I Miss My Cleaning Lady!

It doesn't take a rocket surgeon to know that some decisions just have to be made, like it or not, for the betterment of the whole.
After careful consideration and literally years of deliberation, I have conceded what I suspected needed to be done for a very very long time, my back was up against a wall on this one, I had to let my cleaning lady go.
The decision bears no reflection whatsoever on the quality of her work, the results of her efforts have always met my expectations. She has diligently worked to completion anything I included on her to-do list, some tasks lasting for days.
There were times when I could clearly sense the imposition my demands made on her, but she was loyal to my wishes and dedicated to my satisfaction even as it required sacrifice for her to be so. At one time her schedule was predictable and I knew I could depend on her to get the job done, laundry washed, floors mopped, bathrooms fresh, and kitchen sparkling.
No, certainly she was everything I wanted in a cleaning lady, it's just that as of late, well, lets say she's lost her zest and zeal for the work. My floors barely get swept let alone mopped and she started scrubbing them to apply a fresh coat of shine only to quit half way through the job, 2 months ago! The bathrooms practically beg to be granted the opportunity to get their sparkle on again. Laundry gets washed and dried then laid flat to await folding or hangers, the dishwasher runs and gets emptied because the sink is getting full, and while I consider the deep cleaning that everything really needs I don't dare run it by her, she'd melt down and quit on me!
I always let her pace herself, determine her own time frame, there was an understanding between us that kept everything mutually agreeable. However, I'm sorry to now realize and have to admit that she has for quite some time been taking unmerciful advantage of my continual generosity leaving me absolutely no other choice but to just let her go.
Let her go have her computer time, let her go to the fair, let her go shopping, let her go to bed early, I have been letting her go about her own pleasurable business every day and it's about time for some things to change around here, somebody has got to get this place in order!
I may have to resort to calling my "x" cleaning lady to plead with her to return to me but I'm a little apprehensive about how she'll respond. I know her all too well and wouldn't be the least bit surprised if she refused and told me to do it myself.
Some things never change.
P.J.

The Chair The Window and The Tree

There is a particular chair with a matching ottoman that caught my eye in a catalogue featuring quirky unique designs created exclusively for those endowed with fat wallets, my wallet unfortunately suffers from anorexia. That the catalogue was sent to my address was of itself quirky but even still, to savor its pages of hand painted truffles intermingled with fun out of the ordinary upholstered pieces, well it was a coffee sipping few moments of sheer wishful thinking bliss.
I could use the same several thousand dollars required for that one purchase to instead furnish my entire house, not with nearly as much pleasure but certainly acceptably, if in fact I had a few thousand dollars to fluff up my skinny wallet and spend, on anything. The real point of a catalogue from an arm chair shoppers point of view is to wish anyway, this catalogue inspired lofty wishes.
The seed planted, when I came across a chair (that I really wasn't even looking very hard for) of equivalent shape, with an ottoman, there was nothing to squelch my inspiration and deter my thoughts from going in the "I can make a chair cover to mimic the one in the catalogue that I loved" direction! Plus it had a removable pink cover already, which is what made me take the second look in the first place. I could have a chair that I really loved without the exorbitant expense and it would be a better fit for my home because the cover could be removed for laundering. This place we call home is a well used space, no hoity toity stuff allowed! I made the purchase.
Then began the search for several fabrics that would offer the same look while holding up to the daily use our home is subject to and the occasional washings that would inevitably be necessary. Even after finding what seemed would work out marvelously, it still took months to get motivated to undertake the somewhat demanding task.
I would need several days in a row off from my job so I could devote uninterrupted time to the project once started. I really dislike stopping for trivial things like going to bed so I can get up in the morning and get through the day at work without being exhausted, just because I didn't get myself to bed at a decent hour, a predicament I am not a stranger to!
Finally the stars aligned and the chair was completed. This is MY chair, if I'm not in it it's OK for someone else to be, however if someone else is when I want to be, it may be suggested that someone else vacate and perch else-where!
The chair occupies a spot in the living room facing the picture window that just happens to perfectly frame the live oak tree across the street in the neighbors front yard. From my position in the chair I have been observing that tree for years.
The tree used to share yard space with 2 other live oak trees, no longer there. Since their removal the lone tree has been allowed indulgence to spread and stretch and reach to it's content unobstructed and unhindered.
I have sat in my chair watching out the window as it endured a severe thrashing from heavy winds and wondered if it was possible to come through the storm undamaged.
I have seen it glow, illuminated by the suns last light finally able to shine past the clouds after a day of rain and thought, wow that tree is beautiful, it's branches form a perfectly symmetrical orb of fluttering green atop its srong straight trunk.
I was shaken in my chair when lightening struck through its branches to the ground just a couple feet from its base, I saw the charred earth and hole the strike left as evidence.
I have watched birds fly in and back out and engage in bird folly all around it.
I have conversed briefly on the way to the mailbox with the kid who climbed and blended invisibly into it.
My chair has provided me with a good spot to watch the tree as it had no choice but to endure ruthless peltings in cold driving rain, and from my chair I have smiled as I watched that tree wriggle and writhe in a sun shower and mellow breeze as if it were a laughing child running on tiptoe under a sprinkler on a hot summer day. I could sense it's glee! It was dancing like no one was watching, literally a tree of glee!
I have sat in the chair staring out the window at the tree, thinking I've lost my color, all is gray, I want my color back, and while I was stuck in that dark place the tree just was. The tree actually consoled me, comforted me, just by being. I thought if that tree could stand all that it does and just be, if it could be strong under every circumstance, if it could as only a tree, obviously thoroughly absorb the warm and wonderful along with the woeful and wild, how much more should I as a capable human being with a fully functioning brain be able to shake off my funk?! The tree has been an audibly silent but visually loud therapist as I've watched it through my window, reclined not on a couch but in my chair with feet propped up on its matching ottoman.
Maybe I'm easily amused. Maybe I'm just able to easily imagine the finger of God as He thoughtfully joyfully traces out the size and shape of each tree in hopes that someone like me will take notice, and by noticing the tree, be inspired to look beyond the creation to the creator. It's really He who fixes my funks. Sometimes He uses something like a chair facing a window that perfectly frames a tree.

Noel

Christmas may be the time of year I most enjoy. I say "may be" because I really love every time of year! Summers are right up there at the top of the list, vacations visiting far away family and discovering rich resources all around me, Halloween with a chance to be costumed and silly, Thanksgiving prompts reflection of all I am and have been blessed with, Easter promises newness of life, and tax refund season!
I appreciate the season changes, falls colors, snow layered bare branches of northern winter trees, once barren branches that glow with bright blossoms against a cloudless blue Spring sky. I look forward to all of these treats offered in only a short window of time notched out of each calendar year.
Still, Christmas holds a spot in my heart that almost cannot be rivaled. I love the sights, the sounds, the smells and the feel of Christmas, I love to say Merry Christmas to every one I interact with, it has a nostalgic ring as it leaves my lips falling pleasantly on even my own ears. I love to hear the Salvation Army bells ringing outside the stores and the same old familiar songs of the season piped through the speakers once inside. When the house is filled with sweet smells drifting from the kitchen, and the tree or wreath or garland of fresh cut evergreens compete for my nose's attention, then I know this is Christmas!
There is excitement as plans are made and implemented, names are drawn for gifting, gifts are made and shopped for until the just right one is wrapped up with pretty paper and bow and given it's place of honor under the tree to await it's presentation. There are parties that require party clothes and party foods and gifts of appreciation for the hosts who thought highly enough of each guest to include them on their list. There are beautifully lighted trees and yard ornaments, lamp posts with festive banners stating greetings for a merry happy jolly joyous season, traditional Christmas movies watched over and over every year because it's just not Christmas without them, hot drinks to sip, special concerts dramas and services at all the local churches. There are sparkle dusted greeting cards expressing Christmas sentiment and wishes from family and friends, some of whom we might otherwise not hear from the whole year, yet at Christmas it's good to know we're thought of, and so for the season they are displayed around a door frame or mantel serving as little reminders of how rich life really has been, and continues to be.
I remember. It is a time to recall the people places and events that have over the years been life shaping milestones.
I was fortunate to enjoy both sets of Grandparents throughout my youth and some of my fondest memories revolve around Christmas's shared with them. I remember a silver foil Christmas tree with an electric wheel that shone red, green, yellow and blue light onto shiny glistening branches as it turned underneath. I remember some of the gifts they gave me, white fur mittens, white "go-go" boots, white ice skates that I learned to skate with on the frozen ditch in my own back yard, and hand crocheted sweaters and booties in bright happy colors. We gathered at their homes with aunts uncles and cousins to enjoy each others company, the time made more festive with candy dishes of assorted hard Christmas candies in the shape of striped ribbons and soft centered raspberries, and nuts that had to be cracked open.
I remember waking my parents long before the sun came up unable to sleep with such anxiety for the presents to reveal the secrets they held behind their look at me I'm for you don't touch me until Christmas papers! Dad and Mom would tell us each year not to get out of bed until it was getting light out, but an excited child's mind is easily convinced that the brightness of moonlit snow is indeed the first signs of dawn! Out of exasperation over several consecutive previous early Christmas mornings, my Dad finally resorted one year to set an alarm clock outside our bedrooms with instructions not to wake them until the alarm sounded. Knowing we had to wait to open our presents until then, we fell asleep. There was no need to lie awake waiting and watching for the morning light. The alarm sounded and we ran to wake up Mom and Dad. As they emerged groggily from their room confused and bewildered by the complete darkness still filling the house, Dad checked the alarm to find he had inadvertently set the clock for the early hour he'd hoped to avoid! We had a great laugh and still tell the story with more great laughs, best of all though, us kids got to open our presents! We did go back to bed after those early mornings, but I'm pretty sure there was not much sleeping going on, there were new treasures and goodies to be enjoyed after all!
I remember some of the gifts from my parents, a pump organ one year! New pj's, fuzzy slippers, a jewelry box with a spinning ballerina, Dr. kits, Chatty Kathy, a lavender plaid outfit with lavender stockings and a second outfit in aqua plaid with aqua stockings, a baby buggy, a metal dollhouse that had to be assembled with tabs inserted into slots for it to become 3 dimensional, with furniture, that I still own, and a vanity with a vintage mirror enjoyed by my daughter all these years later. One year my brother gave me a pair of platform tennis shoes that I'd seen and liked while out on a Christmas shopping trip, and another year my great aunt Barbie and uncle Norman gave me a heart shaped turquoise cloisonne necklace.
I don't think the gifters even really considered that their gift may be the ones that I'd remember all my life, and that as I remember the gifts I'd think of the gifter and the time in which it was given, which fills my thoughts with even more memories and that these memories would inevitably be the bigger and better gift.
I've lived a whole other life since then. I've raised my own family as we've witnessed the Christmases come with the hopeful anticipation of excited little ones. I've known the joy of seeing their sweet faces light up with the thrill of the gift. And just as they have come they have gone, marking poignantly the all too fast passing of time. My parents babies babies are having babies!
I know what I have, I know what a gift I've been given to have a life filled with loving family and friends. It is a life not without difficulties, but it is a life with a support group to get on the other side when the difficulties strike. It is a life woven with strong cords of hope, help, forgiveness, encouragement, joy, and rememberances of all that created those cords.
It saddens me deeply when I hear the dread in some peoples words as they speak of the time they will be expected to spend with their families, as if it's the last thing they want to do with the last people they want to do it with. Somewhere along the way they forgot, or perhaps just never realized that it is all so much bigger and better than themselves! Some have very legitimate reasons for awful memories and that saddens me even more, it is a little less of a choice for them, instead a grim reality. May they be given the grace to see their way to a future of hope.
We have today, here, now. Yesterdays well lived help make today valuable. If we are fortunate to have tomorrow would it not be in our best interest to create the strong cords today that will make our future a warm soft cover of strength confidence and beauty, one that is pleasant and comforting to wrap up in?
Christmas has passed by only a couple of days. In a couple more days correspondence and transactions will be dated with an increased number indicating the start of a new year, the end of an old whose chances for greatness, for meaningful purposeful living, will never again be offered.
Christmas for me will always be a time filled with the thoughts and memories of a life well lived because I am one of the fortunate ones who has been personally touched by the founder of Christmas, the one for whom the day is established and celebrated. It is He who set the example by which to live in order to create the cords necessary for that pleasant comfortable cover that every one of us desires and needs. No matter what the future holds, the previously woven cords are mine, they cannot be taken from me.
It's been another sweet Noel. How many more might I dare to wish for, how many more might I have the privilege to spend in the company of my loved ones?
The new year quickly approaches, a fresh start, a whole new set of days ready to be filled with opportunities taken and not missed. May I rise to this challenge, may I emerge on the back side 365 days from now with a new cord to weave into my cover, and...
may you.
P.J.

Just before 8:00 a.m. on a September morning 32 years removed from this one, a second son was delivered to me. In that moment everything in the world was right. I was a very young mother with 1 son already and that day at 21 years old with these 2 small boys, there were really no other concerns in my life. The whole big vast world was narrowed down for me to that here and now, those boys and me, our family.
I had determined to have a natural childbirth, and by that I mean no drugs, and I decided I would breastfeed. Bearing in mind it was the 70's and "modern" childbirth techniques typically used drugs to aid in the "comfort" of the mother-to-be during the birth process, which involved a labor room from which when dilated to 10 centimeters, quite ready to "deliver", the laboring woman would first have to get on a gurney to be wheeled to the sterile delivery room where a move to yet another bed equipped with cold steel stirrups and bright overhead lighting awaited to assist the team of professionals required to make this thing happen. Episiotomies were automatically performed since it was easiest for a doctor to stitch a clean intended cut than an unintended messy tear, of course that added an extremely unpleasant element to recovery!
As soon as they baby was born he was whisked away to the nursery where he was cleaned up, measured and weighed, eye dropped, foot printed, poked and prodded, and about the same time mom was wheeled into yet another room, this the one she'd stay in for 3 days, the little bundle would be brought to her and for the first time, about 2 hours after delivery, they'd finally "meet". There were schedules to be kept in a well run maternity ward, so baby visited mom between meals and after the Doctor checks, returning to the nursery for the night so mom could get as much sleep as possible before going home to the real world and her new expanded role in it.
It was customary to complain about hospital food but I relished my 3 days of meals prepared for me and served to me in bed! Physical discomfort seemed to increase before it improved; still that 3 day hospital stay was the closest I'd ever get to being taken care of so well.
Baby care just automatically included bottle feeding which I intended to opt out of, choosing instead to rely on God’s design as the superior choice, and while disposable diapers were available, they were not nearly as dependable as today's Cadillac models! Those early versions leaked over the top and out the sides, often only to puddle on the lap of the baby holder, not good! These things meant to simplify the life of the modern mother proved to be pretty cumbersome and inadequate, so my Mom provided me with a diaper service that delivered fresh diapers and picked up the not so fresh, right at my door. I found cloth diapers multifunctional, making good cloths for burping and dusting in addition to their original intended purpose. Thinking on the subject of baby delivery and care began ever so slowly trending back toward the natural God intended methods and means.

A friend gave me a book that was a collection of birth stories written about the experiences of women and their babies who were part of a commune where she lived for a time. Remember it was the 70's, the decade following the 60's, flower power, make love not war, and all that stuff. I loved that book and shared it with pregnant friends, unfortunately somewhere along the way it was never returned to me. As one might imagine the lifestyles of the people were pretty unconventional, I was too, and the stories recounted on its pages encouraged me, I was definitely making the right choice for my baby and me. Babies born there were delivered by mid-wives right in the familiarity and comfort of their homes, or buses, or whatever their dwellings, with family and friends present, going about business as usual as much as possible up until delivery. No meds., no unnatural interference with what the human body was perfectly suited to do on its own, resulting in mothers and babies experiencing optimum health and quicker recovery. Each story was the account of a birth from start to finish sharing the various techniques tried and proven to assist in the event, and for appreciation of life, seeing the beauty in letting happen naturally what did for all the mothers of history, and in other cultures before modern medicine interfered. There were a couple stories that did not end well, either stillbirth, or birth defect, which likely would not have ended differently were they in a hospital.
While I was caught up in the idea of all natural I wanted fully educated doctors available to me and my baby, along with the facilities and equipment that could be needed in case of emergency. I only wanted to avoid some of what seemed unnecessary, unhelpful and unhealthiest for us both. I was convinced that the way God intended it to be was surely better than what modern medicine had decided to turn it into.
It proved to be a good choice, I was able to enjoy the miracle of it all and recount each detail to anyone who cared to hear. It was an experience that was empowering; I witnessed my own strength, determination, and ability to make a wise decision regardless of the mainstream. We fumbled through the first few weeks together, learning what worked and what didn't. It was sometimes clumsy and unattractive, but I didn't care because I was forging new territory for me, and I liked the acquisition of new knowledge and new experience.
Weeks turned to months that offered all the usual firsts of a baby’s life. When he started talking I was convinced his vocabulary was exceptionally advanced. He told grandma the peanut butter and jelly sandwich she'd made him was "delicious" before he was even 2 years old. He would keep an ice cube in his mouth until it melted. More than once I found him in the closet rubbing the hem of my long satiny nightgowns, sucking his thumb, an activity that must have brought back fond memories! He got "lost" in the field of high grasses and weeds next to our house when he and big brother were outside playing one fall day, "saved" by his red coat in the sight of my taller eyes. His new shoes helped him run so fast that he tripped and busted his lip through with a front tooth. Uncle Dave helped him learn to ride his 1st 2 wheeler. He liked his matchbox cars, underoos, and cowboy boots! He paid attention to detail and details easily attracted his attention. He got lost at the mall when I turned into a store and he failed to follow, he just stood outside the door way walking in circles, crying not knowing where I was. He would have walked off the edge of Swan Lake had I not stopped him, for fixing his gaze in the opposite direction of his step, he was a day dreamer. In school, what was happening outside the window was better than what was happening inside, though he liked school and did really well. He was meticulous in his assignments, sometimes to a fault as it prevented completion. He is still like that! He always had a best buddy even though the best buddy changed as he grew or we relocated. He liked science and thought he'd become a paleontologist, he pursued a graphic arts major, and became a balloon artist, his attention to detail still dominant in his character. He was a band geek and a vintage Volkswagen connoisseur, he doesn't touch the saxophone anymore but he still loves the VW's. He was always a bit of a bike aficionado and that lingers still, as a side business and as he contemplates and plans a bike trip around the country.
He likes to hang out with me from time to time. We go to Disney World or thrift stores, or get a meal together. He's my friend. I like him, usually! I've always loved him, but it's a wonderful thing to like him. I'm so very thankful for him. He is not a perfect person, which coincidentally neither am I, but he has a generous heart concerned for the well being of others. There is a genuine compassion for the burdened plight of so many people, he sees their need and responds with help, to fix a tire even it’s a man who can probably fix it himself, to chase down the thief of a stolen purse or bike, to seek help on another’s behalf, he's never met a stranger.
My wish for him and all my children is that they will find their place in this world and in so doing find fulfillment of purpose for being.
32 years of Jam's has been integral to my fulfillment of purpose, he helped me find my place in this world, and because his place has been with mine, it's a good place, a very very good place!

That's It, I'm Outta Here, I'm Leafing!

As it turned out, much to my disappointment, I was not able to go with my original tentative plan for a trip to Illinois this fall. I hoped to make it happen at this time figuring that somewhere between here and there at the end of October I'd be treated to the beauty of the fall leaves through the mountains, it really was decided all around the leaves, to be able to enjoy their short offering of unique beauty. Illinois is where I was born and raised, I still have family and friends there, so it would also have been good to be able to re-connect, but it was not to be, not this year.
Georgia however, was do-able! It came right down to the day before leaving to finally just give in to the pull of the fleeting opportunity, it was now or wait 365 days for another chance. I really didn't think I could afford to do it financially, I really didn't think I could afford not to do it spiritually! I needed refreshment, uplifting, invigoration, rejuvenation. I needed to live a little life outside it's usual boundaries.
Completely unsure of what to expect, relying on hope and intuition, I set out on my adventure. I visited my parents and brother a couple hours away, stopped in Mt Dora for a peek at the annual craft show the town hosts, something I hadn't done in a bunch of years, and from there headed toward Atlanta, planning to spend the day at Stone Mountain. I wasn't sure if that was far enough north to see the leaves change, but I also had spoken with a friend all the way up in the more mountainous northeast corner of the state that I intended to visit, so I thought if the leaves were not changed in Stone Mountain, maybe they would be nearer to my friends house.
It was several hours to drive from Mt Dora to Stone Mountain. When I arrived where I was ready to stop for the night it had been dark for a couple hours.
I'm usually not excited about finding a hotel, so it was with relief and pleasant surprise when I found the one I did, and at a great price! I really hit it off with the woman who worked the front desk, Linda, she even gave me a discount as an industry employee, It felt like a sign of more good things to come!
In my room I enjoyed a cup of coffee, a hot bath, and a little cable TV. I went to the business center to see what the computer indicated for the next days weather and a leaf watch update. The prognosis was not good, a storm was pushing in, and the leaf watch had not been updated for several days, I fell asleep not having a good sense for what the day would hold.
I awoke to thunderstorms.
Breakfast was hot and relaxing, so in light of the weather I lingered, looked at the weather on the computer, saw that there were tornado warnings in the very area I happened to be, and frantically considered what alternatives I might choose. Everything really was just not a feasible option for the time and money I was able to invest, but the thought of not seeing the beautiful leaves I'd come so far to see was painful! Check out was noon, so I hung around until to my delight the clouds started to break up, allowing the faintest rays of sun to show through. About 11:30 I said to myself, self, just do what you'd planned, what will be will be.
As I drove the interstate toward the state park My eyes teared up to see trees wearing their fall outfits of yellow, and orange, and even red, a sight I was unable to see as I drove to my destination the night before in the dark. I said thank you Lord, thank you Lord, thank you Lord, repeatedly! I was so relieved to know my trip would offer what I'd hoped!
Entering the state park, driving along the hilly winding road, I could see sun shining on the trees reflected in a lake. I walked, took pictures, picnicked, took pictures, toured Antebellum Plantation, took pictures, and smiled with a thankful heart for the privilege to be there.
I had to find a hotel for that night so I left the park about dusk, having fully enjoyed my time, anticipating what was still ahead.
After a good night's sleep I would venture on a couple hours further northeast to my friends house. When I spoke with her she said the storms had been there, stripping a lot of the leaves from the trees but they were still pretty. That drive deeper into the mountains was so peaceful and beautiful, even as the sun played hide and seek in the clouds. When it lighted the colors of the trees they glowed, when it dipped behind a cloud the colors took on a whole different appearance, no less beautiful. I felt like I'd been given the special gift of every possible lighting effect for my Autumn leaf viewing.
Visiting old friends is a treat in itself, let alone in the fall mountains. They took me to some spots that highlighted the leaf viewing experience, even graciously stopping anywhere it looked like a good picture might be taken! It sprinkled a little, but instead of dampening the experience, it was enhanced with the addition of a rainbow! We dined on fried green tomato's and fried chicken at Pat's place, and we shopped at Mercier's orchard for fresh picked apples and cider. We took the long winding road on the "back way" home, stopping to take pictures of several old dilapidated buildings, once someones home, abandoned, twisted and sagged, but somehow still barely standing. I love those buildings, they tell stories, ones I can only imagine, but I do love to imagine!
I stayed with my friends in their home that night, we laughed and enjoyed each other's company until it was a day well spent and had to call it quits.
It rained off and on all night, into the morning, as I began my trip back home, and for several hours into it. Even in the rain I felt the need to stop and take just one more picture, more than once!
As I headed south the rain subsided and the colors of fall receded in my rear view. I drove away reluctantly knowing it would be a long time, 365 days, before I might again be able to see them. But I had my pictures, both on my camera, and etched vividly in my grateful memory. I did it, I was there, present for the 2010 leaf viewing season. WooHoo for this Florida girl!
P.J.

I decided to buy a ticket to far
packed a bag and got in the car,
headed north on 75
to see to breathe to be alive.
It's mountain air I need to breathe,
take a gander at colored leaves,
oxygenate my city nose
with country air, down to my toes!
point my feet through Autumn's woods
a change of scenery'll do me good.
make a little time for me,
away from daily monotony,
refresh, re-spark, rejuvenate,
time is short, the leaves don't wait
when trees put on their finest gown
right before they fade to brown,
a little wind, a little rain,
soon strip the branches bare again.
Can't wait 365 days
for another chance, I'll go today!
Just me and my car out for a drive,
to see, to breathe, to be alive!

Here's My Heart's Bottle of Tears

Tears are a very interesting physical evidence of how deeply we are affected by life's "stuff".
Good stuff, bad stuff, happy stuff, sad stuff, any and all stuff, for us girls more easily, situations arise that can prompt tears. Sometimes the tears come and there may not even be a specific reason for them, they just show up!
I never used to be a crier, back in my youth when I was "stronger", forcing myself to refrain, not succumb to this display of weakness. What after all, would people think?! that I was just a sniveling helpless creature unworthy of any high calling, unequipped to take care of herself let alone anything important? I wouldn't allow myself an emotional indulgence that might cause anybody to judge me in the same harsh unrealistic way that I already judged myself!
I was afraid. Fear is a much bigger weakness!
Afraid to let the real me show for fear of rejection, or taunting, or ridicule, or non-acceptance, I didn't want anyone to not like me. It was easier to hide behind a facade of false perceptions. It still is sometimes!
The forced tears of girls with self motivated intentions too often do serve their calculated purposes. Unfortunately unsuspecting people who want to trust, especially the men in these women's lives, don't figure it out until it's too late, damage irreversible, or at least not without painful cost. Yet another reason in my mind to stifle my tears, I never wanted to be perceived or accused of being manipulative and deceptive, so if the need for tears overwhelmed me I would just leave the presence of witnesses. It was difficult, the "real" me is prone to wearing my heart out on my sleeve as they say!
Life lessons have taught that rejection is a given, I CAN'T please all the people all the time, just as all the people don't please me all the time! So what?! Some of the people will be pleased some of the time, just as I am pleased by some of the people some of the time.
Fear of facing the truths of genuineness, and the realities of life, is crippling! Especially when real life, meaningful life, full life, is what we all want most! So much time and energy wasted on the unimportant, in the folly of youth!
Now, since my youth has long been completed, I let it all hang out, not because it wasn't there before, but because it is much less important to me what any one else thinks about where I wear my heart, it's my sleeve! Now, I am a big blubbering baby! Now, I cry at commercials on t.v. as well as the full length features. Sometimes the tears that are prompted by something as frivolous as a t.v. commercial are pent up from completely unrelated issues, right at the surface ready to spill out at a moments notice, the t.v. commercial just notifies me! Now, my heart's full joy is as capable of instigating tears as the ones that flow out of sadness or sorrow.
It is as if emotions have turned me inside out, all of my innards are showing. The part that most people are never allowed to see. The part that is not what I would choose to have exposed. The naked truth of who I am, what makes me tick. That which comes up from the deepest, innermost places of my being, my soul.
The good, the bad and the ugly.
The second half of the 8th verse of the 56th chapter of psalms contains words that fall on my heart like honey to bees, nectar to butterflies, sweet sweet savory sustenance, desert for every meal!
The psalmist who is experienced in overwhelming emotions of fear, lonliness, and heartbreak writes: "Put my tears into Your bottle; Are they not in Your book?" Clearly he has learned by his experiences and has proven to himself that he can safely put every confidence in his God, who he fully believes because of his experience, knows him, and is concerned with all he cares about in this life. God sees each tear, records when and why each one falls, etched permanently on His Fatherly heart as surely as if the innermost part, could be contained in a bottle, or written about in a book! Not even tears divulge all of the secrets, only God truly sees those inner parts, the parts where the tears are birthed. And He captures those parts of us so none are lost or overlooked as unimportant. He protects the secrets they dare to expose, the secrets of the soul that can't even find words for expression. And it is written and recorded in this psalm whose words have been preserved through thousands of years so that I could read these same words and have this same confidence, to know I am cared for as a father his child.
A little further along in the same psalm I read "God is for me". Not against me like it sometimes feels,. When it seems no one is on my side, I am completely alone, that there is no one at all who could possibly relate to my experience, and that there is no way out of these circumstances, none, these words tell me it isn't so. I am NOT alone! And so it is "In God I have put my trust, I will not be afraid"...because that is the hope. The hope that there is someone who cares and understands, that there is a solution to everything, God is rooting "for me", He is hope, and hope offers me a future. How could anyone survive hopelessly?! More than just hope though, knowing He is "for me", gives me the confidence to move forward into the uncertainties of my future, as opposed to being paralyzed by the fear of it, I am assured that my future is not uncertain with Him, He is with me, and He is "for Me", no matter where it leads me! As a parent would console his child, my heavenly father is there to scoop me into His arms, take my face in His hands so that my eyes turn up to meet His, and there see how intensely His own heart breaks with mine, "for me". He quietly reassures me, soothing my aching heart, collecting my tears in His bottle so that nothing of me is lost or wasted. These tiny teardrops are the pieces of me that best reflect Him, His compassion, His own heart.
I have a little heart shaped bottle that once held Avon's "Here's My Heart" perfume, it now holds tiny Austrian crystals that I cut apart from a vintage necklace, to re-use the old beads in new ways. It is my attempt to create what I envision a bottle of my tears might look like to God, they are precious to Him, for they came up from deep inside of me, the me He created, representative of my pains, joys, fears and triumphs, and He cares about all that concerns me. So I see them as beautiful to Him, like rare jewels of great value and beauty.
Today I was reminded of these words as I witnessed the broken heart of a loved one. I took the bottle out of the cupboard it was in and placed it on the windowsill in the kitchen. The sun shines strong through that window in the afternoon making the "tears" sparkle, like treasures no longer buried.
It serves as a reminder to me that I am valuable, never forgotten. What I feel, God feels with me. Just as I ache for my children when they have needs, and as I thrill to their successes, He too as my Heavenly Father is affected by what breaks my heart, or makes my heart swell with joy.
No matter the reason, we never cry unnoticed or alone.
...Put my tears in Your bottle; Are they not in Your book?
P.J.

Flu Season!

My kitchen isn't feeling good. I think it's got the flu. It threw up all over the place, all night long!
Everything that should be in the cupboards isn't, the trash that should be emptied hasn't been, the counters just look crumby, the table that normally twinkles is dull and blotchy, the floor is cold and clammy, and to top it off I think my temperature is rising just thinking about it! Which means I've been infected with it's infirmity, oh woe is me!
I suppose I'll have to run us a bath, prescribe some soothing sudsy fluids, be up half the night administering TLC,
...wait, what's this???!!! Drewsky M.D.s.(M.y D.arling s.on) is taking to the task, nursing the poor kitchen back to health!
It turns out it was just a 24 hour bug, and the kitchen and I are on the road to recovery. We'll be back up and running, feeling like our old selves again in no time!
That's my kind of "chicken soup"!