Working on all these #reverb10 posts I have come to the conclusion that all my answers boil down to three things.
1) I Haz a Sad (or Three)
2) My kids, my friends and my church family have been awesomely supportive, and I love them.
3) Despite all the sadness, my faith feels deep and God's presence palpable.
So unless something really different comes up in the questions, I think I may be done with these prompts.
I also want to make note that my attempts at reading actual books have been mostly in FAIL mode for the past three months, so I am wiping the slate nearly clean, keeping the poetry Mary Beth sent to me (thanks!) and starting with one new book, which I actually began reading this morning. See the sidebar for the title. I don't seem to want to read *anything* on my Kindle right now, including "The Rainbow," with which I am ending my struggle. It's as read as it will ever be. There are lots of titles on my Kindle, so I'll take another look at it after Christmas.
Lastly, LP and I made a community decision to leave the ornaments in the boxes, except for putting the folk art angel on top of the tree, which already has lights and a few candy canes. I may pick up another box of the latter to add later in the week. We've let it go so long that full decorating would knock off a lot of needles, and honestly, it feels too hard to face the emotional freight of looking at loved ornaments this year. We're grieving. They'll keep for 2011.
I learned that in a time of turmoil I not only have external sources of support (friends, church, etc.), but I also have personal resources. Experience, a measure of wisdom and a deep faith have carried me through a difficult year.
In the past, I'm afraid I've sometimes put less emphasis on my faith and more on my human relationships. I defended this by saying I was open-minded, which is all very well, but it's not good when it dilutes the essentials of a person's faith. This year I've learned to start from that core of faith and move outward instead of focusing on the outer life and making room for faith in it. I am living a much less worried life! I hope to continue this in the New Year.
December 18 – Try.
What do you want to try next year? Is there something you wanted to try in 2010? What happened when you did / didn’t go for it?
In 2010, a friend suggested I apply to a workshop for writing pastors, but I did not because I had no idea where I would be working when it took place this fall. It was a great idea but the wrong timing. I would love to apply if they hold it again in 2011. I will say, I didn't look at the application with a strong sense of what kind of writing I wanted to do; I was still toying with poetry, but that well seems to have run dry now. I've done a lot of creative writing for worship, from monologues to multi-voice poems and liturgical dramas. I've also written some children's stories that I would love to refine and perhaps publish, books you could read at home but also use with children in worship. Maybe 2011 will be the year I get a clearer sense of a writing goal beyond the sermons I write each week.
December 19 – Healing.
What healed you this year? Was it sudden, or a drip-by-drip evolution? How would you like to be healed in 2011?
I'm not sure I'm healed this year at all. I feel cared for, and I mean this both medically and emotionally, but there are a lot of open items on the list in both areas that require more care and attention.
LP and I are both struggling with Christmas right now, for instance. As the Mama, the one who is supposed to make Christmas happen for others, I'm kind of in trouble, because I'm not on my Christmas game. I got the tree, and I sent the cards, but I am just not all that interested in presents. I suggested to the kids that we fill each other's stockings, and I'm wondering why? I think I had the idea that we could all do small items for one another, but now it feels a bit overwhelming.
And not that interesting.
This could be grief. We've had a lot of loss in our lives, and one major near miss in Snowman's accident that has left us all in a shaky place. I still can't look at him or think about him without wondering how he managed to survive. It's that close.
So. I remain vulnerable, open, permeable. And that's all good, in balance, but I think there's a protective coating for heart and soul that has been rent and needs repair, and I'm not quite there yet.
The usual things that feel healing for me, the renewing pursuits, have not held their usual appeal. It may be that the tick-tick-tick of time is what I (we?) need. Or I may come across what heals and find it's something new and unexpected.
I will say this, and it relates to the first entry above. I'm finding Advent and the Christmas preparations at church deeply meaningful. Perhaps because I'm so raw, it feels more real? Each small action feels huge, from handing a gift card to a person in need to figuring out where to move the nativity figures each week in their journey toward the manger. I'm just glad it helps to be there, to be at worship, to be in prayer with the gathered community.
For now I'm a wounded person managing surprisingly well because the arnica of faith, carefully sheltered by the bandage of other people's love, seems to be balm enough to encourage very slow healing.
This year I've really learned who my friends are and how much they mean to me and, surprisingly, how much I mean to them. I grew up with some pretty skewed views of myself, including that I had the responsibility to make happy people who were constitutionally unlikely ever to be that way, and that my ability or inability to accomplish that impossible task provided the only measure of my worth. I've known for a long time, intellectually, that this was a ridiculous viewpoint. But somehow I could not shift the lingering feeling there was a truth here about me, and it hampered me from feeling happy and loved.
(It's also possible I've drawn people into my life who played into this dynamic. Ahem.)
But this year, when things have been complicated and challenging, I've been able to finally feel it, and that's been thanks to the determination of friends who have been saying, literally for years, that they love me. What I accepted in my mind finally blossomed in my heart. I finally feel it because in the face of sadness and disappointment and loss, I never felt alone.
I feel it because it wasn't enough for them to be sweet to me. They got up in my face, like the friends of the paralyzed man who took apart a roof to bring him to Jesus. They took apart a roof and lowered their friend into the middle of a dinner party to get him to Jesus.
My friends have been just as vigorous in their expressions of love, and I believe it. I feel it.