There's a slant of sun on my gray carpet that's highlighting something new, smelly, wiggly, adorable. His name is Sparky, and he's lying most comfortably and cutely in the sun. A Jack Russell. He was a gift to Cody from an aunt who raises dogs. I meant to say no. But, the sight of the big loving smile, the pup in arms, the hope ... might as well've said no to apple pie too. So, now, he's here. I smell him. I've been squirting carpet cleaner after him. But, he did his business three times under the tree in the back yard, and so we've been applauding him like he's the next best thing to waterparks. The cats are miffed. My hubby adapted and now holds him like a baby in his rocking chair.
We need pleasant things in our home. Seems like the gray weather has snatched all of our moods and made them stretch over the house in a form of snarly suffocation. We've all been complaining lately after the last grey week. My daughter and I especially, complaining about each other. Big things, though, are in the works here. Things that I can't even utter because of sadness and disappointment and mishandling and criticisms ... Well, well... time to suck it up and take the next move which will be a type of shedding, even of good things. Sentimentality will strike at some point to double me over, but for now, I'm moving ahead trying to piece it together in the way that I can. The best way? Doubtfully, however, seems like it's a season to suffer as the parent of a teenager. Lord, help me not lose the pearls from the past by casting them into today's turbulent waters. Amen.
The day is beautiful! A little bit of study, and then we're off to be active.
Take care.
Monday, March 28, 2005
Thursday, March 17, 2005
Stiffarming
We could hit a tennis ball over the trees to land in the schoolyard where Cody used to play with other students. But, we're not there. We're on the courts, trying to break our record of 12.
Almost after every unsuccessful volley, Cody declares his hate for himself. There's lots of crying and anxiety is wrapped around his sweet 10 year old face.
But, the hawk is flying like a kite over our heads; the sun is shining kindly; and, I'm running off a few winter pounds. I feel like twirling my tennis racket like that old high school baton. So, it just happens and the bright blue swallows it for a minute. I feel lit up and healthy and glad to be outdoors.
But Cody can't get around his not being McEnroe-like, and he's mad and anxious and is a freakin' loser whom he hates. I get a momentary swell inside, of frustration, of anger, that Cody can't escape a sinister mental shadow even in the most cloudless of days.
"C'mon -- let's do some tryin' instead of cryin'!"
"Put those emotions in a box for right now! Don't let 'em control you!"
I must say these or similar words about fifty times through the course of our hour and a half tennis session. But, the day is beautiful, and I love to be sporty and athletic.
Maybe tomorrow, we'll get to 20, and maybe Cody will be able to stiff-arm his inner assailant. Maybe he will learn through motor activity to toughen up. Maybe tennis is the answer .......
Almost after every unsuccessful volley, Cody declares his hate for himself. There's lots of crying and anxiety is wrapped around his sweet 10 year old face.
But, the hawk is flying like a kite over our heads; the sun is shining kindly; and, I'm running off a few winter pounds. I feel like twirling my tennis racket like that old high school baton. So, it just happens and the bright blue swallows it for a minute. I feel lit up and healthy and glad to be outdoors.
But Cody can't get around his not being McEnroe-like, and he's mad and anxious and is a freakin' loser whom he hates. I get a momentary swell inside, of frustration, of anger, that Cody can't escape a sinister mental shadow even in the most cloudless of days.
"C'mon -- let's do some tryin' instead of cryin'!"
"Put those emotions in a box for right now! Don't let 'em control you!"
I must say these or similar words about fifty times through the course of our hour and a half tennis session. But, the day is beautiful, and I love to be sporty and athletic.
Maybe tomorrow, we'll get to 20, and maybe Cody will be able to stiff-arm his inner assailant. Maybe he will learn through motor activity to toughen up. Maybe tennis is the answer .......
Tuesday, March 15, 2005
Formscape proclamation
Today, we return the truck -- it's big, it's white, it's my shining knight. Tomorrow is return-to-van day in which the wheel-rear auditorium echoes, and I feel compartmentalized appropriately (rebellion suppressed). My mother-in-law loaned us her truck because in our little snippet of lawn, I've managed to plant dried stalks of almost everything to create the appropriate winter-form-scape. (That's my artsy-lazy self talking. But, really, if we would've had much snow, it would've created wetlybeautifullyclumpily smacks of beauty on the outlines of all things-lovely in the summer. Darn.) As it was, my husband drove home the truck, and then he went whackin' around outside. When he goes whackin', he's as indiscriminate as as the verb whackin' suggests (whirlwind of twigs and testosterone and anger and seed pods, etc). For instance, my white buddelai is now cut down to its core. Okay, it was in its third year and looking a bit droopy and wind-whipped (and who really knows whether you prune the bush or not), but still it contrasted well with the maroon hibiscus nearby. Albeit the hibiscus was cramped because the white buddelai barked at it to scoot. Yet, I will miss that buddelai because she took me back to a former friend named Vikki, whom I miss, but don't wish to recover. In that same bed, I've recently noticed the russet thrusts of tree peony shoots which bring me back to a contraband exchange. See, how each planting needs to be left alone in space, in memory, in time? I whine, but I was inside while the whackin' whirlin' workin' (whistlin'?) was happenin'. I just didn't know he would be feeling all those emotions toward my formscape plantings. I whimper.
Okay, my white knight awaits. I must go cleansed and appreciate the fact that he's available any time to recreate a buddelia free-for-all if mentally and artistically and butterflyishly needs warrant. I proclaim abundance in the summer. I proclaim plantings. I proclaim scrunched hibiscus and blackberry lily and beebalm and half-dead tea rose and lovely indigo. And, lastly, I proclaim a kiss to my husband for making room for the new abundance of amazingly scraggly shapedwinterforms.:)
Okay, my white knight awaits. I must go cleansed and appreciate the fact that he's available any time to recreate a buddelia free-for-all if mentally and artistically and butterflyishly needs warrant. I proclaim abundance in the summer. I proclaim plantings. I proclaim scrunched hibiscus and blackberry lily and beebalm and half-dead tea rose and lovely indigo. And, lastly, I proclaim a kiss to my husband for making room for the new abundance of amazingly scraggly shapedwinterforms.:)
Sunday, March 13, 2005
My apologies
My Apologies
These small lines stare
like a juice glass with
limits.
They taunt me like
last year's stalk-
chompin' rabbit.
They stare with
incrimination that
I left them long ago
and baggaged them
so with other
acquaintances.
What reminds me
then of your tiny
scant glance?
That endtable book?
That lyrical hope
a friend has followed?
Yesterday's Missouri river
rush received up close?
A need like prayer?
A desire?
Poetry pushes upward
to Light a reason to
fertilize its flow.
Again. After absence.
After avoidance.
After my apologies,
I'll take your invitation
quite slow, but
with full-eyed,
late night, imagistic
growths of hope.
Fieldfleur
These small lines stare
like a juice glass with
limits.
They taunt me like
last year's stalk-
chompin' rabbit.
They stare with
incrimination that
I left them long ago
and baggaged them
so with other
acquaintances.
What reminds me
then of your tiny
scant glance?
That endtable book?
That lyrical hope
a friend has followed?
Yesterday's Missouri river
rush received up close?
A need like prayer?
A desire?
Poetry pushes upward
to Light a reason to
fertilize its flow.
Again. After absence.
After avoidance.
After my apologies,
I'll take your invitation
quite slow, but
with full-eyed,
late night, imagistic
growths of hope.
Fieldfleur
Flinging books
Although I cried intermittently through the night and morning about C's situation, today was a better day. CJ and his dad went out. I spent the afternoon with my daughter, learning about the IPod and how cool it is to collect all of your songs in one small box (I want one!). We shopped and laughed and talked. Ah, that felt good.
But, this morning, I made a note to take action, so now I have books from Amazon flinging toward our door to help with future challenge and reward. The winnng books are:
1"Freaks, Geeks and Asperger Syndrome: A User Guide to Adolescence"Tony Attwood;
2"Parenting a Child With Asperger Syndrome: 200 Tips and Strategies"Brenda Boyd;
3
"Can I Tell You About Asperger Syndrome?: A Guide for Friends and Family"Elizabeth Newson;
4
"Choosing Home: Deciding to Homeschool With Asperger's Syndrome"Stephen Shsore;
5 "Homeschooling the Child With Asperger Syndrome: Real Help for Parents Anywhere and on Any Budget"Lise Pyles
Yes, my extensive list spells desperation with possibility of finding answers and hope. I'm excited and can't wait for the doorbell to ring!
But, this morning, I made a note to take action, so now I have books from Amazon flinging toward our door to help with future challenge and reward. The winnng books are:
1"Freaks, Geeks and Asperger Syndrome: A User Guide to Adolescence"Tony Attwood;
2"Parenting a Child With Asperger Syndrome: 200 Tips and Strategies"Brenda Boyd;
3
"Can I Tell You About Asperger Syndrome?: A Guide for Friends and Family"Elizabeth Newson;
4
"Choosing Home: Deciding to Homeschool With Asperger's Syndrome"Stephen Shsore;
5 "Homeschooling the Child With Asperger Syndrome: Real Help for Parents Anywhere and on Any Budget"Lise Pyles
Yes, my extensive list spells desperation with possibility of finding answers and hope. I'm excited and can't wait for the doorbell to ring!
Saturday, March 12, 2005
Expressive bones
My bones have been screaming lately too; after church, on the drive back, we hear the customary Asperger Syndrome wails from our 10 year old son: "They think I'm a freak! No one likes me! Why? Why did God make me this way -- a stupid loser? I'm a freak, I'm a loser! Why? I'll never have any friends!" It's a very typical response after being together with kids in the children's church. It always takes our intense counseling efforts to subdue his resulting heightened anxiety. After hearing him tonight, though, I kindof lost it and buckled down into the seat with my hands over my ears to let his dad do the consoling work. It makes me so sad and helpless. So, my bubble therapeutic read tonight was "Pretending to be Normal." A woman from church whose AS brother committed suicide last August gave it to me from his collection. The writer, Liane Holliday Willey is an "Aspie" who writes what's in my heart tonight in this passage:
"My deep dark fear, the one that makes my bones scream, is that there are AS peple in search of friendships who will never find any, no matter what they do, solely because of their AS. With those people on my mind, my heart breaks, for I know the reality that will wound them as they stumble forward, deeply lonely and ever more estranged from others."
My son needs resources. I need to dig for them; why do I feel so immobilized and helpless in the face of this huge wave? I will keep reading this book for a new weekend start.
"My deep dark fear, the one that makes my bones scream, is that there are AS peple in search of friendships who will never find any, no matter what they do, solely because of their AS. With those people on my mind, my heart breaks, for I know the reality that will wound them as they stumble forward, deeply lonely and ever more estranged from others."
My son needs resources. I need to dig for them; why do I feel so immobilized and helpless in the face of this huge wave? I will keep reading this book for a new weekend start.
Thursday, March 10, 2005
A night's wind
Life has a funny way of nipping your Augustine withers (that nipping/wither phrase comes from the book "Smoky" by Will James, a regular cowboy drawlin' book. Cody and I are reading it and re-enacting the characters during drives, shopping, sitting, etc. Nicker! Nicker!, etc).
I mean tonight I was sitting at Cody's basketball practice trying to burrow into my new read "Balzac and the Little Chinese Seamstress" by Dai Sijie. If I burrow deep enough during times like this, I don't have to 1) talk to the dad next to me, and 2) hear what's happening with Cody on the court.
However, Cody was going crazy. I mean he was hyper. He was playing defense like a fourth of July sparkler. Not only was his body moving, his mouth was doing its customary REM. He was screaming, he was yelling, he was overboard in a whirlpool of his own creation. Then, he would get angry suddenly and throw a ball at a kid close-range. Or, he would tell the coach to shut up because he encouraged him and made him feel like a little kid. Cody's face would go from elation to scowl in a matter of seconds.
The parents next to me commented on his small size.
I gripped my book tighter, looking up to give him admonishment.
And it just struck me that I have been pretending on a couple of things, making them seem glorious when in fact they are subterfuge coverups. Homeschooling is going very well, yet within it, I can pretend that Cody is normal, that things are okay. At the one outing we do, it comes back to me quickly: his issues are severe. How will he ever assimilate into a homeschooler's group, into school, into a healthy existence within society? I feel shaken and exposed and scared to death for him.
Okay, Saint Augustine now. Of course, he's a well-known mysogynist. I know ... think of culture at the times and what was proper then but not now. I know ... consider his virtues. Yes, I am enjoying his writing, but sooner or later, the truth comes out that he left his mistress and son for the political position of bishop in the Church. He chose what was best personally over what was best for others, at least that's what it appears in today's culture. Later in his career, he rails against women because obviously he feared their allure. Sigh. Exposure tends to shake my faith in even what I praise and admire.
And, tomorrow Kevin takes his mother to a funeral of an older couple who committed suicide together on Monday. They were sick, and they decided to sting their children one last time with the worthless experience of life. They planned their funeral on paper, left their front door ajar so they'd be found by the neighbors in a nice, timely, nonsmelling manner, and took some pills.
Why is the deconstruction of nice ideals and concepts quite prevalent? We grip onto one thing, and it tears apart to leave a hole.
Yes, there are believable platitudes to shield; however, at times, things feel quite dark and exposed and shaken.
I mean tonight I was sitting at Cody's basketball practice trying to burrow into my new read "Balzac and the Little Chinese Seamstress" by Dai Sijie. If I burrow deep enough during times like this, I don't have to 1) talk to the dad next to me, and 2) hear what's happening with Cody on the court.
However, Cody was going crazy. I mean he was hyper. He was playing defense like a fourth of July sparkler. Not only was his body moving, his mouth was doing its customary REM. He was screaming, he was yelling, he was overboard in a whirlpool of his own creation. Then, he would get angry suddenly and throw a ball at a kid close-range. Or, he would tell the coach to shut up because he encouraged him and made him feel like a little kid. Cody's face would go from elation to scowl in a matter of seconds.
The parents next to me commented on his small size.
I gripped my book tighter, looking up to give him admonishment.
And it just struck me that I have been pretending on a couple of things, making them seem glorious when in fact they are subterfuge coverups. Homeschooling is going very well, yet within it, I can pretend that Cody is normal, that things are okay. At the one outing we do, it comes back to me quickly: his issues are severe. How will he ever assimilate into a homeschooler's group, into school, into a healthy existence within society? I feel shaken and exposed and scared to death for him.
Okay, Saint Augustine now. Of course, he's a well-known mysogynist. I know ... think of culture at the times and what was proper then but not now. I know ... consider his virtues. Yes, I am enjoying his writing, but sooner or later, the truth comes out that he left his mistress and son for the political position of bishop in the Church. He chose what was best personally over what was best for others, at least that's what it appears in today's culture. Later in his career, he rails against women because obviously he feared their allure. Sigh. Exposure tends to shake my faith in even what I praise and admire.
And, tomorrow Kevin takes his mother to a funeral of an older couple who committed suicide together on Monday. They were sick, and they decided to sting their children one last time with the worthless experience of life. They planned their funeral on paper, left their front door ajar so they'd be found by the neighbors in a nice, timely, nonsmelling manner, and took some pills.
Why is the deconstruction of nice ideals and concepts quite prevalent? We grip onto one thing, and it tears apart to leave a hole.
Yes, there are believable platitudes to shield; however, at times, things feel quite dark and exposed and shaken.
Wednesday, March 09, 2005
Augustine at the table
While Cody performed repetitive math beside me, I poured into my "Confessions of Saint Augustine." Book Four amazingly has remitted a kinship tie between him and myself, one of journey in which experience, desire, longing for love and knowledge and deep friendship rolled up into a ball on a similar route. It makes me so happy to know this! I am loving his analysis on the true 'essence' of things and how that becomes uncovered to the searcher, or the found, or the redeemed. I feel like I've been on a similar journey to him. Some of the things in Book Four just make me smile in recognition. Yes! I've put everything into a person before, into friendships, into a timeframe that the body senses, into the temporary. Into the Grecian Urn always running and never catching beauty that saddens. Into the wretched doom of the fleeting good moment. Into the ballgame. Into the conversation over wine.
Good things, but they rend the soul with "pestilent longings" and a desire to "repose in the things that are loved." Things that are loved can never offer longlasting repose, though. We're always faced with their end, except in the concept/ideal/reality of God whose eternal hope outshines and remains untarnished for the person who agrees to give up falsity, or brief inherent-hope in things that don't last. Oh, that last statement would be unpopular to many I know and to the old me. Yet, honestly, why not enjoy both -- what God has created to be good (friendships, conversation, etc) and His eternal reaching for us to become whole in Him who offers "serene rest"? The decision to face Him, though, comes first, and then the rightful enjoyment that is not unbalanced.
We need him badly in our psyches. Our psyches beg for the care of the Other-reality. Wholeness.
Anyway, as you can see, I'm excited about Augustine. He talks the Everyman in a lovely, intelligent, experienced way.
Clutching the book and the hope in Missouri,
Fieldfleur
Good things, but they rend the soul with "pestilent longings" and a desire to "repose in the things that are loved." Things that are loved can never offer longlasting repose, though. We're always faced with their end, except in the concept/ideal/reality of God whose eternal hope outshines and remains untarnished for the person who agrees to give up falsity, or brief inherent-hope in things that don't last. Oh, that last statement would be unpopular to many I know and to the old me. Yet, honestly, why not enjoy both -- what God has created to be good (friendships, conversation, etc) and His eternal reaching for us to become whole in Him who offers "serene rest"? The decision to face Him, though, comes first, and then the rightful enjoyment that is not unbalanced.
We need him badly in our psyches. Our psyches beg for the care of the Other-reality. Wholeness.
Anyway, as you can see, I'm excited about Augustine. He talks the Everyman in a lovely, intelligent, experienced way.
Clutching the book and the hope in Missouri,
Fieldfleur
Deeper cultivation vs distraction addiction
May not the inadequacy of much of our spiritual experience be traced back to our habit of skipping through the corridors of the Kingdom like children through the market place, chattering about everything, but pausing to learn the true value of nothing? In my creature impatience I am often caused to wish that there were some way to bring modern Christians into a deeper spiritual life painlessly by short easy lessons; but such wishes are vain. No short cut exists. God has not bowed to our nervous haste nor embraced the methods of our machine age. It is well that we accept the hard truth now: the man who would know God must give time to Him. He must count no time wasted which is spent in the cultivation of His acquaintance.
AW Tozer in The Divine Conquest
AW Tozer in The Divine Conquest
Tuesday, March 08, 2005
Why not Iowa?
My sister just called and came the closest ever to declaring her love for me: "But but but ... Alabama doesn't even touch Missouri! You can't move there ... it's too far away." Wow, that felt good to hear! I'm comfortably close to her which I didn't know before. Maybe it's because we haven't talked in a long time, but our conversation was the best this evening. We talked, laughed, complimented. My pretty, independent, brave sister felt like a good friend. It's excellent too in general when people say how they specifically feel. My mother-in-law is being evasive and quiet, like she doesn't care if we go or stay. My parents moaned a bit, but I think they're okay now. I've received :( sad faces in e-mails and looks from friends, but my own family is pulling through for me. They care and can be direct (although direct love declaration is next to impossible!). Have I told anyone lately how I hate the indirect? With some, it's expected, I guess, but family should be there judging or encouraging or moaning, and I'm happy to report that they did. Yeah! Oh no, that means it will be even harder to leave .... !
Monday, March 07, 2005
Late winter hope
We walked around our house and took the late winter hope tour. We found: one hyacinth, a small couple of rows of japanese iris, a beautiful clump of double-bloom daffodils, and a crocus croaking its last until it surprises again next February. But mostly, the beds look scraggly and bare, some already have the pesty weed ground cover springing up; there's lots of work to do before May. But, it's good work in warm wind. What could be better?
We're back on the cul-de-sac. All cats have been accounted for. A heater had been left on in my daughter's room for these past five days. My husband vacuumed already. I already have the green counters messy again with the makings of cream cheese brownies. Life is back to normal in Missouri.
I thought maybe when I returned home, I would feel nostalgic comfort. I feel good about being home but still excited about Alabama. Is God making the departure easy? Will we go? I would definitely miss my friends. We shall see.
I've been really enjoying St. Augustine's confessions, and they have confirmed my earlier confessions to a larger audience. An 'elder' church woman wrote me and felt that perhaps my friend co-speaker and I had shared too many intimate details to a group who may not have been ready for them. She speaks in safe gloss, though, and I have no apologies (even with uneasiness) about speaking plainly about my struggles in the past. If there's not a known contrast, then why bother at all to show the factor of grace.
The regions of the United States awaits to be explored on the living room floor with Cody, so au revoir, my friends!
We're back on the cul-de-sac. All cats have been accounted for. A heater had been left on in my daughter's room for these past five days. My husband vacuumed already. I already have the green counters messy again with the makings of cream cheese brownies. Life is back to normal in Missouri.
I thought maybe when I returned home, I would feel nostalgic comfort. I feel good about being home but still excited about Alabama. Is God making the departure easy? Will we go? I would definitely miss my friends. We shall see.
I've been really enjoying St. Augustine's confessions, and they have confirmed my earlier confessions to a larger audience. An 'elder' church woman wrote me and felt that perhaps my friend co-speaker and I had shared too many intimate details to a group who may not have been ready for them. She speaks in safe gloss, though, and I have no apologies (even with uneasiness) about speaking plainly about my struggles in the past. If there's not a known contrast, then why bother at all to show the factor of grace.
The regions of the United States awaits to be explored on the living room floor with Cody, so au revoir, my friends!
Saturday, March 05, 2005
Southern ground
Our last day amidst the hills, pines, houses on ridges, former boss' entreaties of acceptance, huge malls, ton of traffic. Confusion will follow us up north as we try to make our decision. It could be a couple of weeks, and we might think, "Heeeey! Go Auburn, go U of A!" However, from the sight of the large football stadiums on the high school level here and from direct statements, we know that we'd have to choose either Auburn or U of A. Do we wish to enter into that type of culture? I mean we don't have to choose the Chiefs or the Rams -- middleground is comfy ground in the Midwest. Here, they're a bit more strident about their food, sports, neighborhoods, family oil paintings, middle names, manners, Baptist churches, and furniture.
It is beautiful, though. And, I'm a change person which tempts me even against all that I would be giving up. Much. We'll see; it'll determine itself through hubby's view of new job and daughter's acceptance.
I'm a land person, though, and the sight of the ridges, foothills of the Appalachia mountains all around me, rivers is captivating me.
Okay enough of that. I am dying for a cinnamon roll and have been imagining it all night! Off to pack to discover!
It is beautiful, though. And, I'm a change person which tempts me even against all that I would be giving up. Much. We'll see; it'll determine itself through hubby's view of new job and daughter's acceptance.
I'm a land person, though, and the sight of the ridges, foothills of the Appalachia mountains all around me, rivers is captivating me.
Okay enough of that. I am dying for a cinnamon roll and have been imagining it all night! Off to pack to discover!
Thursday, March 03, 2005
Birmingham
Vietta's daffodil that I plucked after closing the gate at my parent's farm is on this fancy, mahogany desk in this fancy Birmingham hotel. It looks a bit forlorn, like I should have picked two or left it on the farm, underneath the big oak tree that holds the nail to chain the gate. Maybe we're all out of place.
However, today is a day to keep mind and eyes open. Yesterday when we drove in, it again surprised me how pretty the countryside is here with its hills and pines. I wanted to know more about the inner life of the forest here. Does it look like my familiar and loved Ozarks with its rocks, patches of grass and moss, gravel, varied soil? I think I will have to check it out before even considering a move South. The warmth is nice. I see that annuals (albeit pansies) have even been set out already around the hotels.
I meet with an old 'acquaintance' today who will show me around while my husband is being ranked by the bigguys. Will I feel the materialism seeping all around me?
We shall see! My mind is back at my church, though. How did last night's meeting go? I truly wish that I could've been there, working with the people I know. Ah well, we shall keep our mind and eyes open here in Alabama.
Take care,
Fieldfleur
However, today is a day to keep mind and eyes open. Yesterday when we drove in, it again surprised me how pretty the countryside is here with its hills and pines. I wanted to know more about the inner life of the forest here. Does it look like my familiar and loved Ozarks with its rocks, patches of grass and moss, gravel, varied soil? I think I will have to check it out before even considering a move South. The warmth is nice. I see that annuals (albeit pansies) have even been set out already around the hotels.
I meet with an old 'acquaintance' today who will show me around while my husband is being ranked by the bigguys. Will I feel the materialism seeping all around me?
We shall see! My mind is back at my church, though. How did last night's meeting go? I truly wish that I could've been there, working with the people I know. Ah well, we shall keep our mind and eyes open here in Alabama.
Take care,
Fieldfleur
Monday, February 28, 2005
Bubble reads
The week is beginning its spin cycle. Monday morning. I have much to do today to prepare for the trip to Birmingham which begins tomorrow. I still need to get that boy taught too.
My brain is whirling this morning, though, in a good productive way. I have three books in front of me which I plan on taking to 'Bama. One is my study called "Abba's Child" by Brennan Manning. Chapter 2, wow, hits hard. Here's a line that made me cringe and confess last night:
"Prayer is death to every identity that does not come from God." I confess to grappling after false idols lately and feeding a false identity which has its importance away from God's light. We all mingle in the dappled shade from time to time, but wrongful priorities have a way of stealing your substance. I've been walking there more lately, and I know why in some ways. Manning says it here too in another way:
"The false self specializes in treacherous disguise. He is the lazy part of self, resisting the effort, asceticism, and discipline that intimacy with God requires." (42) Yes, I've been lolling about, looking at the sparkly, lit up filler items. I've desired distraction; I've resisted prayer during my times of restlessness or anger or sadness. This is an amazing chapter; unfortunately, I'll be gone on Wednesday when the group discusses their reaction. The chapter made me peer more suspiciously at our upcoming trip too -- what are we feeding? if changes happen, how can we assure that they're not only for insubstantial gain? It's a powerful temptation to ward off.
St. Augustine knew about temptation. I picked up a bargain 'The Confessions of Saint Augustine" a couple of years ago, and before my bath last night, I scouted for an unread title to take with me into the warm bubbles (the luxurious Western woman's options!). Wow. So far, in this weighty-worded, exclamative book, I see Augustine exploring the nature of sin in man, in our infancy even, probing how things were created, and why we need the love of God. Amazingly enough, I see a hint of the 'collective unconscious' ideas in his writing. Did Augustine come first and then Jung? God came first says the Bible which Augustine confirms. Aug. speaks of time in an interesting way. I like it.
Then, finally, "Hope for the Troubled Heart" by our own Billy Graham. It's lovely so far, and narrows in on the heart of the problem and the antidote.
Well, I've got lots more reading and pondering to do. However, life means much more than reading (darn!:).
But before I go, just a word to say that my daughter turns 16 today. She is on her way to adulthood which will be here soon. Unbelievable. I look at her and resist this age in a way -- it's full of worry and resentment; a hard reflection of your parenting up to this date. Please, God, be with her in a loving active way, and teach me to love her better each day. Only you can work and soothe.
Fieldfleur
My brain is whirling this morning, though, in a good productive way. I have three books in front of me which I plan on taking to 'Bama. One is my study called "Abba's Child" by Brennan Manning. Chapter 2, wow, hits hard. Here's a line that made me cringe and confess last night:
"Prayer is death to every identity that does not come from God." I confess to grappling after false idols lately and feeding a false identity which has its importance away from God's light. We all mingle in the dappled shade from time to time, but wrongful priorities have a way of stealing your substance. I've been walking there more lately, and I know why in some ways. Manning says it here too in another way:
"The false self specializes in treacherous disguise. He is the lazy part of self, resisting the effort, asceticism, and discipline that intimacy with God requires." (42) Yes, I've been lolling about, looking at the sparkly, lit up filler items. I've desired distraction; I've resisted prayer during my times of restlessness or anger or sadness. This is an amazing chapter; unfortunately, I'll be gone on Wednesday when the group discusses their reaction. The chapter made me peer more suspiciously at our upcoming trip too -- what are we feeding? if changes happen, how can we assure that they're not only for insubstantial gain? It's a powerful temptation to ward off.
St. Augustine knew about temptation. I picked up a bargain 'The Confessions of Saint Augustine" a couple of years ago, and before my bath last night, I scouted for an unread title to take with me into the warm bubbles (the luxurious Western woman's options!). Wow. So far, in this weighty-worded, exclamative book, I see Augustine exploring the nature of sin in man, in our infancy even, probing how things were created, and why we need the love of God. Amazingly enough, I see a hint of the 'collective unconscious' ideas in his writing. Did Augustine come first and then Jung? God came first says the Bible which Augustine confirms. Aug. speaks of time in an interesting way. I like it.
Then, finally, "Hope for the Troubled Heart" by our own Billy Graham. It's lovely so far, and narrows in on the heart of the problem and the antidote.
Well, I've got lots more reading and pondering to do. However, life means much more than reading (darn!:).
But before I go, just a word to say that my daughter turns 16 today. She is on her way to adulthood which will be here soon. Unbelievable. I look at her and resist this age in a way -- it's full of worry and resentment; a hard reflection of your parenting up to this date. Please, God, be with her in a loving active way, and teach me to love her better each day. Only you can work and soothe.
Fieldfleur
Saturday, February 26, 2005
A Saturday sparkle
It has been an excellent Saturday afterall.
For some reason, I had a passive sadness this morning. I couldn't show up to go outside alone and enjoy the beautiful morning. I used to run solo and hit the day at an energetic (or active) pace. I had my watch, my tights, my fleece. I used to write about what the practice of perseverance stirred up in me: joy, strength, tightness, knee aches, faith.
But then, after about six years, I gradually slowed down and almost stopped altogether. And, now with homeschooling Cody, I don't get to meet my spirit-friend and run on Monday mornings.
But, the best thing happened today! As I was feeling passive and incapable, my cell phone rang, and my old Monday friend called to see if I could go on a trail walk. Saturday mornings are usually open for me, and so we agreed to meet in 15 minutes.
Thank you, God, for friends. I realized this morning when we were talking and laughing and jumping with our conversation that You are in the mix of this. When we looked over the bridge at the sparkling river below, and said hello to all the bikers going by us, and leaped over the mud puddle by the tunnel, and shared our spiritual heights and lows, I realized that You were showing me life again and again, outside of my worries and limits. My friend seems so sure of You and so stable, and it was wonderful to be re-inspired. Thank you for a treat morning!
Then, I went to lunch with my daughter, and we chatted as if our recent wall had crumbled.
Later, I went to a rousing meeting for a new communication vehicle for the church. A woman I know across from me made a cynical comment about indoctrination, and it was so fun to be able to laugh out loud and exchange knowing looks. I love being in a church where we can be cynical and laugh out loud freely. The meeting was great, full of creative suggestions ... more on that later!
An hour later, we were at the less-attended Saturday evening service. The sermon was okay, bu the people around me there are my friends. I talked with one who is beginning chemo treatments again for cancer. My reliable JH was across the auditorium, having made it safely back from her grandchildren. A small group study member was greeting at the door, new to service, looking committed and happy.
I don't want to think about leaving them all, but we will think about this possibility more in the coming week. We'll be going to Birmingham to see.
But, my Saturday was wonderful. Thank you, Lord, for life's goodness which you've created.
For some reason, I had a passive sadness this morning. I couldn't show up to go outside alone and enjoy the beautiful morning. I used to run solo and hit the day at an energetic (or active) pace. I had my watch, my tights, my fleece. I used to write about what the practice of perseverance stirred up in me: joy, strength, tightness, knee aches, faith.
But then, after about six years, I gradually slowed down and almost stopped altogether. And, now with homeschooling Cody, I don't get to meet my spirit-friend and run on Monday mornings.
But, the best thing happened today! As I was feeling passive and incapable, my cell phone rang, and my old Monday friend called to see if I could go on a trail walk. Saturday mornings are usually open for me, and so we agreed to meet in 15 minutes.
Thank you, God, for friends. I realized this morning when we were talking and laughing and jumping with our conversation that You are in the mix of this. When we looked over the bridge at the sparkling river below, and said hello to all the bikers going by us, and leaped over the mud puddle by the tunnel, and shared our spiritual heights and lows, I realized that You were showing me life again and again, outside of my worries and limits. My friend seems so sure of You and so stable, and it was wonderful to be re-inspired. Thank you for a treat morning!
Then, I went to lunch with my daughter, and we chatted as if our recent wall had crumbled.
Later, I went to a rousing meeting for a new communication vehicle for the church. A woman I know across from me made a cynical comment about indoctrination, and it was so fun to be able to laugh out loud and exchange knowing looks. I love being in a church where we can be cynical and laugh out loud freely. The meeting was great, full of creative suggestions ... more on that later!
An hour later, we were at the less-attended Saturday evening service. The sermon was okay, bu the people around me there are my friends. I talked with one who is beginning chemo treatments again for cancer. My reliable JH was across the auditorium, having made it safely back from her grandchildren. A small group study member was greeting at the door, new to service, looking committed and happy.
I don't want to think about leaving them all, but we will think about this possibility more in the coming week. We'll be going to Birmingham to see.
But, my Saturday was wonderful. Thank you, Lord, for life's goodness which you've created.
Friday, February 25, 2005
Higher than coffee?
'Tis a Friday morning, and my fat grey kitten cleans herself beside me. I let her outside, but her maximum comfort level in the big world is only about three minutes. She has jumped down now; she must know that I'm writing about her. Typical young teen.
Cody sleeps peacefully; my hazelnut cinnamon coffee is my constant.
Isn't it crazy how there are these fundamental things in the world that avoid complex scrutiny with either logic or emotions? For instance, coffee is always welcome and good to me. I seldom approach it with the desire to parse, or appease, or pretend I'm something I'm not around it. I wake up, put on my rose-patterned warm robe, and approach it confidently.
Most of the time, I analyze what I react to in my environment (either human or object), and so it seems rare this morning to have this anchor. I'm not sure why I'm appreciating it so much right now. I do think it has something to do with my dreams. I dreamt about a moved friend who was going through a tough time regarding parents. I was there for her ... can we ask the same of others? Often not. I think I tossed and turned on that last night as well.
However, I have a friend who is steady like coffee. She teaches me a lot just by being warm and available. I don't scrutinize her much at all; she's already proven reliable. My husband is steady; he hugged and kissed me this morning before he went to work, telling me that I'm pretty and good. I can always count on him, although I feel unsteady in the way that I reciprocate and how I securely grasp his love. Why should he love me?
Relationship with God. Okay, this should be steady and comforting at all times, right? In some ways, I know that he's reliable to me; however, I tend to turn away from Him, and I'm the one whose not fundamentally sound. It's difficult to remember that He loves me despite me. It's difficult to remember that my mind wants to denounce his love and presence at times, particularly when I feel low. It's a complex relationship that often has too much of myself, wringing my hands, in it. I need to just allow him to be there like my morning coffee. He is there. Sip and see that he is good.
Yet then I begin exacting in complex ways.
I begin thinking strangely, mixing my parenting weaknesses with my weakness at accepting God's love. I feel his disapproval at how I'm handling my daughter right now. Yet, it's not really Him but my own human limitations I'm struggling with. I want things to be perfect, to have a perfect relationship, but she needs to grow on her own without me. I hate that, and I'm feeling hurt. Then I get angry. Then I feel sinful. Then spirituality becomes a nuisance. Coffee seems a better alternative.
Yet then coffee goes its natural way (euphemism btw), and it becomes momentary. I can still love its calming effects, yet I can't ask it to heal my flagellations. Sigh. Approaching the higher good is so hard at times because it wants you to relax and find rest and give up the fret. He wants to work on heart, mind, spirit in a good sense. I'm not sure that I'm so malleable.
It takes trust, a simple gesture. Here. I raise my coffee cup to the eternal and pledge attempt, if not attempt then acknowledgement of, if not acknowledgement then a heart beat for your ideal, good, steady, reliable reality. Amen.
Cody sleeps peacefully; my hazelnut cinnamon coffee is my constant.
Isn't it crazy how there are these fundamental things in the world that avoid complex scrutiny with either logic or emotions? For instance, coffee is always welcome and good to me. I seldom approach it with the desire to parse, or appease, or pretend I'm something I'm not around it. I wake up, put on my rose-patterned warm robe, and approach it confidently.
Most of the time, I analyze what I react to in my environment (either human or object), and so it seems rare this morning to have this anchor. I'm not sure why I'm appreciating it so much right now. I do think it has something to do with my dreams. I dreamt about a moved friend who was going through a tough time regarding parents. I was there for her ... can we ask the same of others? Often not. I think I tossed and turned on that last night as well.
However, I have a friend who is steady like coffee. She teaches me a lot just by being warm and available. I don't scrutinize her much at all; she's already proven reliable. My husband is steady; he hugged and kissed me this morning before he went to work, telling me that I'm pretty and good. I can always count on him, although I feel unsteady in the way that I reciprocate and how I securely grasp his love. Why should he love me?
Relationship with God. Okay, this should be steady and comforting at all times, right? In some ways, I know that he's reliable to me; however, I tend to turn away from Him, and I'm the one whose not fundamentally sound. It's difficult to remember that He loves me despite me. It's difficult to remember that my mind wants to denounce his love and presence at times, particularly when I feel low. It's a complex relationship that often has too much of myself, wringing my hands, in it. I need to just allow him to be there like my morning coffee. He is there. Sip and see that he is good.
Yet then I begin exacting in complex ways.
I begin thinking strangely, mixing my parenting weaknesses with my weakness at accepting God's love. I feel his disapproval at how I'm handling my daughter right now. Yet, it's not really Him but my own human limitations I'm struggling with. I want things to be perfect, to have a perfect relationship, but she needs to grow on her own without me. I hate that, and I'm feeling hurt. Then I get angry. Then I feel sinful. Then spirituality becomes a nuisance. Coffee seems a better alternative.
Yet then coffee goes its natural way (euphemism btw), and it becomes momentary. I can still love its calming effects, yet I can't ask it to heal my flagellations. Sigh. Approaching the higher good is so hard at times because it wants you to relax and find rest and give up the fret. He wants to work on heart, mind, spirit in a good sense. I'm not sure that I'm so malleable.
It takes trust, a simple gesture. Here. I raise my coffee cup to the eternal and pledge attempt, if not attempt then acknowledgement of, if not acknowledgement then a heart beat for your ideal, good, steady, reliable reality. Amen.
Wednesday, February 23, 2005
Imagine
My "encourager" of last semester bought me a small book called, "I Can Only Imagine." It provides the MercyMe single of the same name on a c.d. Each small, glossy page holds a short story of how this emotion-invoking song touched someone. A mother died ... the song comforted. A fellow Iraqi soldier was killed, the song was played a hundred times that night. Miscarriages occur ... the mother weeps for resolution as the song plays.
It's crazy almost that some people are opposed to comfort. One indication of this was seen recently in a popular magazine. In the latest issue of Time (Feb. 28), letters to the editor responded to the magazine's cover story focus on influential evangelicals of the day. The letter writers were jittery (okay, angry). One accused these evangelicals of furthering an agenda that dictated "religious persecution rather than religious freedom". One said that these people represented "an aggressive brand of Christian religiosity from leaders whose intolerance rivals anything we have heard from the Islamic zealots." One argued that the evangelicals showed simply one thing: "there is money to be made if you can convince people you have a direct line to God."
While I am a critical thinker who doesn't like the wool pulled over my eyes, I can't help but notice that these writers are practicing the same intolerance that they're ranting about. If you practice baby-with-bath-water-thinking as their letters strongly indicate then how can you say your way of thinking is better? It's simply fingerpointing both ways, which negates itself.
I was sad when I heard them, though. If "I Can Only Imagine" comfort is stunted for them due to a rigorous wall of belief, then a hole is dug, limits are placed. If they believe that all evangelicals are greedy, exclusionist who wish to undermine democracy (interestingly enough, have they studied their history of America?) then they are missing out on some exceptional views of helping alleviate human suffering. But, I guess like many of us, they just want to lash out and stay only there. They want to remember the wounds of those who were imperfect before them and not open their imagination to something different, something higher than people even. Stuck in a hole. It's safer that way.
That's my commentary for the day. :) I can only imagine the day ahead!
Fieldfleur
It's crazy almost that some people are opposed to comfort. One indication of this was seen recently in a popular magazine. In the latest issue of Time (Feb. 28), letters to the editor responded to the magazine's cover story focus on influential evangelicals of the day. The letter writers were jittery (okay, angry). One accused these evangelicals of furthering an agenda that dictated "religious persecution rather than religious freedom". One said that these people represented "an aggressive brand of Christian religiosity from leaders whose intolerance rivals anything we have heard from the Islamic zealots." One argued that the evangelicals showed simply one thing: "there is money to be made if you can convince people you have a direct line to God."
While I am a critical thinker who doesn't like the wool pulled over my eyes, I can't help but notice that these writers are practicing the same intolerance that they're ranting about. If you practice baby-with-bath-water-thinking as their letters strongly indicate then how can you say your way of thinking is better? It's simply fingerpointing both ways, which negates itself.
I was sad when I heard them, though. If "I Can Only Imagine" comfort is stunted for them due to a rigorous wall of belief, then a hole is dug, limits are placed. If they believe that all evangelicals are greedy, exclusionist who wish to undermine democracy (interestingly enough, have they studied their history of America?) then they are missing out on some exceptional views of helping alleviate human suffering. But, I guess like many of us, they just want to lash out and stay only there. They want to remember the wounds of those who were imperfect before them and not open their imagination to something different, something higher than people even. Stuck in a hole. It's safer that way.
That's my commentary for the day. :) I can only imagine the day ahead!
Fieldfleur
Sunday, February 20, 2005
Daffodil friends
I remember beginning this blog with my farmer yearnings in tow and fresh images in my mind from my rural homeland: Bo jumping bales, pepper jelly being boiled on the stove, Elvira the mule appaloosing up the hills, the North Fork winding its way. Sigh.
It seems like a long time since I've been home. Mom says the daffodils are already budding up, ready to burst. Vietta's legacy returns each year to remind us of her, my unmet pretty great-grandmother. The daffodils have naturalized and run down to the green, mossy pond about 200 yards from the house. Wouldn't it be amazing to be known and remembered by a bloom?
But, it's February in the city, or large town one might call it. The cul-de-sac has had its share of kids lately since the weather has been temperate enough. Thursday evening, girls were chasing Cody, and he pedaled furiously into the side of the road which tipped him over, and he rolled and rolled (his words) and landed on his ankle. Three and a half hours later, the xray showed that it was just sprained. He's been crawling around with his splint dragging. I fetch him food every hour or so, because he's milking me like a hurt boy only knows how to do.
Life for me has been less anxious. Except, of course, for Wednesday evening when I got up and spoke in front of 90+ women and told on myself. The chapter for my small group study was called, "Come out of Hiding" which I did and now wish that there was a cave around to re-enter. Ah well ... the women in my group exposed themselves too in a surprising way. There's much pain out there, you know. God works through the air.
Life has been a bit in the doldrums. Except, I went out with two old bookclub friends on Friday evening, and we discussed all sorts of things. They helped me see that I can move on without too much guilt. Movement is the operative word. VB wants to be everyone's mother, and we gladly let her.
Friendships have been going through a strange period. People that I know and love have gotten busy, as if I haven't. My friendships are seemingly cyclic, and I don't like that. I want people to be around longer. It seems as if I know tons of women whom I consider friends, yet too many of them are revolving close friends. They revolve because of circumstances. Is that bad or good? Is that the life of women? I would rather, in some ways, have closer less revolving friends, yet circumstantial situations bring many back and forth. Last year, I had at least two in my close circle, but one of those women is never available now. She has three children and focuses on them; she increased her hours on her job. I've had to release expectation of much time from her after trying to keep things going. Then, there are wonderful newer women that I have met and like a lot and serve with. The ground just keeps moving a bit in this area. However, my wonderful friend, JH, is still around, loving me, being there for me when I need anything, accepting both Cody and me in her kitchen whenever. I so much appreciate that!
Well, I am going to try to sleep again. For some reason, the cat decided to become an acrobat around 3:15 this morning and made me wake up and think about jewelry and friendships and daffodils and movement .... on to bed for some more dreams. Bien nuit.....
It seems like a long time since I've been home. Mom says the daffodils are already budding up, ready to burst. Vietta's legacy returns each year to remind us of her, my unmet pretty great-grandmother. The daffodils have naturalized and run down to the green, mossy pond about 200 yards from the house. Wouldn't it be amazing to be known and remembered by a bloom?
But, it's February in the city, or large town one might call it. The cul-de-sac has had its share of kids lately since the weather has been temperate enough. Thursday evening, girls were chasing Cody, and he pedaled furiously into the side of the road which tipped him over, and he rolled and rolled (his words) and landed on his ankle. Three and a half hours later, the xray showed that it was just sprained. He's been crawling around with his splint dragging. I fetch him food every hour or so, because he's milking me like a hurt boy only knows how to do.
Life for me has been less anxious. Except, of course, for Wednesday evening when I got up and spoke in front of 90+ women and told on myself. The chapter for my small group study was called, "Come out of Hiding" which I did and now wish that there was a cave around to re-enter. Ah well ... the women in my group exposed themselves too in a surprising way. There's much pain out there, you know. God works through the air.
Life has been a bit in the doldrums. Except, I went out with two old bookclub friends on Friday evening, and we discussed all sorts of things. They helped me see that I can move on without too much guilt. Movement is the operative word. VB wants to be everyone's mother, and we gladly let her.
Friendships have been going through a strange period. People that I know and love have gotten busy, as if I haven't. My friendships are seemingly cyclic, and I don't like that. I want people to be around longer. It seems as if I know tons of women whom I consider friends, yet too many of them are revolving close friends. They revolve because of circumstances. Is that bad or good? Is that the life of women? I would rather, in some ways, have closer less revolving friends, yet circumstantial situations bring many back and forth. Last year, I had at least two in my close circle, but one of those women is never available now. She has three children and focuses on them; she increased her hours on her job. I've had to release expectation of much time from her after trying to keep things going. Then, there are wonderful newer women that I have met and like a lot and serve with. The ground just keeps moving a bit in this area. However, my wonderful friend, JH, is still around, loving me, being there for me when I need anything, accepting both Cody and me in her kitchen whenever. I so much appreciate that!
Well, I am going to try to sleep again. For some reason, the cat decided to become an acrobat around 3:15 this morning and made me wake up and think about jewelry and friendships and daffodils and movement .... on to bed for some more dreams. Bien nuit.....
Wednesday, February 16, 2005
No ceasing
"Pray without ceasing," says the Bible. I feel great sadness for a friend this morning, and, literally, slept with a prayer in my mind the whole night for her.
Whenever my friends pray for me, I feel a certain strength surround me. I pray for your hope and guidance for her, God.
This evening, I need prayer as well. I'll be talking to the Wednesday evening group and sharing some vulnerable times in my life. Our leading question is: Describe a time when you felt most lost.
There I sat with a baby in my arms, and a six year old girl, and a husband whom I felt, at the time, that I didn't have much in common with. God was a distant shadow of a better, more naive time. God, actually, had gone, burst into a thousand pieces by a thousand philosophies of negation. I was informed, I had read, I had disavowed in the face of words and circumstances.
Until I was lost, and He flooded my office after a simple question and a strong denial. "Do you think God loves you?" Crazy, childish stuff. "No." And, then the flood came into my office, and it said, "Why build walls? You are tangled up and lost. Now's the time to return." And, I did, and I still get tears in my eyes to recall that moment of his desire for me again. It was real and bold.
I need to find that video of me, lost, skinny, with baby, with imaginations of escape. Change has occurred, might as well document grace.
I pray that you have a grace-filled day,
Fieldfleur
Whenever my friends pray for me, I feel a certain strength surround me. I pray for your hope and guidance for her, God.
This evening, I need prayer as well. I'll be talking to the Wednesday evening group and sharing some vulnerable times in my life. Our leading question is: Describe a time when you felt most lost.
There I sat with a baby in my arms, and a six year old girl, and a husband whom I felt, at the time, that I didn't have much in common with. God was a distant shadow of a better, more naive time. God, actually, had gone, burst into a thousand pieces by a thousand philosophies of negation. I was informed, I had read, I had disavowed in the face of words and circumstances.
Until I was lost, and He flooded my office after a simple question and a strong denial. "Do you think God loves you?" Crazy, childish stuff. "No." And, then the flood came into my office, and it said, "Why build walls? You are tangled up and lost. Now's the time to return." And, I did, and I still get tears in my eyes to recall that moment of his desire for me again. It was real and bold.
I need to find that video of me, lost, skinny, with baby, with imaginations of escape. Change has occurred, might as well document grace.
I pray that you have a grace-filled day,
Fieldfleur
Thursday, February 10, 2005
Intimations a la obgyn
As usual, it was a marvelous ob-gyn annual visit. I showered and then flew across town to his office. His sassy nurse laughed at my hesitant response to a personal question. She took me into one of his waiting rooms where I undressed and put on the open-in-front robe for the convenient breast exam. And, then he gently knocked and opened the door. Reunion! There was so much I wanted to say to him, but he has lots of open legs to visit and babies to deliver. One year, he delivered 362 babies. He's truly committed to being there which he was for me when Cody was born. What was better is that he was there afterwards too. He visited me in my recovery room and asked what it was like, the miracle of birth. I love him, and my husband knows this. When any woman asks me who I see, I exclaim in long wonder about my gentle-man doctor whom they can never get an appointment with because he's so adored by all. Each year in February, I get to see him (and he me), and I recall snippets of our quick conversations during my exam: one year it was about DisneyWorld, another about his sons, another about a Bible study with his friends, another about teenagers in general, this year it was about Cody's upcoming genetic studies (I also told him about sledding). Then I am released from the chair, and we sit and talk like we've been at tea this entire time. Then he offers to help in various ways. He's going to write a prescription for me for cholesterol medicine! He's going to copy some files for me from my folder! He tells me that I look great and thin, and he makes some derogatory remark about his overweight figure. One year, he was truly God in gesture when he waited for me by the door with one hand holding out a packet of Ovcon, and his other hand holding a box of trial Ovcons. He offered them to me, and I immediately thanked him profusely (and affectionately) for the one free box of birth control pills in his hand. He said, "But, I'm offering the entire box to you." I felt so grateful and blessed to be receiving more than I imagined. Didn't that parallel something in the Bible that Christ did? Anyway, each time I leave my doctor wishing that I had complimented him more, that I knew his wife, that I would have some type of recurrent woman issue, that he would stay as a friend instead of a doctor. But, I realize my emotions regarding intimate privacy invasion has resulted in a codependent transfer of need and ... love, although he does deserve the love because he's so humble, gentle, caring, etc etc etc.
Okay, I must end this blog right now. One year from now, I will revisit this topic and again attest how wonderfully gentle and caring and sweet this oby-gyn man is, but, for now, I must get some sleep so that next year is one day closer.
:)
Fieldfleur
Okay, I must end this blog right now. One year from now, I will revisit this topic and again attest how wonderfully gentle and caring and sweet this oby-gyn man is, but, for now, I must get some sleep so that next year is one day closer.
:)
Fieldfleur
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