Wishing to finally say good-bye

I am working on things. Not an art project, not a house project… But a heart project. (That is either no surprise for anyone who still reads this blog OR the bomb that scares people off and sends them running. Because no one likes to be handed a bleeding, rapidly beating heart and be asked to hold it and breathe life into it, constantly.) I have been working on this project for so, very long. It’s like something in me is contorted and twisted. I wish I could paint it out. I wish I could sing it out. If only I could get it out. There are these oozing, aching places… Longings… Deep un-met longings that no human on earth is going to heal… Or fill… or meet… ever. I want someone to heal it, to fill it, to seal it off; keeping me from feeling that ache that goes down to the core and leaves me feeling so, well, sad.

It dwells in my thoughts when I am alone. There is this isolation that seems to be a part of my life. Since childhood, I remember this feeling of loneliness. A feeling of wanting someone who just wants to see me grow into an amazing person.  An aching feeling of needing relationships with people who want to impart their wisdom and invest in me as a person.  And that loneliness, it just goes on and on. Even now, at 35 I find myself left with very few close friends who I don’t have enough contact with… And family, well, the word itself just hurts to say sometimes. And don’t get me wrong, my husband has been a God-send. He has made me stronger in so many ways. And he is my best friend. But getting quality time is so hard. Although, once we have it, it is a place where we feel at home in each other’s hearts.

So, now to get to the good stuff… I read a book called “A Million Miles in a Thousand Years” by a guy named Don Miller. It’s kind of a life changing book. He talks about how each of us has a story and it is up to us to write it out. The choices we make with our lives are ours to make. For instance, the sedentary couch potato is depressed because he has found no purpose. But a person who knows they have power over what is written in their story ends up writing themselves a good story. They also know that nothing on this earth will bring the euphoric peace that can only come in the next life, therefore freeing them of the burden of waiting for it to come along. And that allows them the freedom to make things happen as a collection of moments. Sometimes euphoric moments.

So, I have the keys in my hand so to speak… I am a big girl now and I know what cards I have been dealt.  I know that people aren’t going to come rushing to my side to heal this splintered heart. They aren’t going to encourage me and love me because I am so deserving of it, or even out of guilt. The ugly truth to this sad matter of the heart is that I have to make my life in to what I want it to be… Like any hard working person.  I need to dig deep and find the richness of what life truly is; and spread it around by opening my heart to others, by reaching to them with no expectations no matter how desperately I just want them to come pursuing me.  Our time here on this planet is ours… We decide most of what will come of us… And I am going to write a story of my life… A great story.  One where the relationships in it have quality.  I never wanted to lead my life in to this community I so desperately admire in others lives, I simply just wanted it to be built-in.  But THAT is not the story I was given… I was dealt a different hand.  So, I must live out what I want my story to become.  And one day I will look back and know that I had the power to make my life what I want it to be.

In Process

Life is an endless process of growth.  Growing physically, mentally, and emotionally.  Sometimes we grow backward.  Sometimes we have to get re-nurtured in order to grow-up more.  At least, that is the case with me.  I am on a constant journey of trying to figure out my life… Inside and out.  I seem to want wholeness all the time. “A creature of comfort” could be on my epitaph.  I am realizing, in my maturing mind, how often I seek this place of euphoric rest.  And I have been through stages of seeking this comfort with food, with friends, in my art, in time alone, in spa treatments, in time spent with my husband, in seeing my kids have fun, in controlling things that I feel are being done unjustly.

Side note: once I drove through a crowd gathering for a fight  in a Wendy’s parking lot.  I just wanted the pain, whoever’s pain it was going to be, to be stopped.  And me, in my Dodge Omni, felt invincible (yes, I see the sheer irony in that).  The crowd simply reformed after my attempt to be like Moses and part their sea.  My friend in the car convinced me I could not do anything to help the situation and really shouldn’t ever attempt doing that again.

But back to the comfort thing… Constantly, I try meeting the needs of this little girl who stuffed down her needs for so long…  Who felt that there was too much going on in her house with her siblings and parents to reach out for all she wanted… needed.  And so now, here I am in my thirties finally realizing that my crazy habits of seeking comfort are just to appease this deep down yearning.  The walls set up kept the hurt from happening and keeps anyone from getting too close.  Which leaves me lonely… a lot.  A bitter sense of being left to fend for myself in a tragic and unsafe world.

But now, now, I hear the voice, not just the echo.  I know it’s there loud and clear.  And now the light will shine on it.  And soon all that I poured into soothing me can be poured into others.  Someday, I will be healed.  Someday, I will pass along this goodness to someone who needs to hear it.  Someday, I will arise from the ashes and gaze around at my new world.  Because I survived… And overcame an engulfing storm that hid me in its depths… but didn’t win.

Memories

No, not the song from Cats… But the ones that haunt us… Sometimes in good ways, sometimes not so good. There are times when I want to just go back in time to when things were simple… Easy. Life was uncomplicated with responsibilities. Having fun was par for the course. Time was my own.  Spending time with friends was a given.  Going for a hike in the snow with my best friend (who later became my husband) who let me be me and come alive as a person… And getting lost in the whiteness of the landscape and not caring because even if we never found our way out we at least were together and that was all we needed right then. Looking back I see this journey that just seems so short but I know is full so many changes. Life-sized changes. If time was my own now I would seize moments like that again. I would make life happen… But now I am very familiar with how life has happened to me. It seems like there is always so much to get done. So much to re-do phyiscally (housework, schedules) and to re-do emotionally (meeting the needs of others, sorting through the pain of the past).  Sometimes I just wish that wishes could some true… But I would need an endless supply because I can always think of something else to wish for.  For today, I wish the dishes would do themselves and the vacuuming too.  I would also wish for friends who lived next door.  And I would wish for peace in a heart that feels so much it just seems easier to shut down and feel nothing.  I would wish for the abiltiy to play the piano and sing my heart out and somehow let go of feeling so much at once.  Like I said an endless supply of wishes… I guess what more could be expected in an imperfect world.

Bubbling

What do you do when you feel like all kinds of things are swirling around in your head? You have a load of responsibilities to family and home and work. You have little things that you want to do like read a book, meditate, scrapbook, garden, write a song, or organize your photos, or clean the garage (some people really do enjoy that sort of thing). Then there are the thoughts of what you really wish you were doing… The dream that just bubbles up and reminds you there is so much to who you are and what you are capable of that never gets to come out and become real. Inevitably you simmer that boiling pot back down knowing that there may be a time to pursue it or maybe not. Some people, the lucky ones who know how to play their cards right, get to live their dream. They posses the skills necessary to balance it all out. What are those skills? I am dying to know.
I look at my job as a “homemaker” and think why is this the default setting for women and why are they given so little training on how to do it? I have a house that beckons for attention… dishes, bathrooms, laundry, beds, papers, toys… Then there’s the whole going to the grocery store all the time thing… and planning meals (which I do not do). Then swirled in all of that are these passions. Passions to create, paint, sculpt, sing, act, dance… Just to be really great at something. I am not sure why I want this so badly but I do. It feels like a deep need to be reassured in the gifts that I know are in there and could be a blessing to others while giving me some happiness too. I also have a passion for God. A passion to be giving to others. A passion to see others the way God sees them and know for them to know His love through me. It is a real part of me.
Home and self divide my thoughts, swirling around like to bold colors of paint being dumped into a puddle and taking so long to mix. Make that three colors because I forgot to mention that I am so broken and in need of family and safety and love and friendship. I don’t make friends easily. And I keep them at bay when I do. Why am I so unbalanced in everything?  I feel like I just need someone to hold my hand and tell me how to do everything. And yet if they did all the indepence in me would fight against their suggestions and I would do what I wanted in the end… still broken… still alone… still needy… still just as unsure of myself.
I could find some balance if I just thought ahead and planned but for some reason I do not possess that skill set. There are lots of things I could write about but I seem to fall back on the usual…  me.

Somewhere In Between

It’s late.  I should be sleeping… But my mind is swirling.  Like a broken record, thoughts just keep resurfacing.  This world has sadness.  This world has chaos.  After sin entered the world it was never to be easy for anyone again. But sometimes I really wonder why things turn out the way they do.  Why some people are born into the right family at the right time and given tons of support and meaningful conversation.  While others are born into cruel, violent, unloving ones that live each day leaving nothing but destruction in their wake.   I am somewhere in between… Albeit, that’s a BIG in between.  But life is full of grey areas.  Normal really can’t be completely defined.  Life is fluid and while some things are normal in a situation there are variables that throw the whole thing off balance.  I know, I am not telling anyone, and mostly myself, anything new here.

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Unquenchable Thirsts

(When I started this entry I had no idea where it was going… Then it arrived in the place where my heart wanted to call out… And there it sat until the well was dry.)

There is something creeping over me today.  It feels like a nice dose of emotional swinging.  I feel a little lost inside.  I am intune to that unquenchable feeling of dissatisfaction rising up and starting to irritate me.  I haven’t done much creating lately.  And it is starting to make me crazy.  I want to create but, well, all the excuses in the book keep me from doing it.  The house is never caught up.  Dinner is never planned.  School is never long enough.  And, quite frankly, it is too darn cold!  I could paint, I could draw, I could make jewelry, but my hands are dry and uncomfortable.  I could keep complaining, but that may make my few readers actually stop coming by, so I will stop there.  But art is an unquenchable thirst in me… Always.

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Awake

I am awake when I don’t want to be. I have a terrible cold and needed antibiotics. Took the first one before going to bed. Not sure if I am having a reaction but I laid in bed for almost three hours before realizing that I hadn’t actually fallen asleep. My body kept waking up. I had tingling in my hands, feet, lips even. It seemed like my heart rate was low and I was waking up because things were shutting down. I have no idea if that is what was happening but I am up now. Listening to the rain fall steadily harder outside. And soon the power may go out. I am SO not wanting to be awake when the power goes out. I hate it in fact. To top it off I have a pinching feeling in my neck and left shoulder that has been getting worse over the pass three days. I am very much unhappy with the state of affairs my body is in. Thirty-five is not so much fun right now. I feel like my body is nearing eighty instead.

Feelings

I have learned  a bit about who I am in these last few years.  And I feel a lot of things. And I feel them deeply.  Some times I feel so excited about something I want to cry.  Sometimes I feel so sad I want to just throw paint in big splats and make a mess… Symbolic  of what is going on inside.  Sometimes screaming and running with all my might sounds like a good plan to release the emotion inside.  Either way I have learned that I find some sort of comfort in feeling really deep emotion.  Except for anxiety and stress of course… Those things wreak havoc on my body.  Anxiety make me nauseous.  Stress gives me sharp chest pain (probably should get that looked at).

I wish I had oodles of time.  Time to just bust out big canvases and make paintings of all sorts of feelings and moments.  Time to just be quiet and create.  I have time now, but it comes in spurts.  And the few hours I take for the mural each week are becoming addicting.  I want to start make huge paintings on my walls at home.  The feeling of painting something as permanent as a mural is so cathartic.  Now if only I could get paid for it!  I did drop off some  mini oil paintings on mini easels at the Newark Arts Alliance near the Newark Co-op (yep, that’s plug so check it out).  I also drop off a few pairs of snowmen earrings.  It would be nice to make money with what I love to do…  And blessings people with art really is a passion I have.  I would give it all away but I need money for supplies to make more stuff.  All in due time I suppose.

Today is a mural day… Pictures to follow.  Thanks for reading and being interested in my yammering.

Pouring Your Heart Out

Sometimes I feel like pouring out too much.  Most of the time I pour out too little.  The other day I poured out my heart like hot lava… It was so pure and dangerous I had to delete the entry.  There are some things people know about us that we don’t realize ourselves.  And then there are things that others will never realize about us.  We all have treasures locked away.  Keys that unlock our hearts.  And keys that lock our hearts up.  A blog can be the place for that, a canvas to express our ideas in metaphors and ideas without necessarily being blatant about what we hold inside.  I supposed that is what creative writing is at its best.  At least that is how I use it… Sometimes.

I wish I had the keys to unlock a lot of people.  The right words and the energy to reach out.  I wish I knew what made them tick and what it takes to get them to trust…

It seems I have friends that span the scope:

some who reach out to me with genuine care,

some who know I am always there,

some who catch up in a note or two,

and some who hold back through and through.

We hold out the keys

Some take them and run.

I hand you my heart

But the return is none.

I wonder and wait

You act cool and calm.

You live in your bubble

You find your balm.

The choices we make

Make us instead

We all take big leaps

And rethink what we’ve said

It seems there is always a time and place.

It seems we all fall in to the same grace.

A real friend is the one

Who holds our heart high

A true friend we let in

They know deep inside.

Sometimes we’re low

Alone once again

But mostly we all

Just need a true friend.

So, that’s my ditty… An itty bitty ditty.  Why not?

Creative Time

So, I totally got some time to create the other day… Once the Sears repair guy left that is.  (Nice guy, but he had too many details to tell me about our tractor.)  Anyway, what a gift it was to be given a few hours on my own in the middle of the day!   Everyday of motherhood feels like a day where you have no choice but to give of yourself. If you want your kids to feel secure and happy… If you want your family to have clean clothes and decent meals… If you want to be a responsible person and not some schlep who just gets by… you have no choice but to give over and over all day long.  Sure, I know my husband gives all day long at his job too.  But I am not so sure I would be valuable in the workplace anyway. I am a bit scatterbrained. And at times rather clueless. So, not a day goes by that I don’t thank the good Lord above that my hubby has a job and is healthy and brings home the bacon. So anyway, back to what I was saying. For some mothers and wives this giving comes easily. For me? Well, it is kind of like swimming upstream. No matter how hard I try I feel pretty defeated. I am an independent creature. I enjoy time alone. I enjoy the freedom of playing some good music and creating something new. (I also really love spontaneously jumping into a project and seeing it through without stopping for ANYTHING.  But well, that isn’t very realistic since I have to eat… and four other people in the house are waiting for me to think of something to feed them all too.)  The problem is it takes awhile for my muscles to warm up so they are ready to paint.  On this particular day I played around on the piano… tinkering with sounds and timing. It was relaxing. It was fulfilling.

For almost 10 years I have been a stay at home mom. At first that is what I really wanted to do. I love kids and find them to be so great to entertain. But well, three kids later and I hardly ever find enough time to work on my creative gifts. It is partly my fault since I never established any “my time” on a regular basis.  I just took what I could get and too often I got the worn out hours at night.

Back to the creating… So I painted some little canvases and am excited to finish them. I used some water-based oil paints by Holbein. They were fun to work with but I think it is going to take a lot a of practice to really understand how to use them. I am so used to watercolor that oils are completely foreign. With watercolor you leave the white space of the paper for your light areas, but with oils you just keep building upon the colors and it is like working backward.  So, it is just more difficult and they take so darn long to dry! If I get anything finished I will post it.

Not sure if any of this makes sense… But there is some sort of therapy in getting to paint.  The smooth lines that drift from the brush…  The cool depths and warm finishes some paints leave are so deeply soothing.  I love painting.  I love seeing the gift God has so graciously given me get put to good use.  Today I got to do face painting at our church’s Water Fun Day.  I LOVED it!  I loved it so much that I think it would be a fun side business.  I am already looking into purchasing professional face paints.  It isn’t too costly and if people are in the market for a decent face painting artist, well, I can be at their service.  I have been needing a fun job and an outlet for YEARS.  And well, getting to paint for hours at a time just isn’t happening yet.  So, this little business would work out well.