Justice, Mercy, and Humility

LightAndShadow has decided to stop spending time dissecting her own scars. She fully understands when, how, and why they were made. She knows where every last one of them is. She understands very well who made them. She has a pretty good idea why she is the way she is.

It is now time for LightAndShadow to stop looking into the pit!

So, what will she do next?

Well, the order of the day is justice, mercy, and humility!

I’ve been told that focusing on those three things will keep me quite occupied, and I have no doubt that they will.

Tonight I will pray… have a little talk with God. Hopefully he’ll inspire me to write all about it tomorrow.

In the meantime…

Here’s to turning a corner!

I Can't Sleep

I'm too tired to do anything, but I can't seem to sleep!
It happens.
Something is coming.
I sense pieces of a poem swirling around
on the outer edge of my head.
I'm sitting here waiting for it.

Here's to sleepless nights of poetry!

Craving Oneness

Sometimes I just feel like pouring myself into something. Just releasing it all. Melting away. Sometimes the need is so strong that I can think of nothing else.

It’s not sex that I’m looking for, though that can almost get you there. No, it is another kind of connectedness that I crave. A spiritual, emotional, physical oneness with something that belongs wholly to me yet lies outside myself. I want to lose myself in something that is bigger, stronger, better than I am. I want to pour myself into this thing… this receptacle. I want to find myself in it.

In many ways, this desire of mine is fueling my creativity. It is fueling my blog. It is fueling my fiction. It is fueling my photography. But as much as I love these things they barely fill that empty place in me that is calling out for more. I have yet to be able to create something, to make something, to think of something that answers this call I hear… that allows me to free myself, slowly drip like thick honey from a spoon suspended over a teacup, let go and be refreshed. Permanently refreshed. I’m tired of temporary fixes. Moments. I’m sick and tired of getting a glimpse of what I want, what I need only to fall back into loneliness and dissatisfaction.

I swear it feels like I’ll go mad if I don’t release all this. It feels like I’ll never truly be content if I don’t find an outlet for all that is within me.

If you’ve been reading along, you know that I picked up a book called The Sacred Romance. This book talks about the feelings I’m having, but so far it hasn’t provided an answer. It outlines the problem, but doesn’t give me a solution. Of course, I’m just getting started, but I’m impatient… horribly impatient. If I thought skipping ahead to the last chapter would provide me with the direction I need, I would race to the finish; however, I know that it won’t. I guess I must trudge along hoping to hit pay dirt in the end.

Sometimes I absolutely hate life.

Here’s to plodding along!

Treadmill Thoughts

I thought about something this morning while on the treadmill. Just before my legs took on the feel of lead, right before all my concentration went into panting, a second or two before my mind floated away I thought… I measure time by my daughter.

As I took my shower that thought crept back in. Ever since I became a mother I’ve been remembering events according to my girl’s age.

Yes, that happened when my daughter was three.

Of course, don’t you remember… that was the year “she” was in the third grade.

Gee, I don’t know… it was about two or three years before the baby was born.

Even if my child had absolutely nothing to do with the event being recounted, I still think of it in the context of her life and not mine. I wonder if all parents do this - mark time by the landmarks in their children’s lives.

I wonder if, at some point, I’ll go back to being my own timepiece.

I wonder if, at some point, I’ll say… yes, it happened the year I turned…

Here’s to the things we think about!

Feeling Grandpa

I spent this weekend with my mom. I slept in the guestroom… the room that once belonged to my Grandfather. During the last 10 or so years of his life he lived with my parents. He died two years ago around this time of the year and I guess sleeping in his room made me think of him. No, it was more than that. I think about him all the time. Being in his old room didn’t make me think of him as much as it made me feel him. Part of my Grandpa is still in that room.

When my grandfather was born Booker T. Washington and Harriet Tubman were still alive. Roosevelt was president – Teddy Roosevelt.

Grandpa was truly a child of that time – he had the spirit of a rough rider and I know that if he were to have his way he would have traded his casket in for an endless highway and a powerful Ford. And believe me… He’d be packin’. As he was found of saying, “a man needs a gun!”

That was one of what I’ve come to think of as a GRANDPA-ISM. He had a lifetime full of sayings like, “If you want to learn you’ve got to stop talkin’ and start listenin’” or the kids all time favorite, “I don’t eat what I don’t like!”

My daughter, sometimes catches herself using that particular nugget. When she realizes what she’s said she holds her head and cries, “I sound just like Great-grandpa!”

The beauty of it is there’s not that many teenagers that know their great-grandparents let alone can see how they have been influenced by them.

Anyone that spent anytime with my Grandfather knew him to be a storyteller. He had a million of them and I bet there isn’t a person that knew him that hasn’t memorized at least one or two or three or…

My personal favorite is one that will always stay with me.

It was one of his many road stories.

It went something like this…

Grandpa and Uncle Booker were driving in some out of the way San Diego hills. Apparently, they’d been at it for quite awhile and Grandpa suspected that Booker didn’t really know where they were. Grandpa, not being one to hold his tongue asked, “Booker, are we lost?” And Booker told him, “Bud, you ain’t lost till you run out of gas!”

The Lord blessed my Grandpa with a lot of gas. 102 years of life in one little man.

People always asked him how he did it. Generally, he’d confidently answer, “All things in moderation.” Occasionally, he’d divulge another one of his little secrets, “I never believed in working too hard.” But every once in a while he’d get quiet and his eyes would water and you knew that he knew his longevity was a gift from God.

A gift not only to him, but also to each of us.

So often when a family loses a loved one the minister or a caring neighbor reminds the bereaved that all things have a season.

Isn’t it wonderful that my Grandfather was blessed with so many seasons?

Here’s to feeling the loved ones that have gone before us?

A Story Worth Sharing

I want to blog this before I forget it. Please forgive me if it sounds like one of those corny things you get in an email - you know the anonymous ‘spose to be inspiring stories that get forwarded around. That’s right, I’m referring to emails that end with the obligatory – send this to a dozen people you care about! I’m not tryna write one of those things. What I am trying to do is record and share a moment in time that I want to remember.

Here goes!

I met a guy last week that keeps popping in and out of my head. He told me a story I think is worth sharing.

The background:

The man I met is an administrator with the public school system (we’ll call him Mark). Several years ago, Mark took an interest in a young man who was having difficulty. Apparently, this boy’s father was in prison, his mother was working 3rd shift and not really there to raise her children, his older brother was a dealer, and his older sister was busy making babies she couldn’t care for. It is not surprising that the young man (let’s call him Brian) left on his own to struggle through life was one step away from alternative school – not a good place to be. Brian’s class attendance was sporadic, however his grades were very consistent. Consistently F’s! Even in grade school Brian was essentially a throw away kid until a caring school administrator decided to intervene.

The story:

Mark began working with Brian when he was a 6th grader. They had lunch together once a week and just talked. Believing that building a relationship was the key to helping the boy turn himself around, Mark didn’t approach Brian from an academic place. He simply met him at his school, found a vacant classroom and shared a sack lunch with the boy. They talked about sports, music, and video games… anything that was of interest. They found common ground and over a 5 year period Brain went from straight F’s to honor roll performance.

Now, the part of the story that I found moving was this…

All those years, Mark sent Brian postcards from his travels. Whenever the man took a vacation, went to a seminar, or stumbled across something interesting he’d think of Brian and mail him a card.

One day not long ago, Brian invited Mark to his home. Brian’s mother took Mark into the high school boy’s room and showed him where her son hung years worth of postcards on his bedroom wall. The interesting thing, the telling thing was that the cards were displayed with the written side up. Instead of decorating his walls with the gorgeous pictures of far away places depicted on the glossy card fronts, Brian surrounded himself with the man’s messages.

Here's to understanding that all the glossy gifts in the world don't have the impact of a few kind words scribbled on a post card!