Quiet Time and The Header

Yesterday's lunch meeting went well. I didn't puke. Aces! Better than that, though, was the lightness I felt as I walked in and saw familiar faces smiling and working to help each other succeed. Always so great to be in that kind of positive environment. But it was only momentary. I still felt somewhat anxious, physically. Like a low buzz that I couldn't shake. I realized later that I had been "too busy" to go out for my run that morning. The crunch of soft trails under my feet and the moments of silence tend to set my days aright. That time gets me straight in the head, giving me the strength and clarity to make it through each day.

And right now, I can't afford to be without strength or clarity.

I wonder if we all had that quiet time in the morning to get our heads straight... I wonder how life might improve not just for ourselves, but overall. The constant busy-ness looks productive, but what do we miss? What kind of lopsided relationship to busy-ness do we have? The busier, the better is what the world says, right? I know it's not true, but I still fall into the trap. So when I took that morning quiet time away from myself, my Spirit was robbed. I was off all morning. It wasn't until I was amidst friends in the afternoon that I finally felt like Sugar again. But that was almost the end of the day. A whole day!

I wonder what else I missed because of my busy-ness?

So, the header. Do you see it? The two sides of one girl? Identical in heart but outwardly different. It's a take on the drawing of the hand drawing a hand. But in this drawing, it's not about checking out each little fold in the knuckle. It's more analyzing the essence of the person. Taking a step back and looking at Self in the Third to understand why this little girl does what she does.

Do you see what they are doing? Each is completing the drawing of the other. The two sides becoming whole. When I saw the picture, I remember saying out loud, "YES! That's it!" Perfect for this little blog about living for real, not just in theory. About understanding what we do that takes away from who we are... and what we do to make the picture whole.

Now I'm off to run the trails and breathe deeply. I don't want to miss anything today.

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Today's post was brought to you by the letter "B" for balance.

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Heather

Some of you know who Heather is. She is Dooce (rhymes with moose). Most of the time, she has us laughing about the bawdy words that just came out of her mouth and into the blogosphere to jolt us out of our suburban coma.

Today Dooce is in tears.

How strange to go to a site that I find so witty and funny to read about the sad news about her step-father and her questions of faith. It seems so prevelent in my life right now. I go to Dooce to escape, but today I understood that not even Dooce is immune.

And how selfish of me!

How many times have I gone there to get away from my reality. To have Heather tell me all about her demon dog and see the pictures of the venerable chotchkies. "I wish I was Dooce" is written on my forehead... if you look close enough. I know she has a husband and a beutiful little girl who doesn't like to wear pants. I had no idea whe was mourning her miscarried baby due this week. I have been following all of her press interviews with raw, green envy for the last couple of weeks. The same two weeks that she and her family have befallen the curse of cancer.

Dooce is real. She's a girl named Heather who is still trying to figure it all out just like the rest of us. She just happens to do what she does really well and seems to have an outstanding level of belief in telling it like it is. She is my Livin' For Real hero. You may not always like her take on things... and she really could probably care less. Do yourself a favor and make her part of your day. Let her infect you until you want to wear a bracelet with: WWDD

"What Would Dooce Do?"

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When the student is ready...

I read an interesting Hero Quest story today about a woman who faces great challenges and overcomes fears in order to soothe an angry husband recently home from battle, wounded and desiring nothing but isolation. The woman asks for guidance from a wise person in her village to help her cajole her husband back to the sanctuary of their marriage. She is sent off into the unknown for a hair. Stay with me... she climbs a mountain, gradually gains the trust of a bear by feeding him, asks for a hair from his neck, is granted the request, and half scared but mostly optimistic, runs back to the village. All I want at this point in the story is to read about the magic elixir that will make my angry husband change and love our family the way we deserve.

Will she never learn, you ask?

When the woman returns to the village, the wise person takes the hair, inspects it to make sure that yes, in fact, this woman did do as required. That she did conquer fear and insecurity for the love of the wounded husband. The hair is then thrown into a fire, seemingly oblivious to the harrowing quest taken up by the selfless (and at this point, I'm thinking, stupid) wife. She screams "WHY?" The wise person says to now in turn do the same for the husband.

Huh?

What the hell? I'm supposed to risk life and limb to get my husband to come inside? Just because he's an angry jacka$$? What the heck kind of codependent crap was this storyteller trying to peddle? Is it just ME? I began to wonder if this was how "wise people" kept women in subservient roles for so long. But then as I read the explanation, I realized that I was once again reading with the wrong pair of glasses. The husband wasn't a husband.

He IS my psyche.

The husband is representative of the wounded part of us, wanting to isolate and wallow in our pain. The wife is the kind nature inside each of us who wants so desperately to cover the scars with the salve of love. It is in the quest, the scary moments, the times we rise above our fears and accept all of life's challenges, that we become stronger and more resilient. And in that strength, we are able to bring our wounded self back into the shelter. But who is the wise person that sends us on this journey to face a fear, knowing that we will be okay? That we will become whole?

God.

My life verse is found in the Old Testament, in Isaiah. It's an amazing book of looking back on the wounds and looking forward on the healing. It's the eternal promise of God to bring us back into the sanctuary of His Love. The things in life that we wanted might have robbed us of our innocence and brought home to our loving nature a wounded warrior. With the help of God and his written promise, His Logos, we are able to be restored to the wonderful beings we were meant to be. With His grace and guidance, we WILL bloom again:

Isaiah 51:3

"The LORD will surely comfort Zion
and will look with compassion on all her ruins;
He will make her deserts like Eden,
her wastelands like the garden of the LORD.
Joy and gladness will be found in her,
thanksgiving and the sound of singing."

AMEN!

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