Loose Lips Sink Ships

     Loose lips sink ships.  Does anyone remember that phrase?  It's always one I've liked...that rhyme thing. I've always known on a theoretical level that it's a truism, but I've never thought about it much on a personal level.  Oh, I've thought about it in terms of  not gossiping about people.  I've thought about it in terms of not saying something recklessly that might hurt someone else, but I've never thought about it in terms of shooting myself in the foot, so to speak, if I say something carelessly and without thinking of its impact.
     This past week I made a comment in a blog that upset a lot of people and caused them to worry about me.  I've had to stress to several people that I only meant what I said as a figure of speech to explain how depressed I was at that moment.  I didn't mean to worry anyone or make them think that I'm unstable, or that I am a danger to myself.  Not at all!  I hope everyone is now less fried and that they realize what I meant.
     But when we talk about being sadder than sad, and that some things in life get us down so much that we don't see the answers, that we can get so weighted down that it seems as if we will never get up, how do we express those things in a serious way that gets our point across without causing others to flip-out and worry?
     When I talk about missing Stacey (and that pain is the only one that gets me into a pit), how do I put that so that it doesn't sound trite or contrived?  Because my feelings like those of everyone else's, are not trite or contrived.   I try not to dwell on it, and I am truly happy these days; it's just not the 100%, over the moon, head over my heels happy.  Maybe that will never come again; maybe it will.  I can only go back to trying to trust God with my whole being instead of just on an emotional level and trust that he will hold me up.  As he said, he won't give us more than we can bear.  I just need to remember that and curb the things I say publicly.
     My deepest apologies to everyone I worried.  I'm truly sorry you were, but also extremely touched that you care so deeply for me.  Thank you.

Missing Stacey

     I probably shouldn't write when I'm so depressed, but sometimes it's the only way to sort through things.  I've already suggested to my mother that one of us sell our house and move in with the other.  That got a no.  Then I suggested it to my son.  That got an even bigger no.
     It's just that I miss Stacey so much.  It's been five years and I still miss him so much. I realize tonight that I can NEVER stop taking my anti-depressants.  I've always struggled with depression, and my doctor says that it's a brain chemical thing that I can't really help, but having Stacey in my life sure was better than being on anti-depressants.  I didn't take them when he was alive, but I don't seem to be able to cope without him and anti-depressants both.
     It's been already five years, and I feel no better.  I'm just as sad, just as bereft, just as "cut loose".  Sometimes I think it's not fair, but I'm not really mad at God, I don't think.  In fact, I wish Jesus would come in the next five minutes to end this misery.

Why do I clean at all?

My mother raised me to be better than this...cleaning I mean.  But since I live by myself, I can't seem to stay on top of it.  There's always something else I'd rather do, and things just go right back to unruly in a matter of minutes.  It things would just stay clean and picked up for a couple of days.  But I know that the real reason things don't stay is that I'm depressed.  Yes you heard it first here.  Deep down, I'm depressed that the love of my life is gone and he's not here for me to make a home for anymore.  I just find that I hide behind reading or being on the computer.  I can't seem to work up the energy to keep things picked up.  I don't have the enthusiasm either.  I like things clean and orderly too, so why don't I do it?  I don't know,  but I'm saved again for a few more days.  Mom is coming over tomorrow to help me whip the house into shape.  Thanks Mom...you really did raise me to be better than this.

SpringSleep

Spring is officially here!  WooHoo!  And now that daylight savings time is once again here (which let me state FOR THE RECORD that I HATE for a whole host of reasons!) I’m sleeping even less than usual.  I don’t sleep much anyway.  I mean, as I type this, it’s 1:40 in the morning.  Just having that extra hour of daylight makes me want to stay up even later.  I really meant it when I “WooHooed” about spring being here because it is my favorite season, but I do want to sleep some in every 24 hour period.
    Instead, I find myself rearranging my craft room or reading or piddling on the computer.  I could at least be outside howling at the moon, which my grandgirls and I have actually done several times just to get all the dogs in the neighborhood howling.  TeeHee.  But whatever happened to sleeping?  I love to sleep, I love my nice comfy bed, I love snuggling with my cats, but going to bed early seems to elude me.  There is just so much that I want to do and there is so much that I am interested in that I can’t seem to get it all in before I finally collapse into the bed each day.  I just love to come home at the end of a work day and start fooling with all the things around here that I love to fool with.
    All of which reminds me...how can anyone ever say that they are bored?  I don’t remember very many times while at home that I’ve ever been bored.  Oh yeah, I’ve been bored at other places, in meetings, sometimes at church, out and about, but never at home.  I guess that comes from having created a home that is a sanctuary, a refuge, a fortress from the outside world.  In that regard, I’m indeed blessed.  I’m safe, I’m warm, I’m dry, I have food to eat, air conditioning when it’s hot and heat when it’s cold.  I have cats to pet, crafts to do, books to read, tv to watch, a computer to play on, flowers to pick, acres to stroll on, and neighbors to visit with.  My mom is nearby to drink coffee with, and oh yeah, I have a bed to sleep in.  But all these other interests seem to keep me from sleeping in it.  I just can’t seem to make myself get into it even though I do love it.
    So I guess I’ll rephrase a favorite corny poem that my dad used to say each spring:
        Spring is sprung
        The grass is riz   
        I wonder where
        My sleep time is.
‘nite all.

A Crystal Stillness

Early Christmas morning

     Right after midnight mass

We came out of our warm   

     Sanctuary cocoon

                        Into

The frozen crystal stillness

            Of the night

I could see right into heaven…

            The sky was so clear,

And as I saw God’s face…

            I said,

Thank you for your son.

TW March 2011

Canoeing in the River of Life

     This time of year my thoughts always turn to canoeing.  I have been privileged to canoe or raft on some fine rivers: the Mulberry, the Illinois, the Buffalo, the Cossatot, the Kings, the Ocoee, the Nantahala, the Pigeon, the Hiwassee, Lee's Creek, Webber's Creek.  I am most composed and peaceful on the banks of a creek or river.  There's just something that the sound of flowing water does for me, even if it's up way too high to float, and it's all muddy, frothing foam.  Of course the cold, clear spring-time rivers are my favorites, but often, they're too cold to float.  Even so, I love them and would like to immerse myself in their clear flowing sweetness.
     I think often of what Heaven will be like, and I'm hoping my fine old Victorian with the full wraparound porch will be on the banks of a clear flowing river.  Well, actually, I know it will be on the banks of a clear flowing river.  "And he showed me a pure river of water of life, clear as a crystal, proceeding from the throne of God and of the Lamb."  When I think of the beauty of our earthly rivers and the peace that flows from them into me, I can barely wait to float down the River of Life.  But, you know, I don't want to be in a canoe.  I want to float down it on my back buoyed up by only the will of God. I want to roll and float and immerse myself in the River of Life.  I want to drink deeply of its waters and let it roll into my mouth and across my eyes.  I want it to drip from my hair.  I want to be saturated with it.  I can't wait; I just can't wait to roll along in that pure water of the River of Life which is clear as crystal and feel it's cold refreshing, knowing that it comes from the source of life itself.  
     I don't want to just cross it.  I want to drink from it, bathe myself in it, immerse myself in it and be eternally refreshed, and then at the end of the day, I will rise up from the water, and I will sit on my wrap around porch and drink my sweet peach tea and stroke my cats and hold my Sweet Stacey's hand, and listen to the heavenly choirs  practicing up for singing their eternal praises of the Lord of Hosts.
     How could I not be perfectly calm and perfectly at peace living in my home made for me by the author of peace and sitting on the banks listening to the rolling gurgle of my river, my very own river...the River of Life.  I am so grateful to be written in the Lamb's book of life so I will get to inherit my wrap around porch on the banks of the River of Life.

Letting Things Go

     I have been thinking a lot lately about the concept of letting things go, out of my life, I mean.  Not in terms of selling things.  How does one let go of things that are dear to them and that they have invested a lot of time in? I'm not sure that I know the answer.  It's so hard to say goodbye when it is something that we love and that we really want to keep in our lives, that we want to keep being a part of.
     I've always had this trouble.  Yesterday I wrote about being a collector.  Maybe one of the reasons I collect is due to my trouble with letting things go that I love.  Maybe if I were more comfortable, philosophically, with the idea of letting things go then I wouldn't be such a collector of physical things.  Hmmm...interesting thought. I AM a packrat; I haven't quite reached the status of those people on "Hoarders", and I never will, but I'm always so afraid that if I let it go, then I'll need it again later.  That's probably why I have tools in my barn that I have no idea what to do with.  (They were Stacey's and Dad's).
     I also think that one of the reasons that I hate to let things go is that I have trouble giving up on things or situations.  I don't like to admit defeat.  I'm not a quitter.  I even finish books that I don't particularly like.  It's that seeing something through to completion idea, I guess.  I keep thinking that if I just try a little harder, whatever it is will work out.  This isn't a bad quality, it's just that it doesn't always work out the way you hope it will whether you see it through to the end or not.  And...to make matters worse, what if you're not sure you're really at the end?  "Ah," as Shakespeare said, "there's the rub." 
   I've sort of come to a conclusion about knowing whether I should let something go, and it goes back to something I heard in college.  A person said to me, "If I give it to God, and He gives it back, then it's really mine.  If He doesn't, then it really wasn't mine because He didn't mean for me to have it."  That's profound, I think.  But that to me is the easy part.  
     Maybe the issue isn't even really knowing when I'm at the end of something.  Maybe it's that I do know, and I don't want that to be the answer.  Wow!  Maybe this is really about accepting the will of God.  Maybe this is about being willing to accept a new direction from God but wanting another one.
     Oh brother.  Time to get out His road map.