Mannequin

Posted on November 3 2011 by J.W. Richmond

Am I moving toward God?
                 Away from Him?
Or am I not moving at all?

I’m not sure how to answer.

People talk about times they feel close to Him
                                         or far from Him.

I’m lucky if I feel Him at all.

I don’t feel Him move.
I don’t feel Him guide me.
I don’t feel His comfort.
I don’t feel all warm and fuzzy with Him.
I don’t feel Him answer my prayers to know what I should do.

I mostly just feel frustrated.

I feel like one of the mannequins on the Pirates of the Caribbean ride at Disneyland – on the circular platforms as you ride by. Going around in circles, arms reaching out in front, in one door and out the other, chasing someone who never gets any closer.

(Or farther away.)

But I keep chasing.

And I keep going around in circles.

I’m not sure I’m getting closer
                  or moving farther away.
I’m moving. But I’m not, exactly.

I’m not close.
But I’m not sure I’m far.
There is definitely distance
                          that I have no idea how to measure.

I don’t think my feelings are a good measurement.

I can’t run any faster.
But I can’t stop running
                     trying
                     fighting
                     pursuing.

If I stop
     to take a breath,
              I may never be able to start running again.

And I don’t know where
                      or how to jump off
                                    dive off
                                    crawl off.
             Or if I should.

But how can I ever reach Him
       if I don’t keep chasing after Him?

Loud

Posted on October 29 2011 by J.W. Richmond

Sometimes my thoughts are (too) loud.

They (over)take me in
        pull me
        push me
                into a corner
        box me in.

Sometimes it’s hard to separate the thoughts.
They spiderweb
        spin
        twist into each other.

And when my thoughts are too loud,
          I tend to play more music
                      turn the TV up louder
                      do anything to dull the noise
                                                  enough
                                                         to handle it.

Can’t sleep
        rest
        relax – because it’s all so loud.

                    Impossible circle.

When I do try to be quiet
                             still
                             wait and listen,
                                        there is so much chatter
                                                    so much noise
                                                       inside my head.

                    No clarity.

I sift through the noise for something real.

But it smothers me
         drowns me
                  anyway.

I end up waiting (forever) with no answers.
And the volume of the chaos increases.

But what if I cut off the real line of communication
                             because everything else is so loud?

What if I end up tuning out
                             what I actually need to hear?

24

Posted on October 25 2011 by J.W. Richmond

My sister forces 40 hours worth of stuff into every single day.

She writes her list and checks almost all of it off. Or she does check all of it off and has to add more.

She does 5 hours worth of work in 3. Sometimes that cuts into her expected time of 2 ½, but she will try to make it up in the next project. She’s also married and has 5 kids. I don’t know how she does it. And she probably has so much more planned that she never gets done.

She accomplishes tons.

I don’t.

After (trying to) sleep, shower, decide which of the same 5 shirts I should wear, brush hair, put in contacts, pluck eyebrows <sneeze!>, <sneeze!>, feed the cats, do an (impossible) hour of exercise a day, eat some version of breakfast – when I remember to – take vitamins, allergy meds, brush my teeth, floss, and get five minutes of news in during all that, I get in the car to go to work.

Need.coffee.now.

Drive, pick up stuff at one location, then drive to the office, work, have actual coffee (mmmmmm). I am supposed to have so many minutes of sun – that my doctor says I’m not actually supposed to have – and drink 8 glasses of water today. Go back to work, have meetings on top of meetings, lunch, build relationships with friends/co-workers, clean my dishes, and go back to work. Exhausted.

Energy drink to the – temporary – rescue.

Work, try to check off the things on my list(s) and be productive, then drive home.

(Want to crash.)

Need to get groceries, figure out what to do for dinner and cook it. Make lunches for tomorrow. Clean the house. Do the laundry. Pay bills. Balance our bank account.

Need
Want
Must spend some time with Jeff.

Try to keep up relationships with family
                                              friends.

                                              Somehow.

And I'm supposed to:

Have appointments with a dentist at least twice a year and doctors of every possible kind every few months – which added up, including the wait times for each appointment that the doctors don’t bother to show up on time for, mean constantly. Not accounting for the ones I am forced to add in for complications, prescription refills, insurance requirements…

Get enough protein.
Keep my brain healthy by doing puzzles of some sort.
          (Did I do a devo today?)
Get an oil change in our car.
     Do the suggested 6-month
                             9-month
                             yearly maintenance for the car.
      It's under a ¼ tank of gas, so it needs to be filled.
          (Did Jeff and I spend any time together?)

And according to the studies in the news this week,
          a glass of wine – red – is good.
          Eggs are good.
          I should make sure I get the right amount of vegetables,
                   but the amount varies per study.
          Not too many carbs,
                   which changes weekly
                                        monthly.

Then feed the cats. Again.
Brush my teeth. Again.
Am I supposed to floss again?
Contacts out.

My eyelids don’t even open anymore.

I didn’t accomplish anything today.

But I’m supposed to also fit in a chiropractor,
                                         a Life Group,
                                         kids,
                           figure out a way to start relationships
                                  with new acquaintances
                                                friends
                                         some time to unwind,
                                                          relax (?),
                                                          be creative,
                                                          sit back and enjoy life.
                                                                (How? When?)

Add in a holiday of some sort. Holidays equal obligations. And the expectations scream so much louder than the small breaths I have a chance to take.

I fall into bed exhausted – but still can’t sleep. My mind won’t shut up. Just struggles to process the constant movement.

And then there is tomorrow.

Put all the pieces back together and start over.
     Repeat.
     Repeat again.

I am thankful for so much of it. Thankful to have Jeff and family and friends and a job…

But how am I supposed to integrate myself into my life?

How do I incorporate a life into my life?

Volcano

Posted on October 23 2011 by J.W. Richmond

My brother and I didn't get along much while we were growing up.

We get along great now – now that we don’t live together.

He was almost nine when I was born and left for college when I was going into fourth grade.

Back then, we fought all
                             the
                             time.

Back then, when he would spend any time with me, I loved every second. I sought him out and wanted to be with him all the time, which drove him crazy. But he was so cool. I wanted more than anything to be part of whatever he was doing, although I think he saw me as the annoying little sister, and most of the time just wanted me to go away.

When we went on family vacations in the motor home, he would build forts above the front seat. He allowed me up there – once. It was awesome!

Usually when we spent time together, he would want to play a game. I was willing to do anything, as long as he would do it with me.

We played Othello, Mastermind and Monopoly. He also taught me how to play Chess.

He was always black. I was never allowed to be black. He taught me – during one game – that a white pawn cannot kill a black queen. I didn’t remember that being part of the original rules. He doesn’t remember telling me that at all.

We would also play with matchbox cars on the ledge in front of the fireplace. He would stage elaborate car accidents with the cars and I had to be the sleuth and figure out which car caused the accident. I was always ready for the challenge. And I remember getting at least some of them right.

When I was in elementary school, I went through a period of time where I was scared. Of everything. You name it, I was scared of it:

               Earthquakes
               Fires
               Tornadoes
               Hurricanes
               Tsunamis
               Volcanoes…

I would play music as I went to bed so I could sleep, so I could concentrate on something – anything – else, and wouldn’t hear any weird noises. The player was under my bed, and I would reach over the side of my bed against the wall to press play every night as I went to sleep.

One night my mom was saying goodnight to me and praying with me, and the cat walked in, cocked his head and went under the bed, outing my brother who was waiting there to scare me.

I’m not sure I would have ever slept again if his plan had worked.

Later, probably because he felt bad, my brother sat down with me and walked me through every fear I had. At least the natural disaster ones.

Earthquakes? They are rare and far between. Fires? We had a fire hydrant in our front yard. His answer for all the others: we lived in California. And not near the ocean.

I responded to logic.

I wasn’t scared anymore (mostly).

As much crap as my brother gave me over the years – and I’m sure I gave a lot back to him – he was the only one who got me past those fears.

He was the only one who was able to get through.

And I think it had to be him. Because he was the only one who would say it as it was.

          No niceties.
          No fluff.

And it was so clear. It was so basic that I wondered why I hadn’t figured all that out by myself.

But I think I needed him to say it
                                so I could hear it.

Stage

Posted on October 21 2011 by J.W. Richmond

People who know only the fringes of me sometimes think
                       I don’t ever participate
                             or I’m shy.
     Or if they really have no idea who I am at all,
         they might think I’m defiant in some way
                because I don’t follow the crowd
             or because I don’t want to stand on a stage
                    in front of a lot of people
                         and talk about myself,
                because I don’t want to stand on a stage
                     in front of a lot of people
                    (unless – maybe – I am playing a character),
                because I don’t want to talk about myself
                     in front of a lot of people.

I will have fingers left on the second hand if I count the people I know who would be okay doing any of those things. There would be most left on the first, except I happen to know a handful of public speakers.

I may fit into that noncompliant bracket for this.

But by definition only.

Maybe
     I’m the only one
          who will speak up
                   for myself – and for those who are afraid to.

The different responses have been funny
                                               strange
                                         and not so strange.

There is the one
     who is upset that I think – and sometimes do things – differently.

And there are the many
     who high-five me and smile, trying not to laugh out loud.
And those who almost cry – or do –
     when they privately thank me later for speaking up
                         when they feel like they couldn’t.

I am starting to see a pattern.
And it has been interesting
              and a little unreal to find out
                   that when I do speak up,
                      I actually have a lot more – silent – supporters
                                       than I knew about.

Need

Posted on October 18 2011 by J.W. Richmond

My friend suggested that I don’t tend to ask for help –
                       in the middle of things.

Maybe afterward, after I’ve cleaned myself up a bit,
                       after I’ve come out of the crap a bit
                                                            (or a lot).

But not when I’m in the middle of whatever it is.

She may be right.

Jeff and I have a similar argument. He would probably say same. But it’s not.

He gets upset that I don’t ask for help – for things I don’t need.

I do ask.
          A lot.
                But not enough – according to him.

I love that he wants to be needed.
And I know he needs to be needed.

It’s so clear on my end: Of course I need him. I have never said or thought or insinuated anything else. I have only affirmed that need over and over. Internally and outwardly.

Sometimes I think I might need him
                        too much.

I ask for silly things: For him to pick up something from the store on his way home from work. I tell him about a problem with the computer or car or fireplace so he can fix it. I ask him to take the laundry out of the dryer because a kitty is cuddling with me and I don’t want to miss out.

And real things: When my back is killing me, I ask him to vacuum the stairs. When anything bad happens – or anything good happens – I tell him. And ask for his thoughts. First. When I am not sure what to do about a situation, I ask him. When I’m insecure, I spill those things to him. I cry on his chest about him dying and leaving me here without him.

How else do I define need?
Because I don’t need someone.

I need him.

Degree

Posted on October 15 2011 by J.W. Richmond

My life could be such a different life with just one slight movement.
                                                               One degree.
                                                               One decision.

What if I had chosen a different college? Or not gone to college at all? Or dropped out of high school? What if I stayed working at Subway as a Sandwich Artist or In-N-Out as an Associate or at the job where I may have been working for the mafia – where I could have been wrong, but wasn't going to stay around long enough to find out?

God would still be God.
My family would still be my family.
Some of my friends would still be my friends.
But what about Jeff? What about us?
     Was I meant to be with a type of guy?
     Or anyone at all?
     Or were we meant to be?

Because I cannot imagine being with anyone else.

I picture any other guy
                     and I can’t help but laugh.
The thought of ending up with anyone else is ridiculous.

I chose him and he chose me. And I choose him again every day.

But we still – somehow – met in the first place.

Is that fate?
         Destiny?
         Kismet?
         Chance?
         Free will?
Is every little detail planned?

How do I reconcile that with people who have been abandoned?
                                                                   Or divorced?
                                                                   Or widowed?

Were they not meant to be with that person?
Or with that type of person?

Were they meant to be alone?
Or later remarried to someone else who is also great?
Or were they supposed to wait for that person they eventually ended up with and skip the first?

What about the terrible
                        horrible
                        abusive marriage
                              that resulted in an amazing child –
                                     who wouldn’t have existed otherwise?

My head spins at all the possibilities.

I may be told by people that if is the wrong question.
But what would I be missing – if I didn’t ask?

Trivial

Posted on October 11 2011 by J.W. Richmond

I see God there – for other people.
                Guiding.
                Healing.
                Caring.

But the rest of the time, I wonder where He is.

Is He like an elusive shooting star that I can’t see if I look for it straight on? That I can only (maybe) see in my peripheral vision? With the rods but not the cones?*

Other people see Him in a parking space
                                  or chamomile tea
                                  or a potato chip.

I believe He is everywhere. He created everything.

But I do not believe He is in everything or everything is God, like a pantheist** or gnostic*** would, not to be confused with an agnostic**** who thinks you can't know if He exists in the first place.

My chips are just chips.
I’m thankful to have them, but they’re chips.

And as convenient as a parking space may be, it seems so trivial
                                                                              so minor.
     Am I limiting my view of Him if I ask for one?
               Maybe it depends on whether it is Black Friday or not.

But I doubt it.

I want to believe He is in every part of my life. Every detail. (Except maybe the bad ones. It’d be okay if He disregarded – or erased – those.)

I believe He can do anything.

And I don’t know why He won’t do some (okay, numerous) things. But He’s not a little genie I can rub to get what I want, or need even. He’s so much bigger than that.

He is bigger than all the stupid, trivial things. And bigger than the big things too. He’s big enough that I could never even comprehend Him. No matter how hard I try.

But I don’t know where that line is.

Am I trivial?

Because I see Him guiding
                         healing
                         caring for
                                    other people…

 

* Georgia State University (GSU) HyperPhysics: “If you see a dim star in your peripheral vision, it may disappear when you look at it directly…You can detect motion better with your peripheral vision, since it is primarily rod vision.”

** Pantheism.net: "(all=god)."

*** The Gnosis Archive: Resources on Gnosticism and Gnostic Tradition: “…all is God, for all consists of the substance of God.”

**** What Is an Agnostic? by Bertrand Russell: "An agnostic thinks it impossible to know the truth in matters such as God and the future life…Or, if not impossible, at least impossible at the present time."

Busted

Posted on October 8 2011 by J.W. Richmond

I am not good at putting myself out there – especially to people I don’t know very well.

I admire my friends who are able to be vulnerable
                                                        transparent.
I tend to gravitate toward them
             love them more
             appreciate them.
     And wish I could (sort of) emulate them.

It’s not that I don’t do the sharing thing – eventually. But for me, trust takes time.

          Sometimes a lot of time.

And I don’t know how to bring things up – organically
                                                             naturally
                                                             simply.
     As part of the conversation that is already happening.
     Without interrupting.
                  Breaking in.
                  Making everything super awkward for you
                                                                   and me
                                                                   and everybody else.
            And steering the conversation in a weird direction.

Or by the time I do speak up, we are 8 subjects past that and I would be the one trying to go back. It makes me feel like a 5-year-old who doesn’t know any better – who has no basic social skills.

I’m (usually) willing to share. But how do I do it without being completely socially awkward?

It’s so much easier when I can enter into a part of the conversation that is already happening. Just go with the subject that we are already talking about.

               Or just shut up.

And I don’t want to be one of those people who totally overshares. That person who is super E.G.R.*

My friend recently called me out on that.

She asked – stated: Do I really think I would end up as that person? Do I think I would cross that line – or even get close to it? Or is it an excuse I tend to fall back on?

Busted.

 

And ouch.

Yes, I think some of it is valid. I don’t want to make things super awkward. I don’t want to interrupt or share more than what people are ready to hear. Go beyond what is appropriate for the context.

But she was also right.

I can have a 3-hour conversation about philosophy, beliefs, music or you, but when it comes to me, I’m not so great at that.

(The trust thing is a whole other issue.)

But once I do have some level of trust,
          my fear of oversharing is probably unfounded
                                                            unrealistic
                                                            overblown – like she said.

So <deep breath> I’m trying.
Working on it.

Stepping out.

*E.G.R. = Extra Grace Required

Scissors

Posted on October 6 2011 by J.W. Richmond

Mannerisms.
Facial expressions.
Habits.
Addictions.
Medical/Emotional/Mental illnesses.
Feelings.
Reactions/Responses.

Products of nature or nurture?
Probably both.

But I hope mostly nurture. Because that means change is possible.

So many things get passed down to the next generation(s). Sometimes new stuff enters and intermingles. Mixes. Blends with the junk that is already there. Or morphs into something worse – and reproduces.

Those things were probably never meant to be – noticed. Or even acknowledged. Certainly not questioned. Examined.

And repeated
       repeated
       repeated.

One thing resonates for me:
                             Disappointment.

I wasn’t good enough
           smart enough
           conscientious enough
           athletic enough
           school-spirited enough (or at all)
           family-oriented enough
           human enough.

An A- didn’t measure up to an A.

I didn’t measure up.

I still pick up on that feeling
               like a magnet
                    when I see
                            notice
                             sense
                                  criticism,
          whether it is directed toward me
               or someone else.

This path didn’t have to continue.
And it didn’t.

Through many sorrys
                     apologies
               and transformed behaviors
                                   this course was corrected
                                                         changed
                                                         healed. (Mostly.)

I still carry some of it. I still pass little bits of it on.

Sorry, Jeff.

Even though this course has changed,
     I can see some of the other lines
                                  other ripples
                                  other sources
             see the pattern continue in other ways
             see where it could lead
             see where it already has.

I am so proud of the choices
                            changes that have been made
                                      to go against the learned responses
                                      to be someone
                                              something else
                                      to do things differently.

But I know that doesn’t change the pattern entirely. Intended or not, remnants of it still exist.

I just want to take scissors to it.

And it hurts that I can’t.