Today

Today I had a great attitude all day long.  I didn't want to yell once at children or pets. I didn't think once with exasperation "Are you kidding me?" when dealing with students. I didn't have that tightness in my chest which builds until I think my entire insides are going to explode. I actually felt like my real self--which was comforting since I had kind of forgotten that my real self isn't always angry and short fused.  I had the best laugh this morning about something that was really only that funny to me--it felt sooooo good to laugh like that from way down deep.  All in all, a great day.  And whether you think it or not--it is nothing short of a miracle to me. Thank You, God. I hope tomorrow is another one just like it.     

Cleaning House

I am cleaning house—literally and figuratively. Literally, because I am going through and trying to de-clutter yet again. Figuratively because the ugliness inside me is threatening to take over and this mess has got to be cleaned up. It is necessary, and there is absolutely no way of avoiding it if I want to remain sane.

Back in September I was asked if I would tell my story of healing in the aftermath of tragedy. I needed to hear stories of survival when my life was freshly shattered, so I decided to speak in hopes that it would encourage others. Well, isn't that just the way things work…you spout off about how far you've come only to land flat on your bottom immediately following such a confession. I prayed about it beforehand, and I still believe it was the right thing to do, but I have been challenged in many ways since releasing "my story of healing" for public consumption. Mainly because this story isn't finished, but once part of your story is out there, you can't take it back. You can't invite people in and then change your mind and say "this is off limits." But that is exactly what I find myself wanting to do. It has been an adjustment, particularly when my students have come up to me after reading the article. The reality is that some days I really feel up to sharing my journey, and other days I just want to be separate from the entire world.

More recently, I gave a deposition regarding the events surrounding my husband's murder. I really thought I was fine in the first hours after I gave the deposition, but I have become increasingly angry and sad.  I have been brought to my knees (again, both literally and figuratively speaking) many times during the two weeks since my deposition. There are times I seriously consider is any of this worth the fight? But I find myself getting back up on my feet each time—not really knowing how I got there or how long I will remain solidly upright. It can be days, and then, again, it can only be hours. I have no fuse left, so the time between internal explosions is very unpredictable.

Such silly stuff sets me off. Today I got a pretty big splinter in my finger while I was dusting an old frame on a work award I received many years ago. Coming across the award had already made me focus on Todd for a variety of reasons. I went from okay to pissed off and crying in the span of about 10 minutes. Todd could always get a splinter out, and I have never been able to. I threw the award in the trash. My daughter asked if I was okay (knowing I wasn't, of course). I banged a closet door with my fists and yelled 'NO! I miss your daddy!" Maybe I can get" Drama Queen of the Year" since I know "Mother of the Year" is officially out (and was WAAAAY before this incident).

So my house needs serious cleaning. It is definitely a job that requires outside Help. I waffle back and forth between wanting the job done and slamming the door on anything that smacks of goodness and light--behaving like a person who believes she must clean before the "house cleaner" comes. Thankfully, it doesn't work like that with God. He's knocking, but He's a gentleman. He's not expecting me to clean myself up before He gets to work…but I do have to choose to open the door.

Potsherd

I want to write something funny or uplifting...or anything for that matter.  I just don't have it in me right now.  Wishing you all a blessed Advent.
Peace,
Susan

Comfort People

I spent the afternoon with a dear, old (yes, as in friends for 30 years, old) who came for a visit and to help with a few things around the house…like getting the cobwebs down from the vaulted ceiling and changing burned out security lights. We don't see each other too often these days, but we always have good conversation and laughter when we do. He misses Todd too, and he is still very angry. We are like family, so we can pretty much tell each other anything. He listens to me and I listen to him—whether we agree or not is a different story, but we always listen.

He confessed today that he had read The Shack (upon my recommendation), and he HATED it.  He said he was so angry when he finished it, he wanted to destroy the book.  I found his response interesting, because I have only talked about this book with people who either liked it as much as I did or who just didn’t care for it, but no one who so passionately HATED it.  This friend and I have disagreed passionately about things since we first met, but we have always loved and respected each other.   We talked about it for a little while, and he explained why he hated it so and why it made him so very angry.  I asked him if it bothered him when “people” went on about God’s grace, mercy,  and love, etc.  He thought for about 5 seconds (only because he is very deliberate about what he says), and responded with a small laugh “yes. yes it really does sometimes.”  I had to laugh too (of course, I just knew he meant “other people” and not me ;-) 

I started thinking about how I have been blessed with many enduring friendships--some of which span several decades. These friends move in and out of my life at different times, but it really does seem that although we change during our time apart, these friendships are very easy to drop back into. I can't pretend I am something I'm not with these people—because they know better. They have seen me at my worst and at my best…and they know that both of these contribute to the person I have grown to be. They know I am capable of very bad judgment and spreading ugliness, and they also know I am capable of sharing goodness and Light. They may not know my beginning and end, but they have experienced quite a lot of the in-between. No masks necessary. Whew. That is a relief (and refuge) in a culture that seems hell-bent on molding us into cookie cutter images of one another…with cookie-cutter definitions of beauty, success and happiness and the recommendation to use frosting (liberally) to cover over all those pesky imperfections.

Dog Whisperer

The Dog Whisperer sharing his snacks and his love.

These are old friends no longer with us.

Luke still doesn't like to wear shirts or socks, but dogs never seem to mind.

Biscuit King

Todd was always a very good baker. He made mouth-watering carrot cakes and apple pies, but he was probably most famous among family and friends for his biscuits. When someone would ask how he came to be such a biscuit pro, he would always tell the story of his grandmother and how she would make biscuits every morning. She had a "biscuit bowl" she always used….if I recall correctly, it always had flour in it, and she just added more flour as needed, and Crisco and buttermilk each morning.
He lived with "Bubba" and Grandpa while finishing high school. (He adored her. Everyone did. Her spirit was one of gentleness, love and generosity. ) After he was on his own (we might have even already been married at the time), he asked her about making biscuits and made his first batch. He would tell you they came out like hockey pucks, but he laughed that I ate them anyway (because I was in love ;-) . Well the other night, with my mom and sister visiting, I decided to try making biscuits . Guess what? Those biscuits came out just like hockey pucks, and they ate them anyway because they love me. I guess I need more practice. Luke tells me I will never make them as good as Daddy—"No offense, Momma, but you know Daddy made the best biscuits." That makes my heart smile because both my kids have such fond memories of making biscuits with their dad, and I want them to hold tight to those memories. So I will make them from time to time in salute to Todd, but I will always know who is Biscuit King in our kitchen. And I wouldn't have it any other way.

Sickening

I hear gunshots all the time out here in the country (it's hunting season for something all year around) and although they are far from comforting, they don't bother me.  Today, I was out in the garage hurriedly trying to find something in the car.  My kids had some company that we were transporting after school, and they were all outside playing.  The garage door was closed and the kids were playing with the dogs right outside, throwing the kong (large rubber dog toy).  When the Kong crashed against the garage door it made such a loud thundering sound I thought I would vomit.  It didn't scare me, it just sickened me.  The sound reminded me of a gun firing right next to me.  I know I have heard the sound before, but maybe I have never been in the garage or maybe it just struck at an angle that the quality was different this time.  I don't know.  But I didn't like it one bit.