Saturday, October 10, 2015

Made Real

I was bullied, A LOT, growing up.  
I’m afraid of deep water.  More accurately I'm afraid of drowning or being attacked by sharks.
I'm also afraid of heights.  Or, rather, afraid of falling from great heights. 
An absurd amount of my thought life is spent working alternate scenarios so I don't make the same mistakes again. I will still make the mistake again...
I have tourette's when it comes to correction - even though its been a life long goal to just hold my tongue.
As a daughter I constantly competed for love.  Malcolm's 10,000 hour rule does not prove true here.
I'm closest to extroverts because they do all the talking and I don't have to worry about a lull in conversation.
I avoid parties, because even if I was there no one would remember the invisible woman who stood in the corner all night. 
I have a missing tooth, a lazy eye, and my gums show when I genuinely smile.  So I don't genuinely smile, if I can help it.
I seem to be an easy person to walk away from in life.  
Hence, I operate under the assumption that I care more about everyone else than they do about me.
I unfollow people on social media if they disrupt my sense of virtue.  
I still have nightmares about all the terrible ways I mothered.
Working outside of my home is death for me.  By the time I actually die it won't be a big deal at all.
Talking on the phone is also death.  Don't call me unless you are willing to do all the talking and enjoy my silence.
After 30+ years of being a Christian, I still struggle to not see God as another human being. 
Therefore I wish I could unfriend Him sometimes.  He disrupts my sense of virtue often.
I am vegan.  That does not win us dinner invitations with friends.  
I've wanted to be a writer for as long as I can remember, but I'm afraid I'll fail or others will laugh or no one will read my stories, so I don't write.
I struggle, every single day, with feeling adequate.  (after all I just wrote, that should come as no surprise,eh?)
I seldom speak up about what I would like & then harbor little resentments over doing/ being/ going with the flow.  
Yesterday, as I drove into town alone, I rolled down my window and breathed deep of the air that billowed in.  It had rained earlier.  My drive takes me past fields and grasslands that were sweetly warming as the sun came from behind the clouds.  I exhaled a declaration that surprised me a  little.  "Life is good, Papa."  (I call Father God, Papa. Don't ask me why.  Just seems natural.)   
I told my oldest about it later while we were chatting over french fries.  "I didn't think I could be dissatisfied with so much in life and still feel that it was good." 
I didn't think I could be so insecure, so unsure, so scarred, so unlovable, so unsettled, so wanting, and yet enunciate that "life is good". 
But, I realized in that guileless moment, He is why it's good.  
How fortunate I can't unfriend Him.   
Even better, He has never unfriended me.
Unearned, undeserved, baseless, wanton, indefensible Love.  
I am a sawdust stuffed rabbit made real.