I need shelter.

I need shelter.

This home I make,
it is shelter.

But inside and outdoors noisy.
It’s beautiful,
(but or is it and?)
always  a bit imperfect.

The artistry of the saints surrounds me
in the woodwork,
silver spickets,
mosaic, paintings.
Talents shared.

I want to be swallowed up in

joy

here.

Sometimes, instead I’m tears.

My table, please
be rich,
blessed.
Each spoon prepared with love.
I don’t want to settle for bearable.

Beds bid fresh and warm as toast.
Sleep wraps my exhausted body.
My nightstand full of books,
And good intentions.
The clock reminds me to commit.

Colors whisper welcome.
Squash to greet.
A hint of lavender gravity.
Blue sky to soothe.

My children behave politely,
engaged
on good  days.  Other days,
some
Hate me.

The black wiry dog pants adorable.
I sweep mounds enough of his hair
to
Create
an entirely new creature.

My beloved
fireplace
burns peace,
A blanket for my empty arms.

Only baths and creams caress and care for my
aging skin. 

The white porch swing shivers in the
Wind.
I’ll only spend time with her
in the warm weather,
After daffodils.

Birds twitter to the feeder.  I don’t need to see them.  It makes
 My heart
Glad that they visit.
My grandmother’s spirit dwells there
as well.

Don’t ask me about
My work.
It weighs
Heavy.

I don’t share the longings of my heart
With any person
who can share them
Intimately.

I met with my spiritual adviser this afternoon. I have to force myself to believe it was a gift from God to his daughter- a daughter who feels like God shouldn't be giving her gifts.  My spiritual adviser is an old friend I've known for a hundred years, and thankfully I knew it was highly unlikely that I could offend him with the content of my current dark thoughts.  And very importantly, I knew he wouldn't care if I cried ugly.  Apparently, crying is the new important spiritual work I need to be about now.  My friend doesn't judge and condemn in these kind of matters; he's a rare gift of a person.  He can listen and hear with his heart. I explained to him the precarious state of my faith.  I spoke out loud, maybe the first time in my life, "I am angry with God. Why did He make me like this? Why can't I be a person who isn't so..."  But I am that person.  I am angry with God and the way I'm made.  And this horrible hand of cards I've been dealt.  I've never been happy to just go along with the crowd in bliss.  I'm not satisfied.  I want to

change....the....world....with who I am,

but I am not.  I've merely been surviving.  Not grieving.  Not growing.  My friend told me it was time to begin to dream again, and most of me staggered internally.  I can't live my dreams, so I've shoved them down completely.  Shut the door, put on my big girl pants, and walked away into the what-I-have-to-do-world.  The kind of atmosphere where I need to provide my own health insurance and retirement.  There's no room for theological study and contemplation or writing.  I have only time for work, menu planning, grocery shopping, laundry, times tables memorization,  cross country meets, football games, vaulting practice, teenage pep talks, reading aloud and spelling words.  Recently, I've opened my packed schedule for regular bouts of sobbing. After all that, there is no sacred space- only exhaustion. 

All I can manage now is hope deferred, and that's never a good thing. 

My assignments from this spiritual advising session seem to be meet again, read some inspiration, write and cry.  And somehow, this makes me feel a wee bit better.

Made it through the holiday season- barely.  Wise One took an emotional nose dive somewhere in November, and it has rocked, shaken, and tested my faith like never before.  It's official- not one of kids is "resilient" as they say.  Pooh Bear is the only one who hasn't gone through a time of utter hate for me and what I've done to our family.  She may some day when she is older.  It became completely overwhelming when all three boys hit that I-can't-stand-my-mom thing all at once.  I can't stand me either.  I'm emotionally and physically exhausted, and it shows in every way. 

  Wise One desperately needed an adolescent counselor, making a total of three kids in therapy with different counselors.  His counselor recommended Buck move to his own place to give Wise One a more definite sense of divorce.  Dr. G. explained kids are way more black and white, and it might help dig Wise One out the hole of depression he'd entered if he had more normalcy.  So, Buck  and Tater have moved.  Surprisingly, it has helped me enter some deeper healing I hadn't let myself do.  I can imagine it is the same for Wise One as well.  After two months of full on disgust with me, he gave me permission to clean his room tonight.  No small accomplishment, since he was sure he couldn't trust me with his stuff until now.  I spent hours weeding out clothes, sorting things, and collecting trash.  I wonder what his response will be tomorrow when he gets home from his dad's?

  Tater comes to visit a few times a week, and makes mayhem.  He spend the entire time saying, "That is stupid.  Dad lets me do that, and I don't have to do what you say anymore."  Terrific.  Hopefully, this will get better with time, since I tow the same line I always have. 

  Peace drove himself to work for the first time tonight.  He called me when he got there safely and when he left to come home.  God bless his conscientious heart!  I love his caution and carefulness.  His work is just a few miles down the road, but this is such a big accomplishment and relief to me to have another driver coming up in the ranks.  Last night, it worked out that I could take him to dinner alone, and we had the best heart to heart talk we've had in a long time.    I got to see a clear picture again that his compassion and kindness are still rooted firmly in place. 

  At times I wonder if the damage done to my children will be redeemed. Makes the gap, the chasm, in my faith more visible doesn't it?  If my children are redeemed, it obviously won't have anything to do with me- only the grace of God. Peace's conversation with me last night shined a little light on my dark heart. 

  I'm reading Angela Thomas' book My Single Mom Life  which a thoughtful friend gave to me along with a basketful of goodies for Christmas.  I am amazed at her insight and perspective.  She's spot on when it comes to feelings, and I'm trying my best to learn from her "lessons learned".  I'll pass the book on to the next single mom who asks...let me know if you think you'd like this type of good read.