Today I write for personal need.
I have finally cleared a spot on the dining room table where I can write. I'm using maybe a quarter of the space or a little less. This is a long, narrow, lovely table from John's family. It's made of wood that looks to me like walnut. It has two wide boards for extending the length that can be taken out or inserted, but the support system is remarkable: very hefty steel frames or sliders (not sure what to call them) that nest within themselves when not fully extended. When collapsed the table is a nearly-round oval. But I usually keep it fully extended. I like the over-long, over-narrow proportions. I think the styling if from the 1950's: the legs are squared and tapered and the top has black-stain trimming the top and bottom edges of the surface. There were six chairs that came with the table, but most of them need repair and are currently stored in our pole-barn. I'm sitting on Mom's "sewing chair" as I write this. I call it her sewing chair because she used it at her sewing machine. It could just as easily be called a music chair because the back has a lyre in the design.
I have a red-lacquered rectangular tray on a massive cotton doily in the center of the table. The tray holds one of Mom's old hurricane lamps plus some decorations I've quickly gathered today: three little decorative bowls with faux-grass holding one, three, and six glass eggs. I'm gearing up for Lent-Easter. The fourth corner holds a green-glass tumbler with a votive candle burning inside. I'm not sure what-else I want to add to the tray. I think it needs some pussy-willow branches, or something like that; something I can gather from my own yard would be even better. Right now the only greens I could harvest would be trimmings from our ever-green bushes or from the bamboo; however, I like leaving the bamboo in place as shelter for the birds throughout winter. The foundational bushes I'm referring to started out so very tiny and I thought they would never grow big enough to fill their space, but they are definitely over-grown by now, smashing their branches up against the window-panes!
I have CD's playing in the background on a five-CD-turnstile player, hooked into Mom and Dad's old stereo, because the speakers are so nice. The CD currently playing is Dave Brubeck's Love Songs.
Now to why I NEED to write today. Because I am so excruciatingly melancholy! Whenever I use the word excruciating I think of one of my high-school English teachers. As I recall, he was newly graduated from college, dressed very smartly (which was attractive), but his attitude was persistently smug (which was dispicable), and he didn't believe I could possibly know what excruciating meant. I never let him win an argument with me; I always stood up for myself. I am amazed that I did so, because that was not my norm in those days. I was easily bullied. I was an easy target, and I simply turned the other cheek or walked away or let myself be further taken advantage of or victimized. But when it was an intellectual matter, I was somehow able to assert myself. I knew what I knew, and I believed so much in The Truth, that I didn't even question whether or not I should or could "defend" my position; I simply represented what I believed to be True and stood by it, never retreating.
Looking back, I think that's why I was treated too much like an adult too soon. My mental capacity was developed far beyond my years, and so many other aspects of my self were under-developed compared to my peers.
In any event, I certainly know what "excruciating" means, both from having read a dictionary (!), and from having experienced life. I would think that anyone who knows anything about any teenager would learn that teenagers above all others likely know what "excruciating" means!
So why am I in such pain today? It's still the same thing that it's been from some time now. I'm just not SURE of my purpose for this particular chapter of my life. I suppose one could just as easily say I'm bored! I say that because their are certainly things I need to do and that have purpose and that can do me good and can do others good, all of which are factors in how I define one's life-purpose. So I guess, more to the point, I'm hungreing for a new-ish Mission.
My main "vocation" in life is as a Believer in the Lord-God-Creator and Adorer and Lover of Jesus-Christ. Within that central calling I also a wife and have embraced the challenge of becoming one with another human-being. The Lord has also given me gifts as a musician and a teacher, so I view my work as a Piano Teacher as a true "vocation" from the Lord. It's not just a hobby or job or even career, although I have made a career of it. I consider it a vocation because I know that I bring my whole self to it and I love and serve the whole-person of each student, to the best of my ability. This gives me profound satisfaction because this is one way in which I can serve our larger society: I can help the next generation become well-rounded persons. Because of how I design my approach, I also get to work with their parents, and I treasure the opportunity to support the parent-child relationship. I also love that our central work is Listening! What a great Life-Lesson for each of us!
But I also have this persistent gnawing within myself, a longing to Do Something More, and really I think it is simply Writing, but I have this huge internal road-block telling me my Voice isn't worth anything to anyone else.
Wow. That is so sad. If it were anyone else I would be SO very encouraging to them to share their story -- whatever it is. I am a big believer in the value of personal Story.
So why am I so squelching to myself?
Even trying to find the right verb for that question was difficult.
What is it I am doing when I censor myself?
I am definitely afraid of something.
What is it I am afraid of?
Rejection from others?
Pff! I don't even want any argument, let alone rejection! I want my expression of my experience to stand for itself and to be honored for my experience. This is, I'm sure, a very common struggle for everyone who has experienced any form of abuse/victimization as a child/youth and wasn't able to seek/find help at the time. Our voices then, when we really needed voices and we really needed to be heard, our voices then were silenced. They were silenced before we could utter hardly a word or a gesture or a sign of need.
My cries for help took the form of cutting myself. But no-one ever noticed. I had to deliberately show my scars to those I did; I was too good at hiding or being invisible.
Well, this is where I am inclined to deflect away from this thread of memory. I didn't sit down wanting to write about this particular experience. What am I supposed to do with these memories? What value does having survived this experience have now? My story could probably be of use to pre-/teens who are now struggling with thoughts of self-harm. But who are the other adults I could trust who serve those teens? And how could those adults utilize my experience? I am still too wounded to work directly with youth who are in crisis.
That's why I think writing could be a way for my story to possibly be useful to others. Because as a story it can be Used as a Tool or Example for who-ever wants to, but it is not dependent upon my presence/role as a Therapist or whatever.
"La Paloma Azul" is what is playing right now, and I LOVE it!
But is it only my experiences of harm/ pain that is of potential value to others? I'd like to believe that my whole-life story is somehow valuable to at least a few others!
Well, I think it's time to focus on what I thought I would ponder when I first sat down to write:
I'm trying to work my way through Silf"s "Inner Compass" Chapter 5 Prayer and Reflection Suggestions.
1. Meditate on Numbers 6:24-26 -- "May Yahweh bless you and keep you. May Yahweh let his face shine on you and be gracious to you. May Yahweh uncover his face to you and bring you peace."
I wrote this as it appears in Silf's book. I don't know what translation this is but "uncover" was new to me. I am used to "life up His countenance upon you".
This is the blessing the Lord gave to Moses to give to Aaron to bless the Levites with, for a "priestly blessing." I think I have that right; I'll look it up soon to be sure. Meanwhile, I am glad and grateful to remember that Dad really liked this blessing and always had a version of it framed and hanging in his office. I now have one of his parchment-like posters with this verse hanging in my studio. Even as a child I liked the "and keep you" part. I've always trusted Abba to keep me. I trust the Holy Spirit to keep me and sustain me.
The idea of God's face SHINING is such a beautiful image. Scripture tells us that Moses' face shone so brightly, after being in God's presence, that, when Moses came down from the mountain, the Israelites couldn't bear to look at him, he shone so brightly! I always wondered about this -- what would this look like? How could it be? Until I had a similar, albeit less dramatic experience.
When I was a student in Madison, Wisconsin, I had a priest-mentor I met with weekly during my second year there until I decided I wanted to join the Becoming Catholic group. There was a day when I received an extremely troubling phone-call in my apartment on the other side of town from the St. Paul's Newman Center when Fr. Chuck had an office. The phone-call shook me to my bones. I jumped on my bike and pedaled as fast as I could to St. Paul's. I ran into the office and asked the receptionist if I could see Fr. Chuck. (It wasn't my day to see him; I had no appointment.) She placed a call up to his office on the second floor. She told me he would be right down. I could hear him coming down the stairs and I started up the stairs to meet him. The stairwell was rather dark. I remember how his face glowed. I remarked about that and he said "oh I was praying." He said it so matter-of-fact-ly we didn't discuss it further, but I've since thought "how beautifully strange!"
And yet, I know even my own face can seem "brighter" or "darker" at times and people aren't talking about skin-tone. I normally would assume how we see light in someone's face has to do with their eyes, but in the case of Fr. Chuck, it was his whole face. It was as if he was reflecting back the light and warmth of the sun. So now when I think of the Lord shining His Face upon me, I think of His Love and Presence giving me light and warmth and even infusing me with the same!
"May Yahweh uncover his face to you..." It's true Scriptures tell us of God veiling Himself and of the Veil in the Holy of Holies of the Temple. When Jesus died on the cross, the Temple Veil was rent from top to bottom! That tells us that Christ's sacrificial Love has brought us into intimacy with God-the-Father; in Jesus there is no longer a barrier or distance between us and our Creator! Praise be Jesus! Praise the Lord! So when the Lord gave Moses this blessing, even then God was promising to uncover His Face -- which He did in Jesus!
The Peace I long for is Christ Himself. I find my peace in Him and I long for the day when all creation will live in peace in Christ-Jesus.
Reference: Silf, Inner Compass, Chapter 5 "Letting God Be God"
I have finally cleared a spot on the dining room table where I can write. I'm using maybe a quarter of the space or a little less. This is a long, narrow, lovely table from John's family. It's made of wood that looks to me like walnut. It has two wide boards for extending the length that can be taken out or inserted, but the support system is remarkable: very hefty steel frames or sliders (not sure what to call them) that nest within themselves when not fully extended. When collapsed the table is a nearly-round oval. But I usually keep it fully extended. I like the over-long, over-narrow proportions. I think the styling if from the 1950's: the legs are squared and tapered and the top has black-stain trimming the top and bottom edges of the surface. There were six chairs that came with the table, but most of them need repair and are currently stored in our pole-barn. I'm sitting on Mom's "sewing chair" as I write this. I call it her sewing chair because she used it at her sewing machine. It could just as easily be called a music chair because the back has a lyre in the design.
I have a red-lacquered rectangular tray on a massive cotton doily in the center of the table. The tray holds one of Mom's old hurricane lamps plus some decorations I've quickly gathered today: three little decorative bowls with faux-grass holding one, three, and six glass eggs. I'm gearing up for Lent-Easter. The fourth corner holds a green-glass tumbler with a votive candle burning inside. I'm not sure what-else I want to add to the tray. I think it needs some pussy-willow branches, or something like that; something I can gather from my own yard would be even better. Right now the only greens I could harvest would be trimmings from our ever-green bushes or from the bamboo; however, I like leaving the bamboo in place as shelter for the birds throughout winter. The foundational bushes I'm referring to started out so very tiny and I thought they would never grow big enough to fill their space, but they are definitely over-grown by now, smashing their branches up against the window-panes!
I have CD's playing in the background on a five-CD-turnstile player, hooked into Mom and Dad's old stereo, because the speakers are so nice. The CD currently playing is Dave Brubeck's Love Songs.
Now to why I NEED to write today. Because I am so excruciatingly melancholy! Whenever I use the word excruciating I think of one of my high-school English teachers. As I recall, he was newly graduated from college, dressed very smartly (which was attractive), but his attitude was persistently smug (which was dispicable), and he didn't believe I could possibly know what excruciating meant. I never let him win an argument with me; I always stood up for myself. I am amazed that I did so, because that was not my norm in those days. I was easily bullied. I was an easy target, and I simply turned the other cheek or walked away or let myself be further taken advantage of or victimized. But when it was an intellectual matter, I was somehow able to assert myself. I knew what I knew, and I believed so much in The Truth, that I didn't even question whether or not I should or could "defend" my position; I simply represented what I believed to be True and stood by it, never retreating.
Looking back, I think that's why I was treated too much like an adult too soon. My mental capacity was developed far beyond my years, and so many other aspects of my self were under-developed compared to my peers.
In any event, I certainly know what "excruciating" means, both from having read a dictionary (!), and from having experienced life. I would think that anyone who knows anything about any teenager would learn that teenagers above all others likely know what "excruciating" means!
So why am I in such pain today? It's still the same thing that it's been from some time now. I'm just not SURE of my purpose for this particular chapter of my life. I suppose one could just as easily say I'm bored! I say that because their are certainly things I need to do and that have purpose and that can do me good and can do others good, all of which are factors in how I define one's life-purpose. So I guess, more to the point, I'm hungreing for a new-ish Mission.
My main "vocation" in life is as a Believer in the Lord-God-Creator and Adorer and Lover of Jesus-Christ. Within that central calling I also a wife and have embraced the challenge of becoming one with another human-being. The Lord has also given me gifts as a musician and a teacher, so I view my work as a Piano Teacher as a true "vocation" from the Lord. It's not just a hobby or job or even career, although I have made a career of it. I consider it a vocation because I know that I bring my whole self to it and I love and serve the whole-person of each student, to the best of my ability. This gives me profound satisfaction because this is one way in which I can serve our larger society: I can help the next generation become well-rounded persons. Because of how I design my approach, I also get to work with their parents, and I treasure the opportunity to support the parent-child relationship. I also love that our central work is Listening! What a great Life-Lesson for each of us!
But I also have this persistent gnawing within myself, a longing to Do Something More, and really I think it is simply Writing, but I have this huge internal road-block telling me my Voice isn't worth anything to anyone else.
Wow. That is so sad. If it were anyone else I would be SO very encouraging to them to share their story -- whatever it is. I am a big believer in the value of personal Story.
So why am I so squelching to myself?
Even trying to find the right verb for that question was difficult.
What is it I am doing when I censor myself?
I am definitely afraid of something.
What is it I am afraid of?
Rejection from others?
Pff! I don't even want any argument, let alone rejection! I want my expression of my experience to stand for itself and to be honored for my experience. This is, I'm sure, a very common struggle for everyone who has experienced any form of abuse/victimization as a child/youth and wasn't able to seek/find help at the time. Our voices then, when we really needed voices and we really needed to be heard, our voices then were silenced. They were silenced before we could utter hardly a word or a gesture or a sign of need.
My cries for help took the form of cutting myself. But no-one ever noticed. I had to deliberately show my scars to those I did; I was too good at hiding or being invisible.
Well, this is where I am inclined to deflect away from this thread of memory. I didn't sit down wanting to write about this particular experience. What am I supposed to do with these memories? What value does having survived this experience have now? My story could probably be of use to pre-/teens who are now struggling with thoughts of self-harm. But who are the other adults I could trust who serve those teens? And how could those adults utilize my experience? I am still too wounded to work directly with youth who are in crisis.
That's why I think writing could be a way for my story to possibly be useful to others. Because as a story it can be Used as a Tool or Example for who-ever wants to, but it is not dependent upon my presence/role as a Therapist or whatever.
"La Paloma Azul" is what is playing right now, and I LOVE it!
But is it only my experiences of harm/ pain that is of potential value to others? I'd like to believe that my whole-life story is somehow valuable to at least a few others!
Well, I think it's time to focus on what I thought I would ponder when I first sat down to write:
I'm trying to work my way through Silf"s "Inner Compass" Chapter 5 Prayer and Reflection Suggestions.
1. Meditate on Numbers 6:24-26 -- "May Yahweh bless you and keep you. May Yahweh let his face shine on you and be gracious to you. May Yahweh uncover his face to you and bring you peace."
I wrote this as it appears in Silf's book. I don't know what translation this is but "uncover" was new to me. I am used to "life up His countenance upon you".
This is the blessing the Lord gave to Moses to give to Aaron to bless the Levites with, for a "priestly blessing." I think I have that right; I'll look it up soon to be sure. Meanwhile, I am glad and grateful to remember that Dad really liked this blessing and always had a version of it framed and hanging in his office. I now have one of his parchment-like posters with this verse hanging in my studio. Even as a child I liked the "and keep you" part. I've always trusted Abba to keep me. I trust the Holy Spirit to keep me and sustain me.
The idea of God's face SHINING is such a beautiful image. Scripture tells us that Moses' face shone so brightly, after being in God's presence, that, when Moses came down from the mountain, the Israelites couldn't bear to look at him, he shone so brightly! I always wondered about this -- what would this look like? How could it be? Until I had a similar, albeit less dramatic experience.
When I was a student in Madison, Wisconsin, I had a priest-mentor I met with weekly during my second year there until I decided I wanted to join the Becoming Catholic group. There was a day when I received an extremely troubling phone-call in my apartment on the other side of town from the St. Paul's Newman Center when Fr. Chuck had an office. The phone-call shook me to my bones. I jumped on my bike and pedaled as fast as I could to St. Paul's. I ran into the office and asked the receptionist if I could see Fr. Chuck. (It wasn't my day to see him; I had no appointment.) She placed a call up to his office on the second floor. She told me he would be right down. I could hear him coming down the stairs and I started up the stairs to meet him. The stairwell was rather dark. I remember how his face glowed. I remarked about that and he said "oh I was praying." He said it so matter-of-fact-ly we didn't discuss it further, but I've since thought "how beautifully strange!"
And yet, I know even my own face can seem "brighter" or "darker" at times and people aren't talking about skin-tone. I normally would assume how we see light in someone's face has to do with their eyes, but in the case of Fr. Chuck, it was his whole face. It was as if he was reflecting back the light and warmth of the sun. So now when I think of the Lord shining His Face upon me, I think of His Love and Presence giving me light and warmth and even infusing me with the same!
"May Yahweh uncover his face to you..." It's true Scriptures tell us of God veiling Himself and of the Veil in the Holy of Holies of the Temple. When Jesus died on the cross, the Temple Veil was rent from top to bottom! That tells us that Christ's sacrificial Love has brought us into intimacy with God-the-Father; in Jesus there is no longer a barrier or distance between us and our Creator! Praise be Jesus! Praise the Lord! So when the Lord gave Moses this blessing, even then God was promising to uncover His Face -- which He did in Jesus!
The Peace I long for is Christ Himself. I find my peace in Him and I long for the day when all creation will live in peace in Christ-Jesus.
Reference: Silf, Inner Compass, Chapter 5 "Letting God Be God"
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