anonymous pastor's wives

Tonight I spent time with one of my new favorite people.  You know the kind...another "meant-to-be" sort of friendship, a set up. Our conversation lead me to an Internet search, which led to disappointment.  Our husbands are in the same line of work, so I googled "anonymous pastor's wives."

I found plenty, but only in the nominal sense of the word, or... not even really!  In most cases the anonymity was not observed and the writing left no need.  Who needs to anonymous post "Crock-pot Wednesdays" and the like anyhow? The whole idea of pastor's wives cramming miscellaneous items into the crock pot every Sunday morning and Wednesday night brings fierceness to my eyes. How could Christ be so impractical? Why do churches only seem family friendly? Oh, the busy-ness of church going moms! My heart aches for them. Rest, please rest, and please say, "NO!"

But why bother with the bother of anonymity if you're not going to say anything so shockingly truthful? If I had secured anonymity, I would have lots to say that needs saying. Would I have the guts?  Oh, yes.  But could I ever be truly anonymous?  Perhaps another google search...but does google really know?

there is something in the pain, so beautiful (part two)

The title of my previous post, the same as this one, was a very resent discovery for which I had no explanation.  Well it just so happened I was provided with hours of physical pain last month and while I lay on my back lanai holding my poor poor thumb, I could only think, "Why is the grass so crisp and the motion of the trees so graceful?"  I'd think on it, read some Anna Karinina, and think on it again, get some more ice, think about taking a good look at the damage and cowardly turn back to my novel.  In one of these turns I realized: it is the heightened awareness that makes everything so beautiful.  I've even noticed the seemingly unrealistic beauty when in emotional pain.  There is something in the pain, so so beautiful.  It distracts me. It comforts me...and even thrills me.  I like seeing with pain-enhanced vision.  I mean to say, if I have pain and there's no escaping it, bring on the beauty!

there's something in the pain, so beautiful (part one)

I just want to get to that point in my life where it is said of me..."and they lived happily ever after."  Though it sounds childish and unrealistic, I hold my breath for such a moment. Just let me get myself set up. Once I have momentum, once I can leave the muck and mire behind.... But really I know life will continue to try to fall apart on me. Humpty-Dumpty...do we really have to sing it again?  Life seems fragile and always breaking, and no matter how I try I can never make it as it was before.  My life is made of broken glass, painful shards one after another and the only consolation is the beauty.
In my panic it feels all coarse and ugly.  But when I relent, I see the light shining through me...and beauty all around.

Poetical Musings

Guilt came to me one certain day, wearing the mask of Religion. I welcomed her in with a smile. We made merry but as she left, she stabbed me in the back. My life spilled, my soul slipping away. Twice yearly she came to me, policing my progress, enforcing her rules. Each time, my face paled, my heart all a flutter within me. More each year I pleased her and her visits became grand. Out went the carpet, my ease no where to be found. Leaving, she rent my soul. I'd smiled, looked her deep in the eyes and felt the warmth of her approval.
Yet there was this weakening, and then there came a rage. I called her out. I made her pay. And finally I saw her...unmasked. I laughed in her face, "Oh, it's you! What a player you are! You talked me out of my soul and nearly out of my mind! I'd sooner die than give one more moment to you! I will find a way to honor my Creator...and neither you nor your alter-ego will have anything to do with it."
This, from an otherwise empty journal, written last summer, 2012.

Still Delicate

Because I am starting a joint venture blog with my best friend this 2013, Affections of a Natural Fancy, I was in here spiffing up.  Soon reading through the ancient posts, the brokenness, the humiliation, the anger all got to me.  What gets me most is the faint glimmer of hope. In those days I felt FAITHLESS.
About a year ago, when we were preparing for the move back to HI, and I was trying to sum up those dark years in Washington, I was reading through my journal.  At the end of most every desperate entry I was shocked to find an even more desperate and barely legible, hopeless prayer.  I thought I hadn't prayed any prayers.  I had taken to sobbing and groaning.  One night while still in Washington, lying in bed with my husband, I rolled onto my stomach and pulled my legs in tightly underneath me for comfort.  My husband says my name and asks, "What are you doing?" I said, "I'm praying."  He said, "You don't pray!"  Disliking the fact he had religiously boxed me in, or OUT for that matter I said, "just not for two years!" and silently breathed a prayer to the one I hoped was there for me.
So this is what I'm thinking: is a prayer ever FAITHLESS?  The very act of praying (or groaning) is in its essence an act of hope, even despite the bemoaners lack of faith in the offering or it's destination.
But how did I pull through? Faith? No, I'm not that strong.
The sun kept coming up in the morning and I kept putting myself to back to bed...all day long...until the agony began to lessen, the grief and staggeringly vulnerable feeling began to ease.  And...voila! My nervous system was healed.  Just kidding.  Healing came to me, found me in bed, and slowly (sooo slowly!) continued its good work on me.  The truth is: I still require healing...everyday, and if I miss a day or two...ouch! I find I have to recover from nearly every stimulation...I'm still very...DELICATE, and may always be so.  Who cares?!  I am free from guilt and shame...and finally figured out how to grieve!