Changed But Not Diminished

As a survivor, of any sort of trauma, each new life experience is filtered through the "if this hadn't occurred, I wouldn't be right here, right now". Even the really good stuff is shadowed by the knowledge that bad things happened propelling that person on to a new life. One didn't happen without the other. 

The same applies at the other end of the spectrum, really terrific things also lead you to places and experiences that wouldn't have come to pass without them. Life is complex.

I just want to share that I am a bit frayed around the edges. Have been for some time now. Scarred, altered, battered if you will. I am also softened, stronger and more me than I ever was. Things don't have to be pretty to be beautiful. Things can be raw and rugged and be entirely blessed beyond measure. 

We're entering the holiday season a bit bruised and tattered. It's been a hard year. It continues to be a hard year. We have been challenged. We have been stressed. Life does not look like life as we knew it. We've had losses, and we grieve them. We will always grieve them. We've scaled back, hopefully, to the essence of what we truly value. Finding at the heart of it what carries us through, what we hold dear, what matters.

 

But this, this says it all for me. Now truth be told, long long ago one of the dogs got a hold of this ornament and gnawed on it. It was altered, it was traumatized, it was changed. Little did I know how symbolic this would be. All I knew back then was that it was still beautiful in my eyes. I loved the dog, I loved the ornament, I forgave the dog, I kept the ornament.

The message is the same whether it's on spun gold or chewed wood. Personally, I'll take the chewed wood. We kind of resemble that this year, I know I do. A little worse for the wear, but His light and love shines through. Changed by our circumstances, but because of our faith, not diminished by them. 

Finding gratitude and joy, on a holiday week, in a pandemic.

Holiday weeks can be hard. For the grieving, or the lonely. Or the lonely and grieving. For those whose family is far away, sometimes even for those whose family is in the same room. Then add in all the stress of the pandemic.

So, how to find the grace in a situation we never saw coming, and won't see leaving soon. Perhaps, I have an advantage of some sort having experienced an unexpected tragedy that will always affect me. There aren't many wins that came from that loss. However, if I dig deep I can find a few things that would never have evolved without the loss. Things that brought growth, compassion, understanding.

We are facing a week normally full of family, feasting, football, and other festivities. This year we face uncertainty through a face mask, and may likely spend more time with hand sanitizer than family. It's not what we want, it's not what we ever expected, it's not going away soon. It's tragic. 

So we will have a lot of feelings this week. Sadness, loss, fear, uncertainty, worry, and many others. We will be challenged to connect in different ways to embrace the thanks we are usually giving this week. There are still many things to be grateful for. Even in the midst of worry, we can slow down and find blessings. I'm not saying it will be easy. I'm just saying it can be done. Holidays are always poignant reminders, full stop. Whatever your reminders are, know you are not alone. 

If you are struggling let someone know. If you have gifts of encouragement or service, offer them. If you are in need, ask. If you can, pray. If you can put your wants and desires aside for the health and safety of others do so. Do not, however, forget to find ways to celebrate, to connect, to give and to give thanks. This season of life may not look anything like you want it to. It may suck beyond belief, it may seem never ending. It won't always be like this, keep the faith, trust there is a bigger plan and know, know you aren't alone. Know it's okay to give thanks in all circumstances, in fact it's recommended. 

 

A Light In The Dark

Every day we build our life. We have new experiences, we learn, meet new people, develop relationships. There is a relationship in my life called grief. If we live, and we love, we will also grieve at some point. Grief lurks in the background sometimes, other times it jumps out front and center. We can say we make peace with it, but I'll admit to struggling with it. 

Many years ago I was in a vehicle that went backwards off a cliff from a one lane road in Hawaii. When the vehicle stopped, all four wheels were off the ground. A boulder stopped us from rolling. Thank God for the boulder. None of us suffered serious injuries. All of us were changed. I can only speak for myself, but I had to wonder, and still do why we walked away. Medical personnel told us no one walks away from these types of accidents. Yet, we did. So I have to believe there was something in the bigger plan that I was meant to do. 

I'd also like to think the bigger plan was not to be a survivor of suicide loss. Thing is, I didn't get to pick the plan, I just have to navigate through it. The "what if's" go on and on. What if this, what if that. The further down the road of grief, the less these thoughts plague you. Sometimes though, like around the holidays, birthdays, anniversaries, plain old uneventful days, rainy days, sunny days it all surfaces. Am I meant to bear witness to faith, to survival? Am I meant to lead others who struggle by owning my truth? Am I meant to boldly say mental health issues are nothing to be ashamed of? Can I say survivor of suicide loss enough times that it breaks down even a tiny bit of the stigma? 

When I changed jobs this year, my "story" which most people only know pieces of preceded me. People love to share pieces and feed the stigma. People didn't treat me different, make me a source of gossip, whisper about what happened when I was in an accident. People have accidents. Accidents are unfortunate, even tragic, but "acceptable". Suicide is another thing. And you know what? Suicide is not acceptable. Treating someone different because of it is not acceptable. Feeling shame because you struggle with mental health is not acceptable. Giving up entirely is not acceptable. Being afraid to ask for help is not acceptable. Losing precious lives to mental health issues is not acceptable. 

So, as another birthday that cues the grief is days away, I wonder if my bigger plan was/is to be a light in the dark. Time will tell. Even being a tiny light is a gift. May we all be tiny lights, or big bold bright lights. Tell your story, own your truth, trust the process. Open the doors to acceptance, heal some pain, diffuse the stigma. So know and trust...that it is no accident that you and I are here, right where we need to be, to make a difference some way, some how. 

Own That

 I had a friend tell me "so, very few people could do what you have done this year. Weaker souls woulda just given up." She also said, own that. Cuz it is amazing. My immediate response was smarter people wouldn't have tried it. I'm still trying to digest this, to accept this.

Funny how hard it is to acknowledge a life truth, to accept a compliment, a reality. Reality is hard, reality is poignant, reality holds moments of joy, and reality can rip a scab right open. I'd be remiss if I didn't own that so many times this year I have wished I'd made other choices. Wished I had not pulled up roots. Wished I was back in my old life. Except, growth required me to seek a new life. 

I am not the type to move repeatedly. I am a home body. I struggle with change. I stress over not knowing the when, the where, the how. This year has taken any idea of when, where and how and thrown it to the wind. I gave up one home to return to another, only to find out it didn't feel like home there any more. Letting go is hard. Moving triggered so much grief. Owning something and feeling it are sometimes two different things. We need to do both.

I don't believe I've done anything all that amazing. I took a leap of faith. The rest was beyond my control. As always, I'm guided exactly where I need to be, and my needs (even ones I was unaware of) are amply met.

Does that mean it's been easy? Nope. Nothing good comes easy. It involves a huge portion of faith, and unfailing optimism. Okay, I'm fibbing there. Sometimes optimism wains. It does, and then, it recalculates like a GPS program. I don't have all the answers, I muddle through just like everyone else. Some of my muddles have been enormous. Eh, they happen. 

While it can be hard to accept a compliment, it is also okay to do so. We need affirmation, we need encouragement. We need to be able to give it to ourselves, and to others. So listen up. You've done good. Listen up,  I've done good. Take the leaps of faith, and move into the life meant to be yours. Struggle with it, wrestle with it, embrace it. Love it. And...in my friends words, not mine...."I know it's not the path you would have chosen...but it is paved in grace, and beauty in spite of it." Own that. 

#462

 Every experience has a "take away". I'd like to share take away #462. 

You see, I bought a house last week. This is the seventh house I've lived in and the first that is on a number street, not a name street. For some reason that seems significant.

If you look back at life experiences, even the really difficult ones, you see the path you are led down. If I hadn't gotten married the first time, I wouldn't have been blessed with three terrific kids. If my first husband hadn't left me, I wouldn't have learned that I could raise kids mostly on my own. Mostly alone, not entirely alone, because we are never really alone. Unless we choose to be. That's a whole different blog. We basically have a complete support system that works entirely in the background. God is that good, how cool is that?

If I hadn't married a second time, I would never have moved away from the big city. Granted, doing that at age 50 was no easy task. If I hadn't move away from home, I'd have never found my country girl heart and experienced how wonderful rural America is. I didn't know I longed for a rural life. But that support system that works in the background? It completely knew.

Out there, in the middle of corn fields, in the middle of nowhere, a tiny community adopted us and became our family. Yes, they thought we might be members of the witness protection program, but still they embraced us. They too were part of the bigger plan.

As rural life grew to be home, so too did struggles and hardship. No one goes without hardship. Without hardship there is no growth. Without hardship life does not evolve. The support system in the background? It's all about support and evolution. It supports us in joy, and it supports us in tragedy. Without the tragedy of becoming a survivor of suicide loss, I would not have pulled up roots and returned to the city. Funny thing is, when I got to the city I discovered I couldn't live there any longer. I am not a big city girl. And, that is okay. 

So according to the greater plan, which of course I have no control of, I found my way to a smaller community. I'll work in the city, I'll be close to my city kids. But I'll enjoy the quiet of a smaller town. So back to the take away, in case you thought I forgot. I hired a local moving company to move my furniture and appliances. A group of guys who are fire fighters by trade, and move people on the side. They see a lot of life on both jobs. They probably see stuff that would make us cry. When they finished moving my stuff, including way too many flower pots, cement bird baths and planter pots, random really cool rocks, a hydraulic wood splitter, and a riding mower that would not start. In the rain, did I mention the in the rain part? I pulled them aside and shared the take away. They are #462 on my list of 1000 graces. Without all the other life experiences, without marriage, childbirth, divorce, remarriage, moving, love & loss, moving back to the city and then out of the city again. I would not be here, they would not have shared this day in my journey. Giving thanks for #462 on my list of graces, for my new home and the bigger plan that guides and unfolds before me.

Home

There is, I believe, always going to be a longing for my old life, even as I embrace my new life. Life is a mixture of bitter and sweet. Easy and hard. Empty and full. 

I am beginning a new chapter, putting down new roots. And, yes, I cried. You would expect no less from me. I didn't let you down. In the midst of joyful anticipation, I will always be reminded exactly why I am where I am. It is okay. It is part of my journey. It is both joyful and sad, I can embrace both.

I've been in transition for quite some time. We know transition is uncomfortable, we know it can be painful, we know good comes in the end. It's just the hurdles we cross to get there that are hard. Hurdles are not my strong suit, but moving towards them, launching over them, sometimes stumbling over them and moving beyond is what I've been led to do. I may have fallen a time or two. Strong hands of faith and love always pick me up.

I am excited. That has been a long time coming. I've been blessed, I've never doubted that. I have been guided even when I've struggled with how life has unfolded. Yet every step of the way has been planned, and every place I've landed met, and often exceeded, my needs. I found family in the big city, family in little villages, family in friendships, and family in faith.

I'm moving again and am going to unpack, really unpack. See what is in all those boxes. See what fits, see what needs re-homed. I planted today. literal roots and figurative roots. I planted my first perennial in my new yard and I planted roots of a new life. And....I cried. Because even good change is hard. I cried, because love surrounded me. I cried for the past, and I cried for the future. 

I prayed as well, in gratitude for all who've walked this journey with me. You see, I've packed you too. All my parts travel along, all my parts make up the whole. My parts, the broken, the beautiful, the cracked, and the mended. Help define me, help me grow. Help me begin a new chapter. I believe I'll call it Home.

I'm Finding

I'm finding myself. I'm finding my way. Sometimes with one foot planted in the past and the other trying to move into the future. It takes a while to get anywhere like that. Growth, like healing, is a slow process. Don't get me wrong, there are dazzling moments of clarity and boggling moments of uncertainty. Admittedly the dazzling moments are few and far between. Mostly we plan and pray the road opens up in ways we'd like. We are hesitant, and questioning. On a path that is sometimes rocky and obscure. 

If it was easy, if it was obvious, it wouldn't propel us forward. Life is what happens between point A and point B. It's messy, it's heartbreaking, it's beautiful. I had this vision of what it would be like moving back to the city, back near my kids. I thought it would be full of social opportunities. I didn't anticipate social distancing, and a pandemic. For a while I was deeply alone in a place that didn't feel like home. I was used to alone. Alone in a place you feel at home in is a different kind of alone. Alone in the unknown is painful. Through this I've learned not to fight being alone. 

The few I interact with socially are family and dear friends. Even then visits are few and far between. I know I'll see less of them in the winter months. Because of this communication takes on new meaning.This pandemic has pushed us to condense our interactions to the bare minimum. For the record it sucks. It's necessary, but it sucks. It does not, and cannot, erase our connections. They are sacred. Some are connections we've grown up with, some are newer. Some help us find our way when we get lost, share our laughter, bring us gifts that build our faith. Some share our passions, and some are vastly different. Some understand our pain, some love us in ways we can't love ourselves.

I am finding my way. Never in a million years did I dream I'd be here, now, as I am. I could not anticipate the losses, the grief, the growth or the blessings. I'm finding alone is okay (as long as I have dogs) and people I love near. And...."near" is not defined in miles but by interaction, investment and connection. Would I prefer things to be different? Perhaps in some cases, not at all in some situations, absolutely in others, and possibly in a few. But, here is filled with grace. Here is part of a journey, not simply a destination. Here is an unfolding. So I trust in the process even when I don't understand it. I work to accept the now, and find myself in small ways and large.