Skip to main content

Time to wander in the forest a bit

Art by Lulu22 @ Deviant Art
My eyes are gritty and my feet are sore. My heart aches for all that had to be left behind. And yes, even as a woman of strong faith, I cry out to Abba, "Why?"

Yes, I know that so many others have suffered far more than I: the Syrian Christians, the people of Turkey, the mother whose child has been hospitalized for more than a year with a rare illness.  Their suffering has been enormous.

Now is one of those times in my life when prayer becomes a gaping yaw. There are often no words, just tears. I cling to my rosary, talking to Mary.

My biggest concern right now is that I have lost all trust in people. My last two jobs, I had bosses who've nurtured and taught me professionally, pushed me when I needed it, were stringent regarding my writing and were so very kind to me.

Until I got booted.

Now, I'm wondering if I can ever trust someone in management above me again. I'll always be second-guessing myself, trying to figure out if what they are telling me is some sort of veiled declaration or clue - and here I am, with no decoder ring.

It hurts me to my very core. I worked at a place where I truly believe I made a difference, and that my skill set was valued. I thought the work I did was important, not just to the company but to the people we served.

But: no. I'm not valuable or necessary or important. I am done.

Thankfully, we have a bit of a financial cushion so that I can take it easy for a month or so. I'll be looking, but several people have told me I need to be writing. I have two books in mind right now (one started), so maybe this is it.

My path is very dark right now. The brambles scratch my ankles, and the thick blushes on eather side seem to be hiding ... something. Something venomous or dangerous is lurking. I feel not only alone, but scared.

I've got some things in the positive column, but I keep thinking: who the hell is gonna hire a chubby 52 year old to run their social media? If I'm up against a lithe 25 year old, I'll lose every time.

For now, I am resting, reading, praying. It's all I can do.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Trying to "end run" God

If you're a football fan, you know what an end run is. From Merriam-Webster:
a football play in which the ballcarrier attempts to run wide around the end of the line We try to "end run" God a lot. I do. I figure I know better. I've got this - no need to worry the Big Guy about such a trivial thing.

Of course, it never works.

Like the puppy above, when we try and evade the tough obstacle (even though we KNOW we will eventually have to do it), we end up - well, off in the bushes.

But oh! How I wished my way worked. I'd love to take a flying leap and land smoothly and gracefully. People would be in awe, as if watching Simone Biles nail a balance beam routine that no one else would even attempt. I would shyly look down and blush - just lightly - and acknowledge (But humbly! Oh so humbly!) my achievement.

But no: I am the one pulling myself out of the bushes, scratches all over my legs and twigs in my hair. I'd hear that gentle but loving voice of God saying, &quo…

Secret Santa!!

Too old for Santa? I think not.

Yes, there are discussions as to whether we should "lie" to kids and tell them that Santa brings them gifts vs. We can't lie to the kids; it's wrong.

There is also the "Christmas is about Jesus" vs. "But Santa is magical!"

You know, we have so few magical and joyful moments, and less and less as we get older. Santa is fun. And the kids usually figure it out, and no one I know was ever scarred for life for believing that Santa brought them and every child everywhere a toy for Christmas.

It's the magic of looking up at the sky on a clear December night, thinking "I'll wait up to see Santa" and later, as you fell asleep at the window, being in your daddy's arms as he carries you to bed.

It's the magic of putting out cookies and milk (or beer, because Santa does like beer) and maybe some carrots for the reindeer, and then checking in the morning to make sure the food was all consumed.

It's…

Advent Brokenness

It was a lovely May evening, the kind we in Michigan savor like honey. After the brutal cold of winter, flowers blossomed, grass greened, mosquitoes flocked. School was almost done for the year - just the formalities of 8th grade graduation were ahead.

Why not saddle up the horse and go for a ride? Why not, indeed. So my sister and I did. I took Prince out across the road from our house, to romp through the weeds on a path my father mowed for us. The view from horseback on a spring night - well, nearly Heaven.

Until Prince bolted. He spooked. I fell. And my arm broke. Compound fracture.

My dog, a collie, had followed us out. He was not particularly trusting of Prince, as Prince would never allow himself to be herded, and this vexed my collie. My dog, channeling his inner Lassie, ran home without me.

My sister had been in the yard with her boyfriend at the time, Gary, waiting for me to come back. Instead, it was just the dog loping across the road. That didn't seem right, so my si…