I know that I’m quieter and much more introspective than 24
months ago. I’ve ripped off personal labels, many of which were near and dear
to me. That means that friends and acquaintances have been able to glare at the
real me, now trembling in the spotlight. How can I expect others to understand
the real me when I still stare questioningly into the mirror?
And holy, moley the things that are reflected back to me
from that mirror probably are the items that scared our local groundhog back
under the covers. I can actually brag now about my six-pack abs. The muscles
have not suddenly become firm and lean, but my layers of flubber kind of give
the same appearance – or not. I’ve tried to exercise some and know I need to
take better care of my body. I’ve lost a whopping 13 pounds. I actually have
lost hundreds but those seem to keep finding me again over and over. I’ve
combined the need for health by trying to accomplish things with my mind, or
what is left of it. I am now a reiki practitioner, which really doesn’t mean
anything other than it’s an accomplishment that I would someday like to use to
help others. I’m working on my third class for my meditation instructor
certification. (Of course, right now I’m typing this blog rather than doing the
studying that is required for the course.)
It’s been a hard blow to leave that classroom of kids,
especially in the manner of my departure. Teaching was always the known given
of me and now I have lost a firm grip on that career. Will I be able to use it
in the future? That is an unknown, but I used it in the past to help mold lots
of young minds as I shared knowledge, comfort, respect and caring every day I
crossed the threshold of my school.
I want to declare that I have stayed strong in my faith,
proudly declaring my devotion to the world. That would be untrue. I crumble
that I don’t know how to sit through a church service without the haunting
echoes of the organ crashing into my head. I might sound good to others but
I’ve hidden the cracks in my stalwart stand of the past. I’ve helped on
committees and shared my linguistic love with the congregation, but deep down
inside me I hunt for that dialogue with Christ that daily led me on my day.
It will probably sound erroneous as I admit that I have lost
the habits involved with Christianity for that seems like a positive attribute.
I have been aghast at the ease of getting out of the habit of joining in the
nourishing worship each Sunday morn. My prayers to God are often not as raw
because I feel that I have already bared my heart and soul. It’s not that I
don’t believe in God, it’s that I’ve lost the open conviction that drew me to
the cross. I need the obvious faith and grace my momma so elegantly modeled.
I think I need my momma, but she left this earth a long time
ago to finally be in a place without pain. I need her to stroke my hair and
reassure me on bad days. I need her quiet devotion to the Lord. I don’t think I
ever ended a phone conversation with her without her ending phrase of love and
promise to take my needs to God in prayer. She had that strong faith that
modeled devotion for her three girls to always witness. That lady could pray!
And pray she did.
Yet I am my own little bundle of prayer. Many of my comrades
at church know that I don’t begin a committee meeting without bringing God to
the table. My daughter knows of my talks with God and daily efforts to live as
Jesus would do.
Yet cobwebs fill my daily schedule as the pain has
frequently manacled my hours. The routine of emptiness fills the hours too
quickly and the desires to break free of my chains dissolve too easily. Yo God!
I’m over here.
So now my soul opens quite readily on these postings. I’ve
talked about every aspect of my existence, from a spoiled dog to great-grandma
biceps to medical help in balmy Minnesota to these two beloved grandsons residing
in my heart. I’ve shared blessings of neighbors and family and friends. I’ve
warned of fragrant skunks in the neighborhood, magnetic calories to my thighs
and economic pitfalls associated with those two beloved grandsons. I’ve admitted those multiple rolls at my
waist, my affections for computer games, and the humorous adventures with a
spouse that I love. When I list off these features, a film is peeled off my
emotions for me to rediscover the quality of my life. Thanks God. Life is good.
God Uses My Chronic Pain to Prove that Life is Good
- Weren’t you reading my blog? Life is good!
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