I was recently spending time with a friend. She was keeping me company on a day when I really wanted to stay under the covers. We were sharing frustrations, making jokes, and laughing. We have a joint endeavor that involves mounds of fabric samples. I wasn't feeling inspired. She wasn't feeling inspired. We decided to call it a night and forget "work". She went home. The girls were in their rooms. Jamey was trying hard to stay awake. I was trying hard to find distractions that kept me from brooding. I do that sometimes. I get so focused on one tiny frustration and it gnaws at me. Over and over again. That day just happened to be the beginning of Holy Week. The final week of the Lenten fast. The culmination of three years of ministry by JC. And the exact wrong time for a nervous breakdown.
Now you're probably thinking, "She always has it together.". That is mostly true. Kinda. Not really. I'm good at faking it. I tend to be very guarded with most folks. I might have a big laugh, but I'm mostly an introvert. I love quiet. I love "me time". I don't get much of that lately. I haven't for a long time. I've been known to spend my days off seeing how many naps I can fit into one day. I like most people, some more than others. And then there is that tightly knit circle. The "group" I can tell anything, who will share my joys and sorrows. Those I can talk to about anything and everything. That is a very small group. I won't trust just anyone with my heart. It is quite fragile and fractured. While I have most of the pieces, it isn't necessarily pretty.
So I put this blog aside, because my frustrations were (and still are) quite close to the surface. Truth be told, if the offer to run away to a mountaintop villa or a beach with fruity umbrella drinks were to present itself, I might (would) jump all over it. Being human means you leave yourself open to the potential for heartache and heartbreak, sometimes (most of the time) at the hands of those people you treasure the most. I am no different. People are inherently good. Until they prove to me that they aren't. I'm inherently good, mostly.
I started blogging as a way to deal with my emotions during the impending death of my mother. I keep blogging as a way to deal with my frustrations in everyday life. However, I don't necessarily think it is right to call folks out in a public forum. I use this space to vent -- and I try to always make sure the very thing I'm venting about applies not only to those who have somehow managed to shatter my faith in them, but also to me. I refuse to be a victim. There is a lesson in even the darkest storm cloud.
I'm sure if you live in Arkansas, you are more than a little tired of the rain and the storms that plagued our April. It seems the inches of rain 18 months ago had nothing on this year. (That was deemed a "hundred year flood".) We've seen cities evacuated and interstate highways closed due to to the swelling of rivers and rising of flood waters these past several weeks. We've seen destruction on a grand scale in the form of tornadoes and straight-line winds. Some of us have even experienced it personally. April has been stormy for me. Literally and figuratively. I don't always say the right thing. I don't always use my filter. I have very few people in my life that I let get close to me. If I keep you at arm's length, I don't open myself up to disappointment. That really isn't a very good way to live. Trust me, it hasn't worked for me thus far.
Sometimes, the words you want to hear in the most hurtful situations are "I'm sorry." No other explanation is necessary. No other gesture is needed. Just the acknowledgment of hurt, and the validation of feelings. Whether you think you were completely wrong or not. April is always going to be a gray month for me personally, not that I want to dwell on that fact. In fact, it usually sneaks up on me. Quite literally I turn the page of the calendar and BAM...sucker-punch to the gut. This year it was bad for several reasons, which don't need to be delved into any further than to say, sometimes disappointment happens when you aren't really expecting or prepared to deal with it. I still managed to get out of bed each day, put one foot in front of the other, and even muster a smile every now and then.
So I'm going to put an idea out there that you may or may not agree with -- forgiveness is hard work. It requires putting your selfish tendencies in a tightly closed box and admitting your humanity. It requires the person extending forgiveness to do so, oftentimes without the benefit of voicing the hurt and frustration. It requires putting yourself out there to be criticized by folks who don't know or understand that there is even frustration present. I tend to become very introspective when I'm struggling. I have often had folks ask me (several times a day, mind you) if I'm okay. Rest assured, I'm fine. I'm likely just processing my feelings in a way that isn't a burden to those I love. I've learned in these past few years, that it is really hard for folks to see someone they love hurting. It is, what it is. It is raw and very real to the person who is working through whatever issue brought them to that point.
As a way to move on -- forward momentum is what I need at this particular moment -- I am going to try my hardest to be a person who exemplifies not only strength on the most gray of days, but also one who extends a hand of grace and mercy to others. I am bigger than even the most profound hurt. I didn't ask to be strong, it is truly a blessing and a curse. My very favorite comic strip sums up how I feel most days. Ziggy standing at the top of a mountain. He's having a conversation with some unseen being. The bubble above his head reads, "Hey God, it's okay with me if you don't have quite so much faith in me next year." That comic still speaks to me. Forgiveness isn't necessarily deserved, but it is necessary for the one who harbors resentment to move forward. I have a choice every single day. I can let resentment turn me into someone who is angry and bitter at the circumstances of life OR I can say, no amount of wrong is worth me beating myself up over. I choose the latter.
So -- I forgive you, not because I have to, but because I choose to. I retain the power over my emotions. I retain the ownership of my feelings. Life is too short to become angry and bitter. Do I have a reason to be? I have a decade of reasons. But this weekend is Mother's Day, and I know that my mom is speaking to me through these words, even though I can't hear her voice. I hope that I make her proud with the way I live my life. I know I have probably disappointed her more times than I care to count, but I like to think she would be proud of the woman I've become. I'd give anything to hear her laugh one more time, I just have to have faith that she hears mine every now and then.
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