a part of the planning.

Why, then, does it sometimes seem strange to see when things come together by some other means? I sometimes allow myself to believe, I think, that I am the only one working on plans for me. I make calendars and lists of goals, hopes, wishes, chores. I plan out times for grocery shopping, exercise, reading, cleaning. I determine who and what I will or will not allow to shape my moods, my feelings, my days.

Sometimes, though, those plans get derailed. Sometimes even hijacked. For a long time, I chalked it up to 'life.' Things happen--or don't--for many reasons, and though I always believed that the reasons must have validity, whether I ever saw it or not, I never really thought much about where 'life' was taking me. Instead, I would consider how this curve ball could be fit into my plan. I spent a good deal of energy on molding my own mud.

As I've learned about faith in general, and my own faith, I've begun to see things a little differently. For a time, I tried to find patterns. I was actively searching for the arrows on my path. I kept asking God to make the directions clear for me because I am not good at subtlety. After a while, I realized that wasn't getting me very far. Looking outward was not going to lead me where I needed to go.

So I started looking at the people around me. I cleaned house, so to speak, and seriously considered (again) who was in my life, in my circles, in my world. Some I began to share more with, and some less, and I thought I was finally on the right track. Until I realized that no one else was going to get me where I needed to go.

I thought I was back where I started, and I was a bit confused. What was I missing? I was working on focusing my energies, I was praying, I was talking to people so I wouldn't lose myself in that dark place in my head that I'd found myself in so many times before. Not knowing where to turn, I stopped. Right where I was, and sat myself down right in the middle of the path. "Where do I go now? What am I missing?"

Looking inside is harder. Understanding personal motivation is difficult; sometimes even painful. Seeing and hearing what comes out of one's own heart can be humbling, frightening. The only place for me to go, to move forward, was inward. I cut myself off a little, without withdrawing completely. From the shelter of my heart, I watched what was happening around me; listened to the sounds around me--voices, noise, music. As I watched, listened, read, I paid close attention to what my heart said, how I felt, what emotions and memories were stirred. And then I asked myself why. Why that memory? Why that emotion? Was the reaction expected, surprising, welcome? Some things hurt. Some things were surprisingly beautiful. Oddly, some memories that had always seemed painful began to feel joyful. Even more strange, I felt far less confused. Frustrated, yes; looking inside, it's easy to get lost.

About this time, probably because I was not focusing outward, I began to see connections. Still, I thought little about them, other than the fact that they were there, and I was seeing them. Nothing fancy or earth shattering, nothing truly exciting, but I did find myself sharing them sometimes with the people close to my heart. A couple of months ago, all of a sudden, I was overwhelmed with connections. My heart raced, my head swam, and I was terrified because I could see all these pieces coming together, but I couldn't see what they had to do with each other. It was like a hundred lights pointing at one spot in the distance, just outside of my range of vision. In a moment when I felt I needed a spiritual advisor or a prayer partner, I had no one to turn to. I wouldn't have known which to call anyway, so I texted a friend who suggested I start writing a list, and that I pray for courage.

Making the list somehow reminded me to be thankful for each point of light. And also helped me to see other connections. Seeing them doesn't overwhelm me nearly as much these days. Possibly because I'm allowing them to shape my mud. I'm remembering to thank God for the timing of things, for the unexpected, even for the painful. I still don't know where I'm going, but I don't really expect to know. For a long time, I thought knowing where I was going was the important part of the plan of me. I'm getting more comfortable with following, allowing.

I'm on my way.