"Hello, darkness, my old friend." An issue with a family member has started my Thanksgiving holiday in bitterness.
How tedious it is to read that. Who doesn't have family issues? Who doesn't have someone whom they loved and trusted suddenly turn on them? You're only hurt by the ones you love. "That's just the way it is. Some things will never change."
I came here to vent, to try to make some sense of something which makes no sense. I'm already tired of my rant before I've barely begun. No one is spared from being hurt, and no one wants to read about it. So I won't write any more about it.
So Thanksgiving is tomorrow. Giving thanks. What does that mean? Being thankful only for the good things that happen to us? Is it really that easy? What if we gave thanks for those terribly painful things that felt as if they would destroy us, but ended up forcing us to become a better person? What if we gave thanks for all we had to sacrifice for someone else, for all we've lost? Could we be thankful for suffering? I know that sounds rather Catholic (which I'm not), but it starts to make some sense to me.
Not that wonderful and amazing things haven't come into my life for which I am eternally grateful. The top of that list are my children and grandchildren--perfect blessings, every one. But it is easy to be thankful for something so perfect as the blessing of a child in one's life. It takes no effort on my part to see that as a blessing and to be grateful for it.
There have been people and situations in my life that have come close to destroying me...and yet, I live. I struggle and suffer, but yet, I live. Do I give thanks only for the triumph? Why not the struggle? Why not the suffering? When it all brings me to my knees, stripping away my reliance on anything other than my God, how can I not give hosannas and praise and thanks? That God takes me through the fire and is always there on the other side, that is to be thankful for...but I also give thanks for the fire.
Happy Thanksgiving. Be happy in giving thanks, even for the fire.
Wednesday, November 25, 2009
Monday, September 21, 2009
blessings and curses
In recent months I've learned what letting go is all about, and how it's not about me. Having children reach adulthood is--as the saying goes--a blessing and a curse.
First, the curse. Never considered myself a helicopter parent--perhaps a hummingbird parent. I tried for balance, being there if they needed me, but out of their way when they found their own direction--similar to when they each first began to walk. As long as their falling wouldn't hurt them, I let them experience victory and failure and getting back up again. The curse has been watching their struggles from two steps back when all I wanted was to pick them up and carry them. The curse has also been trying to find the balance between letting them know I care and distancing myself from them enough to stay out of their way. It's been a hard, hard series of lessons for me. And as they've reached adulthood it's become a matter of respect. Respect for them and their judgment, respect for who they have grown up to become.
Hence, the blessing. Seeing who each of them have become as adults is the most rewarding and humbling experience. Rewarding to see that my efforts as a parent resulted in caring, compassionate, thoughtful, intelligent people with wicked senses of humor, and humbling to know that I had some excellent raw material to work with. All of my efforts could not have produced such amazing people if they had not already been amazing from conception.
Infractus. I've been broken away from my children as their parent.
De novo. I begin anew as their friend.
First, the curse. Never considered myself a helicopter parent--perhaps a hummingbird parent. I tried for balance, being there if they needed me, but out of their way when they found their own direction--similar to when they each first began to walk. As long as their falling wouldn't hurt them, I let them experience victory and failure and getting back up again. The curse has been watching their struggles from two steps back when all I wanted was to pick them up and carry them. The curse has also been trying to find the balance between letting them know I care and distancing myself from them enough to stay out of their way. It's been a hard, hard series of lessons for me. And as they've reached adulthood it's become a matter of respect. Respect for them and their judgment, respect for who they have grown up to become.
Hence, the blessing. Seeing who each of them have become as adults is the most rewarding and humbling experience. Rewarding to see that my efforts as a parent resulted in caring, compassionate, thoughtful, intelligent people with wicked senses of humor, and humbling to know that I had some excellent raw material to work with. All of my efforts could not have produced such amazing people if they had not already been amazing from conception.
Infractus. I've been broken away from my children as their parent.
De novo. I begin anew as their friend.
Sunday, September 20, 2009
begin anew
"de novo." Begin anew. Start over. Not just those bigger-than-life starting overs; sometimes starting over is just a litte do-over. A re-alignment of perception.
So infractus de novo will be about the little broken moments, the little do-overs in my experience.
So infractus de novo will be about the little broken moments, the little do-overs in my experience.
broken
Broken. Oh, not drama-worthy emo broken heart. Nope. Just broken.
Being broken, as in being challenged. Pre-conceived notions and judgments, prejudices and assumptions. Sweet dreams and flying machines in pieces on the ground.
Infractus. Broken.
Being broken, as in being challenged. Pre-conceived notions and judgments, prejudices and assumptions. Sweet dreams and flying machines in pieces on the ground.
Infractus. Broken.
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