The Naked Truth

He was little (3 years old, 35 pounds). She was big (85 years old, 225 pounds). He was with his baby sitter (he called her Sitter). She was taking a bath in her personal space (she called it home). He was helping dust in the hall. She was dashing naked from the bathroom to her bedroom. He saw her. She didn’t see him. He was devastated. She was oblivious. She got into bed. He cried, and said, “Sitter, I didn’t want to see that bum.”

How many times in life do we see things we don’t want to see, or do things we wish we hadn’t done? It seems like the more we try to forget them and push them away, the deeper they become tattooed in our brains. Let me explain.  

Recently I had a school assignment to go through my whole life and make peace with my past. As I dug around in my storage of memories and heartache, I found myself finding things I wished had never happened.

My baby brother died when I was two years old. Watching my parents deal with death was confusing and left me with many misunderstandings about how to relate to the world.

I had a terrible time learning how to spell, read and do math. This set me up with a habit of learned helplessness and a view of myself as having no talents.

My teachers didn’t know how to deal with my learning style. Some of my schoolmates teased me, were unkind and made fun of me. This left me feeling unworthy and worthless.

As a mother, I yelled at my kids when I should have held them close. Sometimes I held them close when I should have yelled at them. I got into their business when I should have stayed out. I stayed out of things that I should have paid attention to.

I took my husband for granted, wasn’t always nice, and didn’t acknowledge he even had needs. I spent money carelessly and blamed him for not controlling money –  or me –  better.

I spent more time than I want to admit caught in a vortex of depression spiraling down as I fought to get out.

I don’t like to have gone through these things; to have had these things done to me, and to have done these things to others. I wonder why I had to go through all that?

Having come through those experiences, I am now beginning to understand their purposes and the valuable lessons they provide. 

For example, I experienced the death of my baby brother at a very early age. I didn’t understand it, nor did I have the maturity to deal with it at the time, so I built up a defense of arrogance and hiding my light. This arrogance and hiding has been keeping a very tender and sweet part of my life and has kept me safe until I grew and matured to a point where I could let down my defenses and process the death of a loved one.

Early on I recognized that things are never as bad as they seem. As a result, I have been blessed to be calm in the midst of chaos.

I have discovered that there are many ways to learn. The human mind is amazing at adapting and finding ways around obstacles and challenges. By being patient and not giving up, I have seen miracles unfold. Giving a person the love and space to develop at their own rate and in their own timing is one of the most loving gifts anyone can receive. 

Although being a wife and mother has been a very painful experience for me at times, it has been a necessary experience for me to understand choice, taking authority over my life, and connecting to God. These difficult times are what made me know that I wanted something different and gave me the motivation to find a new way of doing things.

When I take my view and my truth as the only truth, I have no options. When I see my truth as the truth according to me, then I can change “my truth” and try something I like better. When I project my insecurities onto other people, I am a victim of them and I live a life that is lonely and separate. Not taking personal responsibility for my thoughts, my beliefs, my actions, and my life creates unnecessary pain and suffering.  A life with no place to turn and no God, is Hell on earth.

As I take the time and effort to see the blessings and lessons that are available to me in the seemingly unbearable incidences of life, my perspective changes. The seemingly bitter becomes important and a valuable part of life.

I think this must be true for everyone. Making a shift in attitude and perspective transforms distressing experiences into valuable memories.

With that understanding, a little boy  who saw a fat, old, naked lady, instead of being devastated, might laugh and say, “Holy Cow, Sitter, did you see that bum!?”  

Anorexic?

 

Today God told me I was anorexic-like.

He said He sees a magnificent, powerful being who is scared to death of own her power. “You’re like an anorexic that wants to be healthy, but refuses to look in the mirror and see the truth. You are like someone who is dying to feel good, vibrant, and healthy, but only sees fat and refuses to eat food – the very thing that would bring her what she wants.”

So, I ask myself, what would someone with anorexia need to hear? Eat! Can’t you see you are killing yourself? With you in control of your life, your body will die. What would the anorexic person answer back? If I eat and let you control me by living my life the way you want me to live it, my body will live, but my spirit will die.

No, what the anorexic person needs to hear is: You can choose for yourself. If you choose to continue controlling by refusing to eat, you will get the consequences that come with that choice, and I will love you. If you choose to do what you are told and let the outside world make your decisions, you will get the consequences that come with that choice, and I will love you.

Your freedom lies somewhere between control and being controlled.

Right now, you are at a point where you are beginning to see the choice. The choice is yours – Do you want to be in control and have your body die? Do you want to be controlled and have your spirit die? There is another way – stepping into faith and trust, co-creating, with God, radiant health, vitality and peace.

Be patient with yourself. Don’t worry if you volley back and forth for a while; you have never been here like this before. I love you. You are brave. You are strong. However you do this is just right for you. I am with you. Trust, have faith and let your spirit come alive through your beautiful body.

Truly, choice is before me as I have never seen it before. I am free to have faith and to trust God and myself as I dream and plan, making choices that make me feel powerful and magnificent. Or I can continue to refuse to deal with myself patiently as I wade through the mountain of resistance and pain I may face whenever I commit to a plan of action or structure that is the foundation for what I want.

Seen this way, the choice is easy. There is nothing I want more than to co-create with God a joyful, powerful and magnificent life.  And there is nothing I want more than to develop the attributes that are mine as I let go of fears and old hurt and stop insisting that I am broken.

The Stone

I’ve been asleep in the center of a hard stone.

Trying to be.

Trying to wake.

Living in the stone.

Pretending I’m alive, all the while trusting the death that is so evident.

I begin to awaken.

This stone is not a chip from a mountain,

But the center of a fruit!

I have grown!

I have become!

I am no longer a stone, but a tree!

A magnificent tree in full bloom.

EVERYONE LOOK!

LOOK AT ME.

SEE ME!

I LIVE!

I HAVE LIFE!

DON’T YOU SEE WHO I AM?

I am a fruit tree.

I can produce apricots, plums, cherries, peaches.

I have it all,

I can do it all.

I don’t want to miss being in one single pie or cobbler.

I can make the taste buds of any tongue squeal with delight and satisfaction.

Look at me!

See me!

Know who I am!

But – who am I?

Will my beautiful blossoms produce peaches, or apricots, or plums, or cherries?

Am I to make pies or jam?

What am I to do?

Shakespeare said,

To thine own self be true.

What does that mean?

That question feels like a stone buried deep inside my heart.

This stone holds the question.

This stone holds the answer.

Another tree,

Another season,

Another winter –

Beautiful, glorious, peaceful winter.

A winter infused with magic,

A spring infused with hope,

A summer infused with growth,

A fall infused with harvest.

That’s what I am to do:

Learn from the winter.

Enjoy the spring.        

Grow into the summer.

Partake of the fall.

Love my life!

Celebrate my life!

Dance in the harmony of all seasons expressing at once.

The Work Dance

In my life I have had a habit of putting other's needs before my own. This is something I saw my mother do, and I picked it up and embraced it like a thumb and a blanket. In the past I have looked at this as a noble vice—the kind of habit that only a very loving and giving person would have. And in some respects I still think that is true, but today I’m seeing a side of it that I haven’t chosen to look at until now. After watching myself the past few days, I see that I have been guilty of using this habit as an excuse for me to squirm out of my adult responsibilities.  I wasn’t expecting to stumble on this version of what I call the work dance—suddenly becoming helpless when one is asked to do work.

In the morning I’m tired and don’t want to get up. So, I drag myself out at the last minute feeling tired and a bit resentful at having to leave my cozy bed. I’m still in my pajamas late into the morning, even though I’ve been up for several hours. My routine is to exercise in the morning. Pretending that I am going to go out and exercise gives me a great excuse for not being dressed so late in the morning. My reason for this is I am putting Jamie’s and her kids’ needs first, so I don’t have time for me. (That’s the kind of mother I am, unselfish, never thinking of myself.)  The truth is, it’s cold out. I’m not naturally drawn to exercise, and, quite frankly, I don’t want to go running. I didn’t make and commit to a plan last night. And I’m still under the illusion that getting more sleep will make me feel better and give me the vitality that I’m looking for.

I have homework to do this month. If I stay on top of it and do what I have outlined, then I will be prepared and get the learning that I am going for. I haven’t done very much this week because I have been involved with Jamie and her kids. When the kids go to bed, I stay busy finishing things up with the needs of the family and visiting with my new grand-baby. The truth is that this family is so well put together that an excuse like that is just an excuse to justify not doing what I don’t want to do. My homework takes something of me. It takes focus. It takes discipline. It takes time. It is easy for me to say that I don’t have time to sit down and work on my homework because of all the demands of the children and household. But in reality, I do have plenty of time, to do it after the kids are in bed or in the morning before they wake up. The discipline, focus, and commitment are the things that are missing, not the opportunity.

I used to think that as long as I had an excuse for my behavior, then anything was permissible. I’m now learning that if I hang on to that belief, then most of my creative energy is spent on making up excuses.

Good Enough

It happened in fifth grade reading group. I hated reading out loud – each child taking turns standing up to read one at a time. I needed time to become familiar with what I had to read. It came my turn. I stood up and began reading. My best was to read slow and stumble over most of the words. Feeling extremely self-conscious standing in front of my reading group, I caught out of the corner of my eye one girl whisper to another, “listen to Anita read, pass it on.” She silently giggled, whispered the message to the next child in line, creating a chain connecting the group.

I was devastated. True to my ten-year-old pride, I swallowed the ball of fire and rage in my throat, quickly turning it into a ball of pain and self-punishment. The moment I swallowed that anger, I began an unattainable quest to become good enough. I believed if I could be a good enough reader, I would never be ostracized again. If I could be a good enough friend I would be included, despite my lack. If I could be good enough at anything, I would have no problems.  I would never experience pain again.

The pursuit to become good enough has been an obsession for most of my life. At age 53, I got new insight. Those were mean kids. It never was about me. My not being good enough was something I made up in my head. Those kids were dealing with their own insecurities and pain.

I forgive my classmates for not giving me the love and support I so desperately needed at that time. But more importantly, I forgive myself for buying into a big ugly lie and putting myself into a prison of my own making.

Reading with Mom

I loved books. I would lie in bed with my mother while she read story after story to my sisters and me. I loved the closeness this created, as we were entertained with adventures that written words painted in our imaginations. In my mind, the only way that I could access this magical world of story, was if someone else did the reading for me. I simply could not connect with the written word by myself.

At Polk School, we had reading groups that were numbered. Group One was the spot for the precocious children – the ones with promise and worthy of expecting futures as successful professionals. Group Two was for the filler kids, the ones who were good enough to do something with their lives, but definitely not the leaders or the ones destined for true success. The children in Group Three had no hope. They were the stupid kids.  They were the children that kids made fun of because of their lesser intelligence.

I didn’t fit in any group. I longed to be one of the chosen in Group One, but I was never one of them. Group Two was where I usually ended up, even though my reading skills lagged behind many in that group. I was put in Group Three once, but that only lasted a couple of days, because I understood the work, despite symptoms of dyslexia. I was frustrated with reading, spelling and anything that tested my ability to comprehend or communicate through written language.

Now, as an adult, I am a good reader and I love to read. My mother’s reading to me showed me what a high price I would pay if I quit trying and stepped into a box labeled Learning Disability.  I will always be grateful for the magnificent world her time and attention unlocked for me.

The Smell of School

There is an odor that is distinctly a school smell.  It is a mixture of old books, sweaty kids, industrial strength cleaner, and school lunch.  I actually like this smell. I went to elementary school in the 1960’s, the time of purple ditto copies.  Unlike the fresh warm Xerox copies of today, fresh ditto copies were cold. They had a sent that I can’t describe, but one I will never forget. I loved that smell, but I didn’t love the work it represented.  If a ditto copy ever got wet, the ink would run, leaving a purple trail of evidence of its existence. I cleaned many lingering purple marks with Dutch cleanser and a rag.

When I think of that smell and school, memories of our janitors, Bart and Morris, pop into my head. They were always there when we needed them. They were busy pushing long, gray rag mops down the halls of Polk School; dousing child vomit with sawdust and then sweeping it up as if nothing happened; filling the soap containers in the bathrooms with pink powdered soap, and then cleaning piles of it off the sink; and scraping wads of single folded squares of toilet paper, mixed with water and pink grainy soap off the ceiling in the 5^th and 6^th graders bathrooms. I would say “Hi, Morris” or “Hi, Bart” when I saw them. Bart would answer back in his strong Dutch accent. Morris would smile revealing his missing tooth. I find it odd that we were allowed to call these two adult men by their first names in a time when all adults were addressed by their last names preceded by a Mr., Mrs., Miss, Uncle, or Aunt.

These wonderful, kind men were given far less credit and money than they deserved.

Waking with Spirit

Spirit wakes me. “Go write.”

I jump to the call, eager and willing.

I look at the clock –

It’s so early. I need my rest.

I will be tired, how will I get through my day?

I reconsider. I wisely go back to sleep.

My alarm wakes me. “Get to work.”

No time to write. I missed my chance.

Spirit, how can I follow you and stay in this world?

My little one – let go – relax.

I will take care of you. We will work together.

I know your needs and I know your heart.

Trust me with them and try something new.

Your needs are important to me.

I will take care of you..

I need a body to dance my dance.

I need a voice to sing my song.

I need a hand to write my words.

Wake up little one and play with me.

Try it out.

Trust me with the lead.

We will take turns, and lead together.

Message from Mess

I assisted in the move of a hoarder. Her house was so crammed full of junk there was only a small a path from room to room. There were beanie babies, little figurines, clothes, purses, shoes, bedding, books, tons of craft stuff: fabric, paint, brushes, wood, and an endless supply of craft magazines, as well as human-interest magazines. She only had one day to get out of the house, so instead of going through, purging and organizing her belongings, we packed it all up and sent it to storage. Holding on to all of this stuff was costing her tons of money, her marriage, and her happiness.

I could so relate to her. I liked many of the things she had. She had magazines I would subscribe to if it weren’t for the hard time I have throwing them away. She had beautiful fabric, cute stuffed animals, and lots of things I liked. I could see my mind wishing all of her crap (well, some of it) would go from her house to mine. I wondered what all of those things represented to her and why it was so hard for her to let them go.

However, I do know what it would represent for me. It would symbolize living a life I want but don’t have. Expressing myself creativity, but being too fearful to even try; taking adventures and going places that I’m missing out on now; owning cute things, somehow believing they will make me cute; Dreaming of making  doll clothes for my grandchildren symbolizing our love and connection.  Clinging on to my kids toys and clothes in some way believing if I have these things, my children will always be close and shield me from experiencing loneliness.

The truth is at the end of the day, all I’d have is a mountain of junk and no room for me. All of the creativity would still be unexpressed. My kids would still be gone. My grandkids still wouldn’t have homemade doll clothes, and wouldn’t be thinking about me every minute of every day. I still wouldn’t have made any of the recipes in the magazines or crossed stitched even one of the patterns in the hundreds of magazines to choose from.

That empty hole in my heart that I tried to fill by buying more and different things would still be there – connecting me to every past hurt and failure.

Letting go and disconnecting from possessions has been one of the most painful, scary and healing things I have ever done. Letting go of past memories, unfulfilled dreams, and the feelings associated with them is a huge step, and in my opinion, one worth taking. When I feel the feelings that come up when I let go of my things and their meanings, and

turn to the Savior for comfort, love, and understanding I heal. I know that he knows exactly what it is like to be me. He loves me and understands me; free of judgment, condemnation, or disappointment. He knows exactly what I experience, making it possible to bring 100% light to my broken heart. This gives me feelings of worth and value that replace all those feelings of despair, loneliness, helplessness and insecurity. It gives me the space to let go of my things and my pain and opens a place for joy, adventure and faith. Even without those things, I can still have dreams, connection and fun!

It surprises me that I found this message in the middle of a messy house. I thank this woman for the opportunity to see a little inside her and a little inside me. I pray for her. I pray that she can find the courage to part with her "things." I pray that she will be filled from the only place that will completely fill the hole that all mortal experience. I pray that she knows that she isn't alone and that in some way we are all alike.

The New Story of My Life

Finally! Finally, I have permission to step out of my old story.

My Old Story:

A story of a little girl who was needy,

Born to a family who needed someone to need.

A little girl laden with life’s challenges early,

Before she understood the difference between challenges and life.

A little girl who thought she needed others to think for her.

A beautiful little girl.

A beautiful family.

A beautiful story.

A Story …

It is time and the opportunity is here

For me to write a new story.

My New Story:

A story of a strong, competent, free woman,

Living in a world that needed her light.

A woman accepting life’s challenges late,

After she understood there was no difference between living life and hunting treasure.

A woman who loved her ideas, and loved thinking them.

A beautiful woman.

A beautiful life.

A beautiful story.

A Story . . .

The truth of either of these stories

Lies in the seeker looking for the story.

The pen that writes them and interprets them

Is the pen that spins them.

The truest part of both of these stories

Is that I’m the one who holds the pen

And the one who creates the vision.

Growth is a Process - Not an Event

For the last year and a half, I have focused much of my energy towards getting my master’s degree. I have been reading, writing, meditating, tracking, rating, dancing, volunteering, nurturing, talking, speaking, healing, observing, meeting, soul gazing, laughing, crying, releasing, quivering, reframing, and forgiving. This process has required a huge commitment physically as well as emotionally. I see the payoff of this work in how I relate to myself and with the world.

The basis of my work at University of Santa Monica is identifying misinterpretations of reality and resolving issues. I have released negative energy associated with events or memories from my past. I have been digging deep into my subconscious mind looking for hurt and misunderstandings that I can bring forward and bathe in loving, healing energy. When issues I have stumbled over for years resurface, I rejoice thinking that I have found the Holy Grail. However, as I go forward in my life, I find myself not quite as free as I had hoped. One of the principles I have learn at school is that growth is a process – not an event.  

This reminds me of an experience that I had last week.

I was up on the hill in my yard looking at the fruit trees we planted ten years ago. Upon close examination, I found that a bore had gotten into one tree and destroyed it. To protect the surrounding trees, I decided to dig out the infested one. I began digging. It took a lot of effort and many tools. It was hard to find the roots and hard to cut the roots from the ground. I was left with a few scrapes as battle scars from my hard work. It took me a few days of cutting, digging, and removing the unnecessary debris. But my efforts paid off and the tree was finally out – or so I thought. The tree was too heavy to lift out of the hole, so I asked my husband to help. When he tried to get it out, he found two major roots that hadn’t been completely severed. Once they were located, it was easy to clip them loose. The tree was completely free from the ground ready to be removed.

Digging out a dysfunctional tree is much like digging out a dysfunctional belief. In both cases, it takes a lot of time, tools, and energy to uncover, sever and dislodge what is keeping them in place. After a lot of effort, it may seem as if the job is complete, but there may still be more work to do. If you stick with it, no matter what, you remove both of them and replace them with something new and beautiful.

Now that my tree is out and cut into smaller pieces, ready to be burned, it really is quite small and takes up relatively little space.

Balance

I just filled my car up at the cheapest gas station that I could find. I paid $3.89 a gallon and filled my tank for $70.00. This has the potential of sending my mind crazy with fear and despair for the future. The money, health care and political fighting are spinning out of control in this country. There is unrest and upheaval overseas. Looking through these eyes is very discouraging and I feel desperate.

I also just listened to several talks on TED.com. What I heard there were bright minds with innovative ideas and solutions to the challenges before them. I heard people talking of educating children in a way that honers their natural genius and abilities. I heard ideas and trends of people coming together and sharing goods and information.

As much fear and anxiety as my $70.00 gas tank can tap into is lessened and can be almost completely eliminated by the hope and excitement that I experience when I hear the ideas and plans that are out there for our collective future. It's a great time to be alive. I feel like I am a part of a change in humanity and lifestyle that will have an impact as big as the invention of the car and the airplane. I can't wait to hear the stories that I tell my grandchildren and great grandchildren.

My life has been so full the past two weeks.
First of all, I went down to Jana’s house where she cut my hair, we went for a walk on the beach, I played with Jay, and I enjoyed being with her and Wes.





 Just a few days later, I flew to Utah where Annalisa and Ellie came to the airport to pick me up. They were in Utah for the weekend and they stayed an extra day so that we could see each other.
 
 They took me to Jamie’s house where Shawn, Kari & Phoebe were waiting along with Jamie’s family to introduce me to Chase Dixon Dana, just a few days old.

I am staying at Jamie and Ben’s house to help them with this new addition as well as with Katelyn and Collin. So here I am, holding a brand new baby, dancing in my twirly skirt with Katelyn & Collin, and watching this amazing family in action.
Then Brad and Sam drove up to see this new little one and everybody else. So I got to enjoy all of this with them too.


Just when I thought it I had about hit my maximum level of pride, we went to Phoebe Jane’s first birthday party (where I finally got to see Andrew). Kari did an amazing job on throwing a magnificent fairy party complete with eating gourmet food and cupcakes, painting fairy wands, coloring fairy shrinkie-dinks and going on a treasure hunt. The eight or so guests as well as the birthday girl were all dressed in fairy dresses. Everything about the party was extraordinary, right down to cleaning up the kitchen afterward with Kari’s lovely mother Wendy.
And then . . . that night Andrew brought Margo and they joined all of us for dinner. I always love being around that girl, and I love seeing and listening to Andrew and his way of seeing the world.

I have a family that I love and that loves each other. I have children-in-law that accept and welcome me into their lives and their homes. The only members of my family that I haven’t seen in the last week and a half are Brady, who is finishing up his Ph.D. and couldn’t get away, and Jeff, who is on a mission in Brazil serving the Lord and his fellow man. Even though I haven't been able to see them I am happy to know they are doing good things with their time.
Life just doesn’t get better than this!

Valentines Limericks

Here are some Limericks that I wrote for my Class
Happy Valentines Day!

O’Leary’s Gifts
There once was a man named O’Leary
On Valentine’s Day, he was weary.
His wife wanted more
So he went to the store
And got gifts that made her eyes teary.


Valentine’s Day Disconnect
Valentine’s Day comes just once a year
Girls in the land all begin to cheer
The men start to sweat,
They’ve never been right yet
They’d rather just go out and get a beer.


Unlearned Lesson
Poor Tom spent the night in the doghouse.
The gifts that he gave made him such a louse.
If he’d bought his wife jewels
Instead of more tools,
Her affection on him she would gladly douse.

My Story

Last night I went to Toastmasters. I liked it. I had a good feeling there. I liked the people and I liked what they had to say. In Toastmasters, when you give your first talk, or “icebreaker,” you introduce yourself and tell your story. Last night two women gave their icebreaker talks. I loved listening to their stories!
The first woman, Andrea, was very polished and had a well-organized and interesting talk. She told about where she came from and how she got to where she is now. I could relate to four or five things that said and I wanted to talk to her. Her confident yet humble style was very engaging.
A woman named Tara gave the second “icebreaker.” She was absolutely gorgeous. Her tall thin body, her lovely hair and her kind beautiful face gave me a sense of security, groundedness, confidence, and purpose. Her speech was about pivotal moments in her life. She was obviously nervous, clinging to her notes (which she didn’t use), and speaking with a slight quiver in her voice. She shared her heart. She told how her parent’s divorce had shaken her world and left her insecure and thinking poorly of herself. She also shared how God was directing her toward her purpose and helping her get back on track. I admired her for breaking through her insecurities by being vulnerable – sharing her heart in front of a room full of people. After she spoke, the message in my heart for her was;
“You are so beautiful. You have so much to give and you’re giving it! I can’t wait for you see in you what I see in you.”
If I enjoyed listening to these women so much, why do I have such resistance to sharing my own story? I feel a strong sense of embarrassment and shame around telling it. My story is a story of a little girl who believed that she had no talents and that she was flawed in a way that put her at a distinct disadvantage to her peers. This disadvantage made her know that if she did not have help from those around her, she would be left behind and alone. Then one day, she was shown that this story was made up from the perspective of a young child. She now had a choice to continue believing it as she always had or update it and see it through adult eyes. Seeing this choice was both the good news and the bad news, because leaving her story behind would upset everything in her world.
That’s my story.
Isn’t that the story of every person on this planet? Aren’t we all living out the same story with different details, at different stages? Why then, if this is the Universal Story, do I feel so separate and alone in it? Maybe part of the aloneness comes from hiding my story and thinking that I am the only one that has experienced it. Last week I shared part of my story with my creative writing class. I was embarrassed to show my writing. I was hesitant to bore them with all of the details of my experience. The reaction I got from them was very different from what I was expecting. They liked it. They related to it. They asked for more. That was exactly the way I felt after listening to Andrea and Tara at Toastmasters last night.
Is God big enough to heal my heart and allow enough acceptance and love to shine on what I have to say? Will I allow my story to thaw and then tell it? Is the desire to share, heal and speak my truth bigger then the insecurity and doubt that has run through my veins for most of my life? I guess the only way to find out is to put it to the test. So, I will write my story and share it with my creative writing class and on my blog. I will continue to go to Toastmasters, and I will give my “icebreaker.” The only way I know to find out the truth about God and the truth about me is to put it to the test.

Yin and Yang

This is an old post that I have revised.

The question What does the feminine and masculine energy mean to you? was posed to me. After pondering this question for a few days, I came up with an answer.

Recently I completed my job as a preschool teacher. The thoughts and feelings that have been surfacing since I took this action are densely packed in fear. This fear that I am experiencing is not new to me. It is a fear of not knowing what to do next. It is a fear of being lonely and bored. The busyness of my job has helped to keep this monster at bay. I awoke this morning panicked, consumed by this fear. I decided to address it with some free-form writing. It didn't take long before a voice emerged repeating the words, I don't want to. In the past, I have either listened to this voice and responded with procrastination, or silenced this voice by forcing myself to do what I had to do. This method of dealing with a part of me that doesn't want to has led me to negative self-judgment, jealously, despondency, depression, and pain. Today I wrote I don't want to over and over. I was tempted to move in and ask myself, Why, what caused this? Don't feel this way. However, I didn't. Instead, I responded with I hear you. It felt good to express what I had to say, and let it be. There was no need to judge, squelch, or fix.

The point of all of this is . . .

Feminine energy is acceptance, understanding, love and nurturing. It says: I love you just the way you are. I can see that you are hurt and suffering. Whatever you do is acceptable to me. It can be a nasty world out there. The feminine alone creates self-pity and despair, bringing understanding with no action. Masculine energy is judgment, action, and improvement. It says: You can do better than that. Don’t let your feelings stop you. You’re up to the task. If you want different results, you have to approach the problem differently. The masculine alone creates self-righteousness and force, calling for action without understanding.

I believe that bringing the understanding and love of the feminine energy to a person or situation is healing and comforting, sending messages such as I love you; I’m sorry that you’re hurt; You don’t have to go through this alone. It lays a foundation and creates an opening for the action and judgment of masculine energy to come in. The message the masculine energy brings is You have choice; How do you want to deal with this? What would support you to move forward? What do you need? What action can you take?

Listening to both the feminine and masculine sides of myself as I deal with an issue provides perfect balance and creates forward movement and growth.

I miss Jefferson

This Christmas all of my children were here except Jefferson. He is on his mission in Brazil. Jeff didn't get to be here, but we did get to talk to him. The following is something that I wrote about him the day he left for his mission.

I don't know what I think of motherhood. Sure it's wonderful - all of the cute things that they say and do. All of the fun things that I get to say and do because I have them. But what about the other part? What about all of the poopy diapers and talking back? Well, I guess I knew that that was a part of it too. The part that I'm having a tough time with is the broken heart that comes when one of my kids leave. Growing up and separating is natural and part of life, but it sure can hurt. Jefferson left for his mission in Brazil this week. I'm proud of him and I'm glad that he is going, but I'm really not enjoying feeling like my insides just got ripped out. If missing out on knowing him meant that I wouldn’t have to experience pain, I would definitely choose knowing him. But, if I had it my way, I’d skip the pain.