Show me your bones

I love that my heart is so attached to writing. I hate that I only visit when my heart's longing can no longer be contained. I love that writing releases what I've been trying to manage and sort and box up so neatly, but I hate that I wait until I have emotions stacked to the ceiling to describe. I end up writing more seriously than I imagine my usually comical self to be. I think I'd rather be a comedian, but I let things build up too long--- so I'm more like the thick aired morgue versus the trendy mod comedy stage.

I suppose, for some purposes, it's good to shed some light in the dark places people choose not to hang out. It's good to bring up the bones in the cooler as comfortably as the most rehearsed punch line. I guess, to be honest, I like talking about the bones hiding around this place, because I'm not quite done with them. I like to pass things off like I've done the mourning, I've done the changing and I'm just in general- D.O.N.E. But that would just be good joke material. No one's ever really "done" with those bones. They still have a way of showing up under furniture and down curious hallways. Enter a new person, and you have artifacts showin' up all over the place- behind the doors they recklessly throw open out of adventure and excitement. Or, exit the random dog that just carried off a piece or two of your skeletal baggage to be found on some aimless walk. For me- they're always turning up.

I have a bone in my hand I ran across today. I picked it up because I recognized it instantly as one that had been hidden somewhere in this foundation of mine. Like I mentioned before, it's one that has been found on multiple occasions. I picked it up, knowing there was something I was going to have to do with it. At that moment, I wasn't sure what to do, but toss it back and forth between the air and my hand as I kept on with my day. I didn't let it trip my step, I just kept going, swinging it back and forth with my pace- trying to make it a casual movement of time passage and a maybe a mindless game of catch between hands. Buying myself time.

I sat down tonight, in the quiet of my home. I sat that bone right in front of me and I looked at it. I'd like to break it, but it's a femur of a thing- it's the strongest bone I have creepin up on me. That's exactly what it is- the hero bone.

Being a hero has never been a negative thing in my eyes. Being a strong woman has always been quite the compliment. But, I find, when I keep waving that damn thing around, people who are approaching to help, get clobbered. The irony is, I WANT THE HELP- I WANT TO PUT THIS BONE TO REST- but I can't seem to bury it deep enough. It keeps crawling back. Scrappy lil demon.

On top of beating my help, I can't even crown myself with the glory of feeling strong "enough". I never feel like I'm ACTUALLY strong, or CONSISTENTLY strong, I just try to push in that direction (overbearingly so)- and seem to fail when I'm unwinding my day in my shower with all the held back tears and whimpering.

"FAKE HERO LONGS FOR HELP, HELP WON'T COME CUZ THEY SEE A HERO"

I don't really wanna be a hero (well, not ALL the time). So, where did this strong bone come from? Why would I have grown such a thing if I'm not REALLY that STRONG? Was I really let down enough times to build up such a thick, haunting structure? I know there's layers of "I'm not good enough" in there, probably the marrow of the whole deal. The original cells grown out of a lie whispered into my beating heart, pumping directed blood to the site. I probably condoned the construction, telling myself I was pushing myself to be "better" (if that's what independent and calloused is---"better").

This bone, my hero bone.... I don't want to keep hiding it- where I forget that I have it lurking around- until some unsuspecting Samaritan trips over the thing in attempts to save me. I'm thinking I will display it- like on my window sill or something. My gory little reminder to be a bit more fragile- a little more vulnerably inviting.

I can't always show love playing hero, so maybe I can show love by letting someone else be a little heroish FOR me.

Free to breakdown. melt down. settle down.

I will not fall silently

There's no doubt in my mind that falling is nothing short of humiliating. Sometimes we laugh, to brush off the stares of others who saw the flailing affair. I tend to laugh because I never cease to surprise my own self with my ability to find new ways to stumble. Ask me about the time I hung out of a bus by my shorts, or the time I tried to skateboard down "stairs", or the time I flew off the trampoline trying to impress a very cute vacuum salesman. They are good stories. I tell them loudly and enjoyably detailed.

The moment you ask me about a REAL fall, my voice will quiet, my gestures will cease and the amount of words I use to try and elaborate will decrease incredibly. This is not characteristic of just me. There aren't many I know that like to relive their failing moments in the spotlight (unless they are able to attach the saying "many years ago, back in my rebellious stage" to the beginning of the tale). I have said before, I tend to shut up when I see myself sliding into a slippery situation. I don't like to know OTHER people know I'm about to do something fairly ungraceful and unbecoming of the woman I otherwise would like them to know I am. I just don't want them KNOWING. Even worse, I don't want them WONDERING. I surely don't want there to be knowing, but wondering is horrible. Wondering involves unanswered questions, and judgements and speculations. If I am going to mis-step, I would prefer to do it in a darkened ally, where I can regain my composure and move on as if nothing happened.

The sad part about falling quietly is, who can help? Who will be there to protect and prevent? Who will be there to help clean up the spill? Maybe I would save face in a dark ally, but I sure would carry a heavier burden of wound cleaning on my own.

I have such incredible respect for people who do not hurt and fall silently. It takes a LOT of guts to be brutally honest about our stumbling blocks, AS THEY ARE HAPPENING. It takes a brave and strong soul to keep speaking AS they fail. I love those people for their courage and transparency.

Years ago, when I was married, I began to hurt. I began to fail. I could have spoken. I could have expressed what was happening, but I was too afraid of the mess of having too many surgeons in the operating room. So, I performed my own surgery. I amputated the source of my perspective pain- my husband. I left to heal, but no one understood what I was healing from. They didn't see the fall, they didn't see the attempted recovery. I wouldn't let them. I didn't speak. And because I didn't speak, I didn't recover. I am no surgeon, the amputation I performed was less than shoddy. But no one was there to give me perspective. Or warn me for that matter. Or better yet, guide me through the proper maneuvers. Instead, I silently made my way through fall after fall, fail after fail, blindly hoping to pull myself together. Now, let's be honest- there were those who tried to help- who tried to protect, but I didn't let them in, because I wasn't telling my story. Not truthfully anyway.

I've learned that when the only receiver of your beating fists and your angry questions is your pillow, you rest on a sponge of unresolved pain. All those tears are soaked into one place, not taken FROM you and processed, they are right there hiding under your face when you drift to sleep. You dream your fall. You awake and feel tired from the reminder of your fall. You end your day, resting on all the details of your fall.

The moment you take your failings to someone- a live respondent to your humbling predicament of ungraceful movements- you get perspective. You get help. You gain an advocate. You no longer let your pillow absorb all the gory moments of your slips and trips to be hidden forever, you end up spilling them all out in front of you, in front of THEM- and together you SEE. You see the mistake, you see the second by second replay of what SHOULD have happened, but just didn't seem to pan out. You see the place where healing began or WILL begin.

Falling is inevitable. Failing is, too. Speaking your stories of falls and fails means inspiring others who fall and fail. Whether they are inspired by your courage, or by the way they got to help you- they are changed. They are moved and are purposed by the story you carry- and the story they now share WITH you.

Fall loudly. Help will hear. It will still be a really good tale to share.

i have this friend....

Dear Lord,

I have this friend... You know, the one You sent me. She's really a great gift. I see what You were thinking now, when You introduced us. I guess I forget sometimes to thank You for the amazing ones you bring into my life- I kinda take it for granted as if it were just happenstance that we met, that we live and laugh together. Sometimes, I bet I even take her presence for granted, because I am so used to it. I have named part of her home for part of my heart. I guess I probably should tell her how much I appreciate her, huh?

This friend of mine... I know You'd recognize her. She's funny, in her own unique way- she has her own style with the way she tells her story. She radiates some sort of copyrighted smile that only she can shine. (I am certain You are very familiar with the way she brings joy to the places she graces.) God, I will be honest, I'm pretty jealous of her beauty- because it's so indescribably just hers. It seems as if she couldn't be copied- Lord knows how I try to pick up on little things she does here and there to maybe get one inch closer such an essence.

But here's the deal, Lord. I have this friend... She's strong and she's pretty tough. She has always been by my side pushing and pulling on my behalf when I just didn't feel so strong or tough. This girl has heard me out during many of my over dramatized meltdowns. This friend of mine has even sat with me in the silence when something really was too hard to talk about. She always seems to be looking out for me, but tonight- I want to do something for her. God- she is in need. I am asking on her behalf- because she is still out there, trying to fight the fight that is getting harder and harder. Every day, I see her get back up, no matter how bloody the night before- and she's doing life better than most I know. But I see the limp she's trying to hide, I see her trying to catch her breath.

Lord, this friend I have... She is hurting, but doesn't have the time to show it- she's busy still trying to maintain life. She's trying so hard not to skip a beat. She is rising each morning, give her a sunrise that awakens her heart. When she sleeps, give her dreams that rest her soul. For every thought that tells her she's failing, Lord, give her a tangible truth that she's succeeding. Show her her own beauty in undeniable ways. She can't fall- Lord, You can reach her before she breaks.

I'm telling you about this friend I have.... because I trust You with her. She is irreplaceable. It breaks my heart to see her meet obstacle after obstacle- carrying with her burdens that are not her own. Take what she carries, and give her the tools she needs to climb over the walls and walk the desert. You will be impressed how powerful she is. I have no doubt she can make it.

I have a very serious request regarding this friend I have...take care of her. Pamper her. Give her beyond what she needs. Pay attention to the littlest details so when she least expects it, she is pleasantly surprised. Tell her she is loved. Tell her she is impactful- maybe even give her a glimpse of the things she's impacted. Just do it. For her, for me.

Lord, this friend I have.... she is my dearest and best.

Let me draw a picture for you...

I remember back in the day, watching a Veggie Tales video with Zoe about these lil guys called "Snoodles". It ended up being quite moving actually, not that I was too surprised- it seems as a mother my "toughness" fades whenever you pop one of those moral-filled kiddy programs in. I kinda feel all choked up inside when some profound statement is acted out by little sounding people- as if maybe my daughter were saying such wise things TO ME. (It does happen often in this house when my daughter tries to teach me a lesson or two...)

Part of the storyline of this "Snoodle" animation, was all these mean Snoodle-folk were drawing mean Snooodle-folk pictures to describe this poor little baby Snoodle. He carried around these negative pictures in his backpack and they weighed him down, they held him back and they designed his opinion of himself. In the end- yup, for writing purposes, I AM going to ruin the finale for you- the Snoodle happens upon a "man" who draws a NEW picture of him. This new picture makes this little failing guy look older and stronger and ABLE. The "man" takes the bad pictures and throws them into the fire, and places the new picture in this Snoodle-guy`s backpack. He didn`t feel weighed down! He didn`t feel heavy and burdened! ***AWWWWW*** Really, the story gets me every time- there's quite a few more dimensions to that little storyline- so feel free and look into watching it- I'd like to know if anyone else tears up or if it just happens to be me. ;)

But anyway, I got to have an encounter with a quite similar story the other day. A few friends and I decided to steal away to the beach to seek some peace and as brides, seek some "romance" with the King. We have made a tradition out of joining together and blessing each other with encouragement and beauty treatments- and importantly---amazing prayer times. We have gotten some pretty incredible things out of those times in the past- and this time, we made quite the big deal out of our beach trip. God whispered, "Come away with me" and we were fully prepared and intent on doing just that!

I spent the week prior to the trip trying to quiet my heart enough to even begin preparing for what would happen in our cozy suite at the beach, but the week was hectic, the days were long and in the end, I didnt find myself being able to really shed any layers of the "stuff" Id been carrying around. I hate feeling cluttered with past stuff when Im trying to get excited about dealing with future stuff. But amazingly- the day of, my week slid off and I slipped into something more comfortable- something quite a bit lighter and a whole lot more inviting for pampering and refreshing.

Every part of our trip was special- certainly. We danced on the pier, we shopped, we walked the beach, we picked wildflowers and hunted shells, we talked about old stories
new stories
celebrating stories
frustrating stories,
we made each other dinner and ate with plastic dinnerware on wedding plates by fake candlelight, we swam in the pool, soaked in the hot tub, we even sang in the acoustically perfect "gym"--- it is beyond tempting to sing "The Star Spangled Banner" in every echoing room I encounter. All that lead up to---the night in the hotel room. We retreated back, to settle in, and there we met. With soft songs playing a dance formed in our hands. We had little white poster boards for each of us and markers to create with. In that moment- we began drawing pictures for each other. As we would pass each board around, new words and meanings and thoughts would spring- and you would hear someone ask "Who has Rosie`s board?" "Whose board are you working on now?" Things popped into my head that had no explanation of whence they came, but they were there- and once on those boards, and those boards were in the hands of their owner, made so much sense.
There were tears,
and laughter
and sighs of complete impact because these pictures we were drawings of each other were speaking- loudly- against all the things we seemed to be fighting. They were saying things like "there is a new start coming, a new season" or "be your life`s leading lady and walk through those open doors" or "you feel burdened by others` lives because you are called to wash their feet and ready them to return to their calling". It just made so much sense. 4 people all drawing different pictures coming together to make one big picture that just MADE SO MUCH SENSE. We all kept shaking our heads, knowing we were blessed and pampered.

How often do we get to see a picture of how we really are SEEN by Him without a mirror or a world to taint the picture?

That night, after those conversations, those revelations- I went to the balcony by myself. I felt like God was saying "come away with me". Every one was inside- doing communion, but I took mine and just followed. I went outside- the air, the height of the balcony, the night, the ocean- all of it moved with the beat of a song- a slow dance song. I wanted to pray- I felt like I was supposed to say something. You know, maybe thank God for what He was doing- for what He was blessing me with. But my soul had no words- and He wasn`t asking for any- He wanted sweet sweet silence. A song came to my mind- and I listened to it from my phone- and as every girl wishes- I felt like I was being sung to. Danced with. Loved on.

"Rosie`s Lullabye"
She walked by the ocean
And waited for a star
To carry her away
Feelin so small
At the bottom of the world
Lookin up to God
She tries to take deep breaths
To smell the salty sea
As it moves over her feet
The water pulls so strong
and No one is around
And the moon is looking down

Sayin- Rosie come with me. Close your eyes and dream

You would have thought I wrote that song for myself- I slightly wish I had come up with something so cleverly beautiful. But it was written and there for my discovery- just as cool. Few moments are more perfect than that.

Later that night- I was reading a devotional- my new devotional gifted to me by my dear friend Joan- and on the day of my birthday this is what was written:

THE QUIET TIME

My beloved spake, and said unot me, Rise up, my love, my fair one, and come away.
Song of Solomon 2:10

"There may be many times when I reveal nothing, command nothing, give no guidance. But your path is clear, to grow daily more and more into the knowledge of ME. I may ask you to sit silent before Me, and I may speak no word that you could write. All the same, waiting with Me will bring comfort and peace. Only friends who understand and love each other can wait silent in each other`s presence."

So my night ended- with Him reminding me how after my heart He really is. He gave me a reflection on a crooked cut white board, he gave me a song (one I can`t seem to successfully download for the life of me) and written words jotted on the day of my birth- all painting quite the perfect picture, "Rosie, come away with Me".

How the times change

I'm significantly frustrated with myself that I've taken such a long break from this place. This place is where I tell my story- to you AND to myself. I feel as if I don't even remember all the steps I have taken because I have neglected taking the time to regularly retrace them. I like to remember. But, I will admit, I rebelliously refused to recap my life, for myself or anyone, because it was nothing worth rejoicing over. I was in pain and who likes to tell those stories? I want to be the girl that makes people laugh! Not the girl that strikes people speechless out of sympathy. I took my pain and decided walking quietly in the dark. I assumed it would be best for everyone involved- I would be able to slink through this hard time unnoticed and the rest of the world could go on with their own stories. "No one should be affected by one girl's silly story of silly complaints"- I reasoned. I didn't want others to worry- because they would. I also didn't want to have to continuously talk about the unknown that seemed to dauntingly cause my heart to race and my lungs to wish for more and more air. There wasn't one step that wasn't filled with doubt, and to me, it all seemed easier to get myself put together FIRST, then tell the story of how "I made it out"----if I ever could find the "out".
The ironic part of the climb is- stairs still creak in the dark. My loved ones still saw my pain- so they still worried. And worse, I still stayed in the dark- alone. I put myself there with my walls, and my pity and my anger- and no one got to share in my story. I was a one girl show- and I hurt and I believed whatever I wanted to tell myself about where this journey was going.
Here I was, hurting and complaining and asking God- "Why can't this be fixed so I can be who I wish I was and do what I wish to do?" Well, God has answered that question- and I have stepped out of my little pity room to tell you the answer.
I was made to tell a story- and when I tell that story, whether it's a good one or not, then not only am I doing what I've always wanted to do, but I'm being the woman I wish to be.
I figured my sad walk would only suck life out of other peoples' steps. But the other night- I had called an old friend- because she is such a good listener and I needed the shoulder to finally cry out on, to tear a wall or two down, and that conversation ended with her saying something that stopped me before I retreated back from where I came- "you blessed me tonight". She went on to explain how my story, how my pain, how my tears and what I was struggling to grasp touched her and ministered straight to where she also was carrying some unknowns. It broke my heart in a way that made me really regret my little retreat into the dark. I regretted not sharing my story earlier, to others, to you. I regretted not processing emotion for emotion on paper for future reference, or even present reference for that matter. I had no reference, because I refused to process my steps the way I was designed to process them. I did that on purpose- out of rebellion- because I was mad. I was angry that I seemed so confused with life's little blind curves. Instead of telling the story I was made to tell, I would punish myself by locking it away inside and I would punish others (innocent others,by the way) by locking them OUT.
Well- here's my apology- to you, to me, to my Designer: I'm sorry for hiding my story from those who would have been blessed to hear it, from those who would have been honored to help and from myself who really knew healing would come from such a beautiful process as documenting life in its most common form- HARD. And most importantly, I'm sorry for allowing my rebellion to erase my knowledge of what I was made for. My story has God's glory all over it- because He is faithful and His truth is so healing and He blesses me beyond my vocabulary's capabilities- that during my pity party- God's work was still happening, and I wasn't telling of it! Amazing things have happened, even in the dark. Even when I was sad, God protected and loved and LAVISHED me. I'm tellin you now, you're gonna love hearing what He's done :) (and I bet, you're gonna laugh hearing what I was doing all the while, because it's all quite silly.)
God- give me a good memory- because I am ready to tell the story.

I write to bless,

~Rosie

know what you know you know

I know a lot. Don't get all judgmental- I'm not bragging. The only reason I know what I know is because I learn from my mistakes, which I assume, most people do. The thing I'm admitting when I say "I know a lot" is actually, "Folks, you'd be amazed at how many times I've messed things up". Yup, so really my bragging rights fall into sheepish truths I have to face.

On any given day, I suppose I enjoy "knowing a lot". But I seem to also be faced with the fine print of my mistakes on most given days, too. I feel I'm used to the little red print dancing around my life, kinda almost built in to "living on".

I wish I was built another way- like the geniuses of this planet who gain their knowledge through searching and studying. But, this girl was designed to learn the hard way. I'm not using it as an excuse for the messes I find myself in, mind you, it's just a reason. (No authority figure that I've used that saying on has liked the logic.) I don't really find solace in the reason; which is my justification for why it's NOT an excuse. It's just how things are for me- like gravity or geography- they are previously placed, thought out specifications by the Big Man for how things are gonna play out. I definitely didn't vote on it.

I can't say if I regret the design or not. I don't like coming to terms with failing, the rising above is always a neat story ,though (with great background music to boot).

I'm not certain why I'm writing this, it's not to complain about my current method of discovered knowledge or even to vent about past regrets. I think it's just to say: I know I'm not the only one who learns it the hard way. It's discouraging at times, yup. Tough, yup yup. But, at least I can say the lesson sticks pretty permanently when it comes about :)