There's this little place I go inside of me when I write. I can feel myself snuggle in there when I sit down at my computer. It's not completely dark, but it's definitely dimly lit. I'm not always there when I write things for this blog, and I'm not even always there for every single sentence in a post sometimes. This has been a weird close of an old year and opening of the new one for me, and I'm nestled in to that little spot on my brain's couch ready to pour out a little bit of myself and send it out to fly around on the interewebz where anyone and everyone can stumble upon it. Isn't that sad that's me being brave? I guess I'm not much of a risk taker any more.
The past few weeks have been a little depressing because I have been an invalid. Well, I feel that way anyway. I have barely been out of the bed. I've had some sort of crud that almost burst my ear drums, Chewy bit me pretty badly and I could barely walk for a few days, mother nature came to visit, and now I have strep throat. So, I've felt pretty useless. It's one thing to do nothing all the time because I want to. It's another because that's all I CAN do. Compared to what I was, I am feeling a lot better now, although the puss pocket on the back of my throat (enjoy that visual) is dragging me down.
In spite of the bout of virus and bacteria that have ravaged my poor body, nothing has knocked the wind out of my sails faster than getting bit by a short, stocky, angry Pekingese. Talk about childhood issues rising to the surface in a tempest of blood, teeth, screams, and growls. I felt so defeated.... worthless.... heartbroken. It is so hard to give and give and give and love unconditionally and even have a dog seemingly throw it back in your face... or bite it till it is bruised, swollen, and bloody. I swung my foot off the bed, and I think his reflexes from a past life kicked in, and he may have thought he was going to get kicked. To be honest, I'm not sure exactly what happened because I didn't see it happening. I just felt it. I felt it through every ounce of me. Through all that I felt my dad not loving me, all my faults, loss of people I love... weird, right? All that from a dog bite.
I don't write about my belief system often. I don't flood my Facebook or any one else's with Christian stuff, but even so I've been defending my faith a lot lately it seems. Apparently it's not really the cool thing to do to be a Christian any more. It's what dumb people believe in, and any one with any sense- common or otherwise- would do better to believe in nothing. It's fine to be spiritual, but just don't put a label on it. It's fine to believe in the paranormal, but just don't attribute it to anything biblical. If God was really a good, loving God, why would he ask us to worship him? Everyone has a right to their own feelings and to figure out the world that makes sense to them, but God makes sense to me.
For me, Chewy chewing my foot off made me think about all this. I love him so much. It hurts when he hurts me because I want good things for him. I want to pet him, cuddle him, and rub his little belly like I do my other dogs... without him going ballistic and wanting to kill me. I found him wandering, meandering alone. He was filthy. He stank. He was sick and needed medical attention. He was hungry, thirsty, and whatever life he had before has left him scared, scarred, and damaged. I picked him up. My family, friends, and I have cleaned him, shaved his matted fur, taken him to the vet, given him medicine, petted him, fed him, fell in love with him, and dealt with his tantrums, his bites, and growls. We have reveled in his cuddles, his licks, and his training.... and through all the pain, (and obviously it has been actually physically painful) we have loved him. That is really a good example of unconditional love... and maybe some stupidity on our part for dealing with all this (haha)... but we love him. He makes me angry. He makes me cry. He makes me laugh, smile, and even enjoy the fact that he wakes me up in the middle of the night because he's sneezed in my face. Because at least he feels safe and wants to be close to me. If we were to give him up, it would be certain death for him. No shelter would place a dog that without a doubt would bite or be aggressive like he can be.
God found me. He deals with my black heart and stinky mouth. I disappoint him so much every single day, I'm sure. I know I probably hurt him. I do things I'm not proud of, that I regret, and that I fail at a thousand times over. I can't even meet the expectations I place on myself... much less live up to any one else's. My past has me scared and scarred, and sometimes it probably feels like I sneeze in his face.... but he loves me so much, I think he probably likes it. I see him everywhere I look... from the beginning of time and the expansion of the universe...the atoms that build us.... to the blue in the eyes of my niece and nephew and the wonderful heart of my husband. He is everywhere I look. I can't help it if you can't see it. I don't know how to paint the picture any clearer, and I don't really feel like arguing about it anymore because we aren't going to change each other's minds. The only thing I can say to you is live...and let me. That's about all we can do here anyway.
The past few weeks have been a little depressing because I have been an invalid. Well, I feel that way anyway. I have barely been out of the bed. I've had some sort of crud that almost burst my ear drums, Chewy bit me pretty badly and I could barely walk for a few days, mother nature came to visit, and now I have strep throat. So, I've felt pretty useless. It's one thing to do nothing all the time because I want to. It's another because that's all I CAN do. Compared to what I was, I am feeling a lot better now, although the puss pocket on the back of my throat (enjoy that visual) is dragging me down.
In spite of the bout of virus and bacteria that have ravaged my poor body, nothing has knocked the wind out of my sails faster than getting bit by a short, stocky, angry Pekingese. Talk about childhood issues rising to the surface in a tempest of blood, teeth, screams, and growls. I felt so defeated.... worthless.... heartbroken. It is so hard to give and give and give and love unconditionally and even have a dog seemingly throw it back in your face... or bite it till it is bruised, swollen, and bloody. I swung my foot off the bed, and I think his reflexes from a past life kicked in, and he may have thought he was going to get kicked. To be honest, I'm not sure exactly what happened because I didn't see it happening. I just felt it. I felt it through every ounce of me. Through all that I felt my dad not loving me, all my faults, loss of people I love... weird, right? All that from a dog bite.
I don't write about my belief system often. I don't flood my Facebook or any one else's with Christian stuff, but even so I've been defending my faith a lot lately it seems. Apparently it's not really the cool thing to do to be a Christian any more. It's what dumb people believe in, and any one with any sense- common or otherwise- would do better to believe in nothing. It's fine to be spiritual, but just don't put a label on it. It's fine to believe in the paranormal, but just don't attribute it to anything biblical. If God was really a good, loving God, why would he ask us to worship him? Everyone has a right to their own feelings and to figure out the world that makes sense to them, but God makes sense to me.
For me, Chewy chewing my foot off made me think about all this. I love him so much. It hurts when he hurts me because I want good things for him. I want to pet him, cuddle him, and rub his little belly like I do my other dogs... without him going ballistic and wanting to kill me. I found him wandering, meandering alone. He was filthy. He stank. He was sick and needed medical attention. He was hungry, thirsty, and whatever life he had before has left him scared, scarred, and damaged. I picked him up. My family, friends, and I have cleaned him, shaved his matted fur, taken him to the vet, given him medicine, petted him, fed him, fell in love with him, and dealt with his tantrums, his bites, and growls. We have reveled in his cuddles, his licks, and his training.... and through all the pain, (and obviously it has been actually physically painful) we have loved him. That is really a good example of unconditional love... and maybe some stupidity on our part for dealing with all this (haha)... but we love him. He makes me angry. He makes me cry. He makes me laugh, smile, and even enjoy the fact that he wakes me up in the middle of the night because he's sneezed in my face. Because at least he feels safe and wants to be close to me. If we were to give him up, it would be certain death for him. No shelter would place a dog that without a doubt would bite or be aggressive like he can be.
God found me. He deals with my black heart and stinky mouth. I disappoint him so much every single day, I'm sure. I know I probably hurt him. I do things I'm not proud of, that I regret, and that I fail at a thousand times over. I can't even meet the expectations I place on myself... much less live up to any one else's. My past has me scared and scarred, and sometimes it probably feels like I sneeze in his face.... but he loves me so much, I think he probably likes it. I see him everywhere I look... from the beginning of time and the expansion of the universe...the atoms that build us.... to the blue in the eyes of my niece and nephew and the wonderful heart of my husband. He is everywhere I look. I can't help it if you can't see it. I don't know how to paint the picture any clearer, and I don't really feel like arguing about it anymore because we aren't going to change each other's minds. The only thing I can say to you is live...and let me. That's about all we can do here anyway.
You could be reading this right now, rolling your eyes thinking I'm crazy. In fact you may have seen me treat someone horribly. Maybe I treated you badly. I hope I didn't, and if I did, I'm sure an open, honest conversation would clear things up. But whatever I have done, it's been all me so try not to blame god for me being a jerk.
I love this post. You know the really cool thing about being so imperfect (and I'm talking about me, too, sister)? We don't have to pay for those mistakes and imperfections. Someone did that for us...yep, ALL that bad stuff...paid for...all of it...once and for all. That is freedom in its truest sense. God is big enough to handle our bad thoughts, bad mouths, and bad actions. I think the hardest part for those who don't believe is that they cannot trust. Maybe someone has hurt them, maybe they are angry, maybe they just don't want to feel so obligated to try to be "good" because they think that it's binding, imprisoning, or will suck the fun out of life. But nothing sucks the life out of us like feeling bad, guilty, angry, hopeless. No amount of "fun" can drive that type of hopelessness away. God gives us a "stay of execution" because when He looks at us in all our stinkiness, He sees Jesus (if we have reached the point of trusting Jesus), and He sees perfection because Perfection lives within us. I think we can't quite wrap our minds around that one. But, that is what unconditional love does...accepts despite the fact that we've bitten, sneezed on, pooped on, torn up, stunk up, that which is good. I'm with you...I want that type of love, hope, forgiveness, and stay of execution in being declared "not guilty." It's the only real peace there is, and it's one of those coupons that never expire...not in this world or the next.
ReplyDelete