Easter
Sunday April 5, 2015
White patten-leather shoes, socks with lace around the edges, a pair of white cotton gloves on my hands and the stiffness of my unwashed brand-new dress making me itch around my neck, I picked up my new purse that looked like a little white house that opened at the peak of the roof, put my tiny white New Testament inside, and ran out the door behind my parents. We were on our way to church on Easter Sunday. The day before, I had gone to the church Easter egg hunt and filled my basket with real colored eggs. On this day, I would go to Sunday School, where Sarah Davis would excitedly and with much drama use little paper figures of Jesus and Mary and the Angel to tell us the story of the Resurrection. With the perfunctory narcissism of every six year old, I couldn't wait to show off my new dress, my pretty gloves, and especially that house-purse to all my friends in Sunday school; but my excitement swelled, unlimited by my self-absorption, in the spiritual celebration that I was still too young to understand, but old enough to somehow appreciate.
No matter how much of an overhaul my religious beliefs have undergone over the years, there is still a newness, a feeling of victory and overwhelming power to overcome that floods my spirit on Easter Sunday.
There's no way you can minimize the meaning of this day, for Christians, even if you've never been one yourself. I still cannot overcome the swell of hope that overtakes me when I allow myself to remember the risen Savior and all those whose belief in that victorious resurrection recharges and energizes their faith.
Because in this world, Faith is something we cannot live without.
We must believe in the next breath, the next moment, the next day and month and year. We must believe that there is still something to reach for, something to cling to, something to accomplish.
So how could the story of a man who faced such horrific persecution, death and abandonment not speak to us in some way? How could we look upon this story of a man whom the rest of the world saw as a fanatic, crazy, a delusional soul who dared to assert his own beliefs despite the risk it posed him, and not feel a sense of kinship to him? How could we not revel in the moment of that heretofore dreadful story, when his tomb was opened and he was no longer there?
Anyone who has ever overcome anything can relate to the elation that the victory over death itself would bring. Anyone who has ever had her spirit trampled, her body ravaged by sickness, her mind overtaken by doubt, can find hope and healing in the story of Jesus' resurrection. It is, after all, the story of real justice, the story of an over-comer, it is the story of triumph over adversity.
For me, Easter always seems like the beginning of a new year. The grey, dark winter just a few days removed, I see the greening of the world around me as the whole world seems to spring back to life again, and I always start to take stock of my own transformation. How have I changed, and how much more changing to do I need to do? What are my losses in comparison to my small victories, and do I possess enough faith to make it through another round of seasons? Where will I be, and who will I be the next time Easter rolls around?
I have to remind myself that with every passing year that I am still here, there is a purpose for me. There is something out there to which I still must cling. There is some reason for my being, even if I can't quite figure out what that reason is.
The renewal of springtime, the victory of Easter, the faith I must cling to for tomorrow must all be enough to give me the hope I need to keep believing in endings and in new beginnings, and that sometimes, my losses are gains and that often even my victories may feel more like defeat.
Sunday February 22, 2015
Yesterday I started out towards Columbia around 11:00 a.m., trying my best to ignore the headache that started on Friday afternoon and refused to relent, even as I slept all night and into Saturday morning. I really hate waking up to that throb in my noggin that tells me before I even open my eyes, what my day is going to be like. I had planned my Saturday all week long and had waited impatiently for the day to finally come when I could pack up the car and head down the road to spend the day cuddling our newest little family member. I was determined to not let my aching head deter my plans.
I dragged myself out of bed, took some Tylenol, had some caffeine and tidied up the apartment, thinking that getting my body in motion was probably the bests thing I could do. Wrong. Turns out, my moving around only intensified the pain. Still, I kept going. Taking out the trash, gathering up the laundry, vacuuming the living room, until finally I was drenched with sweat and feeling a little nauseated. "I'll take a long shower!" I thought. "That will perk me right up!"
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| Myrtle Snow, American Horror Story |
Thirty minutes later, we were in the car headed down the interstate. It was the first time all morning I had sat still. I sipped my Zaxby's tea (I love their ice) telling myself that I just needed a little more caffeine, I was probably dehydrated, I'd perk up once I ate lunch. As I drove, I felt myself getting overly frustrated with other drivers. I kept wanting to close my eyes--bad idea when behind the wheel going 70 miles per hour. My contacts were irritating me and I wanted to yank them out, but I hadn't remembered to bring my glasses. The pounding in my head got louder until I could hear my own pulse swishing in my ears. Then my stomach started doing flip flops. Pangs of horrible shooting pain bolted through my tummy, my small breakfast telling me in no uncertain terms that it was not happy being in there, so it was coming back up. I eventually had to give in to what my body was telling me, pull over and rid myself of the jelly biscuit and Diet Coke I had eaten in hopes of defeating whatever Yuck had tried to overtake me since the day before. For all of my effort to ignore the signs and persevere, I got defeated by it.
Disappointed as heck, I had to text my daughter to tell her I couldn't make it. I could feel her disappointment too, which made my stomach sink even more. I made it back home and flopped on the couch where I stayed for the rest of the day, dozing off while I listened to boring documentaries on Netflix. My boy came and covered me up once and I could tell he liked the idea of "taking care" of me, but mostly he stayed in his room fighting bad guys or being the bad guy. Either way, it often sounded like all out war coming from that direction. I'm sure our downstairs neighbors were wishing we had gone to Columbia.
I woke up around midnight and wrangled my kiddo to bed, then crashed into bed myself. I slept fitfully, dreaming strange dreams about things I refuse to think about during the daylight hours.
I dreamed there was a man in my shower and I was frantically trying to make sure all unnecessary lights were turned off the apartment before he came out of the bathroom angry and upset with me for being so careless. But I couldn't find the light switches and I could hear him turning off the water and I was getting more and more afraid of what he would say when he came out of the bathroom and saw all the lights turned on. The prevailing theme of that dream was fear. Fear of disappointing someone I loved. I woke up from that one realizing the dissonance of the very idea--that someone I once loved so much could make me feel so unsettled and afraid--that perhaps he actually fed off my constant defeated efforts to meet his impossible expectations. I quickly put those thoughts away behind other, more settling ones and drifted back off to sleep.
I dreamed about my mother being there with me when I visited little Athena. In my dream I laid the baby in my mama's arms and watched the smile that only overtook her face when she held a new grand-baby for the first time. I smiled as Athena stretched and yawned and my mama said, "Oh my goodness, that yawn was as big as you are!" She always said that to babies. My heart broke as I woke up just enough to realize I was dreaming. I tried to fall back asleep and go back there, but the moment was gone. It was a bittersweet dream that made me wake up missing her today.
I suppose in all the busyness and turmoil of my own life as of late, I haven't really taken the time to sit with my loss. I admit that I have tried to overcome it, ignore it, not listen to what my heart is trying to tell me. I admit that I have been employing the "Plow over it" approach to lots of things in my life lately. I've been re-framing my experiences, ignoring my emotions and using outward zeal to numb and ignore my inner world. The problem is, ignoring it doesn't make it go away. It will catch up with me sooner or later and in this case, it caught up with me in my dreams.
The good news is that I woke up this morning without a migraine. The bad news is that, just as I've experienced the day after every other migraine I've ever had, my bones feel like rubber. I feel weak and wrung out, like I could spend yet another day sleeping. I'm stressing over when I'm going to get the laundry done and worrying about whether I'll be back to normal by tomorrow morning when I have to report for my second day on the new job. I'm still trying to ignore how crappy I feel and get myself going so I can go be Mammo today, because I know that no matter how old my own children get, they'll always be counting on me and I hate the idea of letting them down. Also, I really, really want to kiss those fat little baby cheeks. I want feel soft baby hair brush against my neck when I snuggle her up against me and remember that night, long ago, sitting up in bed with her mommy's tiny little fuzzy head nestled under my chin, thinking that I would keep that moment close to my heart forever.
I'm hoping that thought will give me the oomph I need to get myself in the car and speeding towards Columbia today. Because even though the big hand of Fate has swooped up so many treasured people and things from my life lately, this new little person has given me a new home for all that love I haven't been able to give to anyone else.
And tomorrow morning, the promise of new things, I hope, will get my feet going in the right direction, remembering that there is still something good inside me that yearns to be shared with the world. I hope I can find motivation, like I used to, in believing that if I just make one person's day a little better, I've put something positive into the Universe.
For all the newness and hope that lies ahead of me, I have learned an important lesson from this weekend; That no matter how tough it is to slow myself down and listen to my own inner voice, it is something I must do. Otherwise the voice will get louder and louder until finally, there's no way to ignore it anymore. And you know, I think it's much easier to take each feeling as it comes, than to have to cope with all of them at once in an overwhelming flood once my resistance has failed and the levy has broken.
Sunday Feb. 8, 2015
February in South Carolina can bring some nice surprises. I had to take the dog out far too early for Sunday morning. I put on my jacket, warm socks, put the dog's sweater on him and down the stairs we tromped. Imagine how nice it was when I swung the door open to find a beautiful spring-like morning there to greet me! Standing there in my jacket and fuzzy socks, I felt out of place. The birds were chirping all around us, other dogs wagging their tails, dragging their masters around by a leash.
We spent a couple of minutes outside and then headed in for breakfast. The dog has learned our new routine and as soon as I let him in the door, he runs as fast as he can to he kitchen and back again, reminding me that it's time to eat. I got Mr. Miyagi (the dog) his little bowl of food and went to check on my boy who was still sleeping when I got up.
He started out in his own bed last night, but at some point ended up in mine. As he has gotten older the nights of him ending up crawling into bed with me get fewer and farther between. I realize it won't be long until sleeping with mom will be completely unheard of. It makes me sad in a way, to see him growing up so quickly. I think back to when my girls were his age and it seems like it was so long ago--like another life--someone else's life even.
I crawled back into bed beside him and just watched him sleep for a minute, but the sun was starting to peek through the blinds onto his face and sensing that day had dawned he started to force his eyes open.
"Good morning little monkey." I said.
He just stared at me, not awake enough yet to reply.
"Did you have a good sleep?" I asked.
"Yeah. Can I have some oatmeal?"
"Sure!" I got up to go to the kitchen and he followed behind in just his underwear. He really hates clothes, but more than that, once he realized that other guys sleep in just their undies, he decided it was the "right" thing to do.
It was only a few minutes before the peaceful Sunday bliss started to turn into something else though, as my boy realized he had lost his favorite blue pencil. He was turning the living room upside down looking for it. In a panic he cried out, "I can't find it!"
So I went to help him look for it, but at that point he was already in melt-down phase and I realized at that moment that I had let him stay up too late last night. He was suffering from a severe lack of rest and the frustration from being so tired was spilling out of him.
Thankfully the crisis didn't last long and we got the day back on track again. He spent his time playing happily in his room for most of the day and then later we went outside for a while to enjoy the sunshine. He met a couple of new friends on the playground and the dog got to spend some time running around free. I let my hair dry in the outdoor air, a luxury I haven't had in quite a while. We took a little walk and explored for a bit, then went to grab dinner.
After his shower and a snack, my sweet boy fell back asleep on the couch before 8 O'clock, denying all the while that he was sleepy and tired.
When I woke up this morning I had things on my mind that I had avoided thinking about for a long time. There were events in my recent past that I had refused to acknowledge even though they were staring me in the face. It was easier at the time, I suppose, to keep going with my life as long as I ignored the obvious and kept myself deluded to a certain extent. Maybe I woke up thinking about those things because I've finally had enough time, rest and distance to let the thoughts come, to accept them and incorporate them into my overall life-experience. I know that I was deceived by someone else, but worse than that, I actively deceived myself. The pain of allowing those thoughts to come and the shame I felt inside over not allowing myself to acknowledge them sooner could have swallowed me up, but I refused to let it.
Every day is new and every moment is another chance to grow closer to becoming who I am supposed to be. I must learn to take life as it comes to me, rather than obsessing about the past or worrying about the future. I needed, at that moment this morning, to think of those unpleasant things and let them really sink in. I needed to acknowledge and accept that they happened, that I chose to turn a blind eye to them, and that in the end, I suffered for my refusal to admit them to myself. I was trying, by ignoring those things, to avoid being disappointed, but the disappointment still came. It overtook me in so many ways that I almost ceased being the person I am. I almost became someone I didn't want to be. I'm still trying to figure out just who I'm supposed to be.
But at least now I can acknowledge the disappointments. I can look straight at them and let myself feel the hurt. I can let it all go, just in time to embrace what is coming to me in the next breath.
Life is too precious to be lived in a darkness of my own making. I know now that there is a light within me that I need to have the strength to shine even into the darkest places, to reveal exactly what I need to see. I need to be able to trust my insight. I need to listen to that voice inside me that tells me something isn't right, that I'm too tired to carry on the same way, that it's time for me to stop and rest a while.
Because whether or not I admit it to myself, the truth will always win.
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