Learning to dance in the rain - Whitespace Thursday

I've spent most of my life holding my breath.  Rarely feeling safe enough to exhale, never mind to actually rest.

Despite being an optimist, I am not often a happy one; most of the time my most positive emotion is relief.  Relief that maybe, at last, someone might listen to me.  Maybe, at last, the time of crisis is over.  Maybe, at last, I have some time to myself.  And then I use that time to grieve for all the hard stuff I've been through, before it starts all over again.  Lurching from one crisis or difficult phase to another, I've begun to realise that constantly waiting for the calm after the storm and before the next might not be the best way to live.

The new journal I bought says

 "We are NOT here to wait for the storm to pass but to learn to dance in the rain".

Since moving to the new realm, I hardly ever see actual raindrops fall from the sky.  But the storms of life are just as common above my head here as they were in the old realm.  Soon after moving, I determined that I would live my life more restfully, more peacefully, more quietly, in the hope that it would soothe my soul.  I have prioritised rest, I have as peaceful a life as I can with the two small people and one big person I live with, I savour the quiet when it comes, but I still struggle with unrest in my soul.

I WANT to know how to dance in the metaphorical rain (I've done the literal version).  I'm hoping that I might find the key in the spiritual whitespace Bonnie Gray talks about in her new book.

In her story I am finding strong echoes of my own.  She doesn't promise me solutions.  She offers only "whispers, etched in pain".  But these I trust.  If I speak in my "full voice", when I utter truth from my heart, it is never loud.  I too, can only offer a whisper of wisdom, or confession.

And I too, know what it feels like to be unwanted.  I know the longing of wanting to be known but the overwhelming fear of the transparency that requires.  Her gentle prompts to open up to Jesus, and to find the little girl deep inside me - they reverberate in my soul.  They help me to believe that hard work, self-sufficiency and "getting on with it" are not necessarily the most helpful practices when trying to move past the wounds of the past.  I appreciate her guidance, knowing that she also is a wounded warrior on this pilgrimage of life.

The idea of stepping into 'whitespace' is quite daunting, and yet inviting.  A place where 'being seen' is valued at the cost of our hiding places.  Striving to survive was not my life's goal, yet it is the place I find myself.  I long to be saved, mostly from myself.  So I take Bonnie's challenge to find spiritual whitespace and the gentle mercy of Jesus within it.  I will stop seeking my own solutions and listen for my Saviour's voice.

Jesus promised us 'trouble' in this life, but He also promised He would be present with us.  In all my lonely wonderings about life in the old realm, I forget that He knows, He was there with me, and still is now.

I don't know how to dance in the rain yet, but maybe I  hear a few musical notes floating in my direction.  And I think my toes are starting to tap!  I'll let you know when I've learned a few steps.

Time to sleep? time to rest? or time to remember? - Whitespace Thursday

This week the Princess is claiming sleep as her superpower!  This has happened before (she knows never to take two Benadryl again if she wants to be conscious) but this time it was due to some virus that made her stomach ache but mostly made her crave her bed.  Sir Rianus was slightly perturbed that she was spending so long in slumberland; he claimed it was because he missed her, the Princess is sure he is jealous of her superpower!

Sleep is good, the Princess has always believed so.  It was prescribed to her by her mother as a cure all and it worked fairly well.  Naps have still be known to get the Princess out of a terrible funk sometimes.  But even though the last couple of years have featured a decent night's rest most of the time (unlike when the wee man and little maiden were babes) the Princess still longs for rest.  She can often sleep through noise and light or in strange conditions but she finds it harder to rest in those circumstances.  What she is really looking for is:

"Space to breathe, to feed her soul, and dream dreams."*

This is more elusive to the Princess than sleep.


Princess Morag had been looking forward to this morning as finally her chance to rest.  Finally, there would be some peace and quiet as Sir Rianus was returning to work.  Not to be - the wee man came down with the sickness so the Princess is not alone, and it is not quiet.

But she is here, and she is fighting to maintain her concentration and be creative.  It is not the same though.  The Princess knows her limits.  When her son is present, her radar is switched on, and she cannot rest.  She remembers those long years of his baby and toddler-hood when she could never rest.  She discovered her supercapacity to be hypervigilant.  That's tiring to read, never mind operate your life on!

Only one person knew that she was suffering so much, that she was completely strung out.  He met her in tears of grief and exhaustion.  He met her at the moments when everything was too much.  She wasn't always aware that He was there.  But now that she looks back, it's the only explanation for how she kept going.  She would reach breaking point and then someone would get sick, or Sir Rianus was going to be late home, and she just had to "get on with it" as her mother would always say for another day, another week....

This morning, she is in that same place, of knowing that she needs a break, a rest, and it might not be coming as soon as she would like.  But He is here, He is her strength.  He will help her to keep going.  He will give her the love they need from her.  She trusts in this more now.  She believes He is faithful, because she remembers.

And there might not be a whole hour, but there will be moments of quiet.  There will be time to sit with a cup of coffee and read a little, an interruption probably guaranteed but Princess Morag is getting better at telling Princess Perfectionist to hush and take a break.  It might not be exactly what she wanted out of the time, but it will be enough.

*From Finding Spiritual Whitespace by Bonnie Gray

Alone? - Whitespace Thursday

I went alone.  I invited four people.  Three couldn't make it and one didn't reply.  I didn't mind going alone, it had been my original idea.  But then I thought it might be nice to invite a friend.  I thought inviting four people increased the odds that at least one person might come.  It didn't turn out that way.

For a few hours I felt sad and hurt and rejected.  These were familiar feelings, but it had been a while.  A while since I'd allowed myself to be vulnerable to ask someone for something.  A while since the rejection that I feared, came.  I was pretty sure it wasn't personal, they weren't trying to avoid me.  And when my heart reacted in the same painful manner as in the past, I didn't like myself.

Making my mind up to do it anyway.  Making my mind up to not let myself wallow in bitterness.  Making my mind up that I should do the thing I wanted to do - that was the important thing.  So I got ready.  And I went.  And I was glad.


I sat at the back of the movie theater, in the left corner.  It was a good view.  The small theater was bustling and at the end there was a smattering of applause and some cheering.  They were vocal in their agreement that 'Heaven is for real'.  I agreed too, but slipped out quietly instead of hollering!

When I reached home, I sat in the car for a while.  There were a lot of thoughts and feelings that had arisen.  I had found it frustrating that there could be so little belief within a 'Christian' community.  But the characters in the movie, based on real people, were not saints.  They were just regular people.  And the humanness that was portrayed was heartening.  Trials one on top of the other had threatened to overwhelm.  Then came the voice of a child to tell them not to be afraid.  It was real, Jesus was real, he had seen him.  When each character embraced their brokenness, belief was found shortly after.  If we hide from our pain, we don't need a healer.  If we hide from our faults we don't need a redeemer.  If we hide from the fact that we are lost, we don't need a saviour.  Children naturally look to their caregivers when they are hurt, they are always conscious of the rules for behaviour (even if they don't always follow them) and they don't often go far alone.  As Jesus said, we would do well to be like little children.

"Then He called a child to Him and had him stand among them. 3 “I assure you,” He said, “unless you are converted and become like children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven. 4 Therefore, whoever humbles himself like this child—this one is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven.  "  (Matthew 18:2-4 HCSB)


But what of the little children that we never get to meet, the ones who never get the chance to grow up?  From the evidence in the movie, they go straight to be with Jesus and my heart knows they are happy there; but my heart is broken that families are missing little ones who belong to them.  I cried for the babies I knew that had gone straight to heaven, and later I realised that I must have siblings waiting to meet me there; maybe I have a sister!  Maybe, I wasn't really alone when I went out.

I believe that heaven is for real.  I believe it is closer than I think most days.

Quieting - Whitespace Thursday

He cried and raged and blamed me and told me about all his terrible thoughts about me.

I hadn't committed a crime against him, I had simply said no to the thing he thought he wanted most of all.

I went about my business as he vented his feelings, then when I grew tired of his shouting I sat down beside him.

I invited him to crawl into my lap and he did.

He kept talking, he kept complaining.

I kept holding him and tried to gently correct his angry biased thinking.

Then I closed my mouth and tried to simply let my presence do the talking: my arms wrapped around him.



The impulse I had was what the Lord wants to do for us.

When we are angry, complaining children that didn't get our way.

When we're telling him that it "wasn't supposed to be this way".

When we try to bargain with Him.

When we want to throw Him out of the picture, and no longer bother having Him in our lives.

But at the same time, we're crawling into His lap in prayer.

And all He wants to do is

quiet us with His love.

(Zephaniah 3:17)

Mess - Five Minute Friday

My house is a mess.  I don't like when it's messy but I apparently don't hate it enough to do anything about it, so it's still a mess.  The legos are no longer in the kitchen though - this is a wonderful victory.  Legos and kitchens don't really go well together.  Instead the lego are under the new loft bed.  Loft beds are a very good invention, except when you are trying to put sheets on the loft bed and have to climb up to do so.

I am now seriously wondering whether Emmet's double decker couch idea (from the Lego Movie), may in fact be awesome.  Especially the storage facility under the seats - that was a really good idea....!

In the meantime we will make do with the loft bed and completely inadequate storage, and probably continue to live in a mess.

A mirror for the surface, or the soul? -

Joining with the She-lovelies this month on the theme of mirror.  What does it mean to you?



I normally don't look in the mirror much. I don't usually wear make-up. Occasionally my reflection is so frightening that I apply some for the sake of others, but most of the time, I just shrug and figure I'll do.  I walk my kids to school with my hair unbrushed and often my daughter's is too. I prioritise getting there on time, over grooming, achieving both seems untenable at this time.

Looking in the mirror feels weird to me. I am more of a cerebral person than a sensual one.  I can be tactile defensive and most of the time I am surprised that I have a body and forget that it's what carries me in my mind around.  Sometimes I catch my reflection after I've been at a social event and I'm horrified by the idea that while I was talking with people that they saw me!  It's as if my idea of myself and my physical self don't match.  I've no idea what I think should be different about my body or my face but they just somehow feel wrong a lot of the time.  Especially my face.

I recently rediscovered a song that puts this feeling into words. It was a relief to discover that I'm not the only one who feels this way, although I do still wonder if it's a peculiarly British trait.

"When you feel a little tatty and unhappy with your face. Let it [love] breathe into us, and put you back in place"  (Let love speak up itself - The Beautiful South)

I found it encouraging that the answer to that feeling is love.  Feeling tatty is probably a symptom of not feeling loved.

I have a daughter, so I desperately want her to feel loved and also to protect her from the dangerous worldly messages that surround the female form in the public domain.  I want her to be happy with her body and how she looks but also not to be too hung up on her appearance.  So far I've used a two-prong strategy that consists of:

(1) never letting the word 'fat' pass through my lips.

She is five years old so she has learned the word from other sources but so far it has no judgment value in her understanding - it is not synonymous with bad.

(2) I tell her she is smart and beautiful.

It is imperative that she knows deep down in her bones that these are not either/or categories. I always knew I was smart: there were report cards and parent teacher meetings that evidenced that for me.  I did not know I was beautiful and I still doubt it no matter how many times my husband tells me.  Those words could have been my kryptonite so I am thankful to God that even when a boy said them to me, and I heard them for the first time, it simply gave me a little hope rather than taking me captive to a desire for compliments.  I probably still err too far in the other direction as I treat most compliments with severe suspicion but I suspect that's the Brit in me too!

What is helping me most in accepting that there is a possibility that I am beautiful is that I believe with all of me that my daughter is the most beautiful girl in the world and it turns out that she looks a lot like her mother.  Therefore, I must have some beauty.

For a while I made a habit of looking in the mirror, not at my appearance but to stare into my own eyes in an effort to see into my soul. I often find eye contact uncomfortable, and sometimes even this exercise of looking into my own eyes made me feel uneasy. For months when I did this, all I could see in my eyes was great sadness, even when the rest of my face tried to hide it.

Now when I look in the mirror, and feel 'a little tatty', I remember to look into my eyes, beyond the surface appearance of things to the soul reason for how I feel about myself.  A wrinkle or two, or a white hair, might make me sigh a little, but if I feel despair, I know it's not because of how I look - I need a mirror for my heart, not my face.

Brokenness - Faith Jam

The Princess wonders if you ever broke something when you were a child?  What did you do with it?  Did you take it to your parent, confident that they could fix it?  Did you hide it in fear, knowing that you would be blamed and punished?

Did you ever break a bone in your body and have to be helped while it healed?


Princess Morag does not have a memory of a broken toy, or a broken bone from childhood.  It is hard to pin down exactly what was broken.

Something was broken when she needed to hide her emotions.  Something was broken when she gave up trying to communicate.  Something was destroyed when she was finally rejected.

Maybe what sums it up, is the phrase sometimes used for the family in which a couple is divorced: a 'broken home'.


Princess Morag comes from a broken home.  She was sixteen, and she felt shame.  She leaned on her friends, and hid from the others.  She thought for sure that everybody knew but in reality it's likely that few knew and few cared - that's called high school!

When she met Sir Rianus three years later, she met a kindred spirit.  He knew.  He came from a broken home too!

Fifteen years later, the Princess is trying to keep their home intact.  No more brokenness, that's the goal.  A few cracks have appeared that's for sure.  But she's striving for the happily ever after ending.  It's much harder than she thought it would be.


In her broken home, the Princess gave in to despair.  In her brokenness, the Princess was silent.  In her brokenness, the Princess was rejected and left alone.

At Easter-time, we remember Jesus in distress at the garden of Gethsemane - he pleaded with his friends to stay awake with him but they were blind to his emotions as they slept.  We remember Jesus being tried for crimes, taunted and beaten and though he was innocent, he remained silent.  His body was hung on a cross and he died (though his bones were not broken).  He was buried alone in a tomb.  In all of these things, Jesus appeared weak, but really he was strong beyond belief.

He followed his path, and beyond the grave He showed us victory.

What does the path to victory look like?  Often it looks like a lot of brokenness.  Crawling through days of depression and despair can take strength that belies the sight.  Somehow keeping going, because of hope.  Because of faith in the unseen.

If the source of brokenness can be invisible, so can the source of strength.  Like it's counterpart, it comes through words and actions and inaction.

Words of comfort and encouragement.  Actions of kindness.  Choosing not to criticize or mock or shame.

Jesus came fulfill Isaiah's prophecy.  He came to bind up the broken-hearted.  How will you help him to do that today?

My cross - Faith Jam

My cross is invisible
Constructed of the things never done,
Never said,
Not even begun.

How can you blame someone
For something they didn't do?
But when that omission
Was excruciatingly painful,
Whose fault is the wound in you?

Is it my fault, for all my expectations
Or yours for having none of yourself?

Relationships don't work by magic
An occasional loving glance or a daily kiss.
It is so easy to be in the same room,
And at the same time, completely miss.

You don't notice my sighs,
My words simply waft away
Unacknowledged, unheard
They fall to the ground.

I think of them like paper airplanes,
they are strewn everywhere,
but they are completely invisible to you.

Sometimes, when the conditions are right,
You catch one and even send one right back
But then you are gone again
The air traffic tower is closed,
The landing lights switched off.

Where am I to go?
Who will hear me?
I go to the same place as the psalmists,
They understand.

I look to the mountains,
I look to my God.
Who hears all
And sees all
And knows me inside and out.
He knows my words before they leave my mouth
He knows my heart before it spews out the good and the bad.

When I'm invisible to you,
It feels cruel
It's torture but you can't possibly know what it's like,
Because you're wired differently
Your hurts are of another kind.

I know I've hurt you.
And knowing that hurts me
But I don't think you'd get that
It requires true empathy.

That's what's missing
What is killing me softly
But I realise that in a way it's more comfortable for me
To hide in the shadows and not really be seen

When we're naked and one
I tremble not just with passion, but fear
It's then that you 'know' me
But I wonder how much you care.

Do you long to know me,
Or just to be satisfied?
We are completely united
but still disconnected.

If my eyes meet yours,
I can't handle it either.
We're oh so different,
but then sometimes we're peas in a odd pod.

My cross is not unique,
there are others like us.
That knowledge comforts me
Makes me feel less alone.

I've got to the point
Where I can thank God for my cross
When I ask him to help me
I now know He will.

This is my life,
The past, present and future
To carry this cross so it can fit me for heaven.
Sometimes painful, sometimes gloriously noble.
It was made for me.

Wounded - Faith Jam

As part of the visa process for the new realm, Princess Morag had to undergo a physical examination.  One of the requirements of this physical, was to show the doctor any scars that she had, for them to be documented.  With slight bemusement at this unexpected request, the Princess opened her shirt to show the two open heart surgery scars, and then stretched her waistband far enough in order for the c-section scars to be visible.  The princess supposed it must be important for the government of the new realm to have a record of identifying marks.

The first heart surgery was when she was three years old so the princess has no recollection of her body before the wiggly worm of her scar was a main feature from collar bone to the end of her rib cage.  A mere four years later the second scar overlapped the first in some places, but was a lot straighter.  It snakes down slightly right of centre; nestled in her adult cleavage, it adds a slightly eye-catching effect.  Her scars are noticeable as they are keloid; when they were new in her childhood they were bright red, now they have faded to pale pink.  Although she did get a little frustrated as a teenager when the top of the scar was the last part to fade, the princess rarely bothers about what it looks like as her scars are simply part of her, a silent witness to her survival.  The mechanical heart valve implanted in the second surgery is the not so silent witness.

If her heart surgery scars were an indication of a new lease of life for the Princess, her c-section scars indicate literal new life.  A son and a daughter in consecutive years.

The government of the new realm have a record of Princess Morag's scars, presumably to confirm her identity - their record could one day be used as proof that she is indeed, Princess Morag.  What does a scar prove?  That once there was a wound.  In the case of Princess Morag's scar, those wounds were produced intentionally, using a scalpel, in order to bring ultimate healing to her body and new life from it.

But what of the wounds that Princess Morag has suffered that cannot be seen?  The scars that are not visible to the eye.  All of her life the princess has been asked about the scars on her chest (the other ones don't normally come up in conversation!)  She has always been happy to engage in conversation about the resolution of her congenital heart condition.  But even after that part of her broken heart was mended, her heart has been broken many more times.  A cardiologist could do nothing to fix these other wounds.  She has required a different heart surgeon.  His name is Jesus.

Jesus has scars.  Thomas said he wouldn't believe in the resurrection until he saw the marks and Jesus was happy to oblige when they were standing face to face.  (John 20)

His wounds were born of violence, but his scars bring healing.  As the princess has so often encountered, scars beg to be explained, they provoke curiosity.  Not only about how they came about, but why.  The princess can simply say, 'my scar is from open heart surgery', but really people want to know the story behind that; they want to hear the story of healing.

The princess has told her children of how they were born.  She was willing to be cut open for them to be brought safely into the world.  She is not especially brave, but she loved them and longed for them to be born.

The story of the scars of Jesus follows the same lines:

• Despite his wounds being evidence of his body's defeat, he was restored to life - his is the ultimate story of healing.

• And his scars are an invitation for you to be born again.

They tell the story of a Father, who loved the world so much, that he sent Jesus to us.  That he would suffer many wounds and die with his hands and feet nailed to a cross and rise again with scars from those wounds that don't just speak, but shout of healing and new life.

What visible or invisible scars do you have?  Were the wounds intentional and wrought for good?  Or were they caused by painful, violent circumstance?  Is the wound fully healed?  Is the scar almost invisible, or like the Princess's raised and obvious?



Surely he took up our pain
    and bore our suffering,
yet we considered him punished by God,
    stricken by him, and afflicted.
5 But he was pierced for our transgressions,
    he was crushed for our iniquities;
the punishment that brought us peace was on him,
    and by his wounds we are healed.     Isaiah 54: 4-5

To stay or go? That is the question.

I think it was summer 2009, the Princess and Sir Rianus got back from a trip to the new realm and were taken aback by how the world seemed to shrink once they returned to the realm of the old.  Their car was tiny, so was their apartment and the small people were growing bigger by the minute along with their stuff that seemed to multiply every time backs were turned.  Time was ticking by on the visa Sir Rianus held, and it was fully expected that the process would be problematic and expensive just like every other renewal.  So, how about making a different visa application?  One that would take the couple to the new realm permanently?  They discussed it, and concluded that it would be a good idea.

Fast forward a year.  The initial visa application was accepted but the second part would require evidence of  new realm income.  As yet, the job search had not been fruitful.  Thankfully, there was an automatic extension of another year.  So the plan was still to go, but first there was staying to do.  Princess Morag was getting uncomfortable.  The plan was to go, her heart was trying to move forward while her body was stuck in the same place - not ideal.  In the tension of waiting, and that place of unknowing, she felt like she was paralysed and in pain.  In retreat from relationships, because what was the point if they were leaving, she foolishly let her feelings build up.  Until past the tipping point she sought and found some help.

Months later, even when it was looking like the 'going' was going to happen, her counselor suggested she didn't retreat from relationships, perhaps she should actually reveal what she was really feeling?  This was a revolutionary idea to the Princess.  She was so used to people reacting badly when she shared her feelings, she thought by hiding them, she was protecting her relationships.  But these friends she had made, these precious souls who had been by her side in all this uncomfortable staying time.  Maybe she could trust them, maybe that was a good idea.  So, she tried.  And it made all that staying worth it.  Because those friendships were deepened to a point that even though she was leaving, even if she had to go and leave them behind the connection would remain; although obviously not in the same way.  She could no longer pop round for coffee, and find a hug and a listening ear.  But she could skype and call and know that in essence not much had changed despite the geographical gulf between them.

Now the Princess is facing another season of staying/going.  The going prospect is not quite so many thousands of miles away as the old realm is from the new, but still a significant move.  And she faces the same issues with how to handle friendships.  Once again she tried retreating with the same ill effects on her soul.  She still needs people.  In fact, living in uncertainty makes friendship even more precious.  Knowing that the day of going is coming, makes each day you stay more important.

The only way to stay with sanity is just to live each day as it comes.  The only way to not worry about the going is to concentrate on God's promises.

"But seek first his kingdom and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well. Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own."  (Matthew 6:33-34)


The princess was recently reminded to stop trying to control the uncontrollable.  She is at the mercy of circumstance and that means, she is really at God's mercy.  That's where she wants to live permanently anyway, no matter what roof is over her head.  So to trust, to have faith, to do each day well - that's what every staying one more day ought to look like.

Crowd - Five minute Friday

I had my first panic attack because of a crowd.  I couldn't breathe properly and what was supposed to be fun, really wasn't.

You can get lost in a crowd and sometimes that seems like a good idea.

Crowds and children, now there's a bad mix.  The airport was crowded, people were bustling and I was barking.  "Stay close, keep your suitcase out of the way".  They seemed so small, they could so easily get lost.

There's only four of us, but this is a small apartment.  Today I am blissfully alone, but come tomorrow, it's gonna feel crowded in here.  Sometimes that drives me crazy and sometimes it is beautiful.  Proximity is a powerful bonding agent.

The streets will be crowded, and we'll be there for the third time.  In this isolated place that we currently call home.  The horses and mules will pass by in the parade and it will seem funny once again, that I actually live in the Wild West!

Remembrance - Faith Jam

I remember the pain.  It was driving me.  I wondered at the strange things that tempted me, that had never previously held any attraction.  I marveled at the way my pelvic bones jutted out and my stomach was flat, almost concave when I lay on my back.

It made some sort of sense.  There wasn't enough money; I had no appetite.  I filled my stomach with coffee and then there was no room for food.

I filled my mind with judgement and bitterness and then there was no room for compassion.

I mused my way through my memories of life, and found many reasons for the pain.  I wrote some of them down.  I allowed myself to see: it wasn't me.  The disappointment was not unfounded.

Now that I had physical distance, I had perspective.

What I craved, had always craved, was impossible.  It was hard to accept.  A tough pill to swallow.  Is that what was stuck in my throat?

But the craving wasn't the problem, it was seeking satisfaction from the wrong source.

I knew He was the answer, but I didn't know how to make that work.  Months before I had confessed 'I've looked to everyone for love, except directly to you' and now I needed to take that further.  Once again, I came tearfully, and told him:  'I want to trust you, Lord, but it's hard for me'.

He helped to make it easier, I read scriptures that appeared directly relevant to my life and seemed to come alive.  It took time, but the pain started to ease.  I let some people know the truth of how much I was struggling.

I don't want to forget that process.  It was like birthing pains, my fight to come out of the chrysalis.


Then came the conviction:  "Do you not know that your bodies are temples of the Holy Spirit, who is in you, whom you have received from God?  You are not your own; you were bought at a price.  Therefore honour God with your bodies."  1Corinthians 6:19-20.


I wasn't honouring God with my body.  I was depriving it of food and telling it that it was unworthy and undeserving and must be punished.  I hadn't been entirely conscious of it.  A 'stress-reaction' was what I'd figured.  But then it dawned on me that eighteen months of stress was maybe too much.  Maybe it was time to stop.

My self-deception was the scariest part.  I hadn't trusted anyone, had been paranoid at times, yet, it turned out the least-trustworthy person was myself?!  

It was the last barrier to complete surrender.  If I couldn't trust myself, then there was no one left.  God could have all of me because He was the only one who would want me, and could do anything with me.  He was the only one who held any hope.

When I didn't eat, I felt faint and weak, I couldn't concentrate.  That was the fruit of deprivation.  My goal now is to be strong: to get physically fit and be strong in my mind and in faith.  Body, mind and spirit are linked, I can see that now.  I was trying so hard to grow in faith, but when my body and mind were weak, that was difficult.  Growing in faith is hard work - it requires fuel.

I remember the anxiety and depression.  I remember my desperation.  I remember that I needed love and mercy and grace and still do.  If I don't remember those things, pride creeps back in along with unrealistic expectations.  I had held myself, others and the world to such sky high standards, it was exhausting.  I discovered layer upon layer of brokenness in my life, it humbled me.  I am so grateful to remember how he redeemed me from that pit.

Journey - Faith Jam

I hate not knowing where I'm going.  It's why I much prefer trains to buses.  When you are on a train, the train has to follow the tracks, there are not going to be any detours (as long as you get on the right train).  On a bus...what if the driver decides to change route...there is nothing to stop him or her from doing so!

It's why I find my life difficult right now.  I don't know where we're going.  I don't know whether we are going to move city/state this year, I don't know if I'm going to find a job. It is unsettling and I don't like it very much.

When change is on the horizon, I feel like the whining kid in the backseat on a long car journey...are we nearly there yet????  If something good is planned, I enjoy the anticipation of waiting but if it is a major change or something less wonderful, I hate the waiting time.

In the church, we practise waiting twice a year.  In Advent we wait in wondrous hope for the celebration of the birth of Jesus.  And during Lent we solemnly wait to remember Jesus' death but then holding our breath just for a few days we are then able to celebrate with joy his resurrection and share in the new life that he offers us at Easter.

Sometimes waiting means to share in the sufferings of Christ.  When I remember the one hundred or so days that I was waiting for my visa, those were days marked with suffering for me.  I didn't know how long I was going to be waiting.  I was homeless.  I was separated from my husband.  I was single-parenting two small children.  And even when I reached my destination, I wasn't going to know anybody there.  It was a long, hard wait.

I lived day by day, I lived by faith, I lived through the words of the psalms, I lived through the eyes of my children, I lived through new understanding, I lived through a period of grief and heartache.  The waiting changed me, it drew me closer to God.  It was another step on the curriculum of learning patience.

Then after the days and days of waiting for the visa, for the passport to be returned, for it to be the day, it came.  Then came the hours of waiting.  At the airport, on the airplane.  But these hours seemed easier.  We were nearly there - we were on the journey - we were limited in what we were able to do.  The only possessions we had access to were our hand luggage (admittedly there was a LOT).  The only space we had were our seats.  The destination was decided, and the pilot was responsible for getting us there and we didn't need to worry about that.  Constrained by those boundaries, I was more relaxed than I'd been in months.  I no longer had the illusion of having to be in control.

The other thing that helps a long journey, like that twelve hour flight with two small children, is to have things to aim for along the way.  We were filling the time getting settled into our seats and checking everything out until it was time to buckle our seatbelts and then we filled the time until it was take-off, then there was meal-time, then (please God) sleep time!!  Knowing that there are pit-stops on a journey makes it less intimidating.  Sometimes the big picture is too big to take in: I was emigrating, but thinking like that made me freak out inside, so instead it was just a transatlantic flight, the same as many I had been on before (except I was emigrating..shh).

If I view my life like I did that journey, I would probably find more peace.  I am not the pilot. I only need a few possessions for along the way (and probably only a small proportion of them in reality - I tend to over pack) and if I stop worrying about when I'm going to get there, I am a much more pleasant travelling companion!

Impatience and frustration are not attractive qualities.  Excitement and anticipation are definitely preferable when waiting for something good.  And if waiting for something that might bring sorrow, I want to strive for a quiet hope; not necessarily that the bad thing won't happen, but that God will work it all for good.

What journey are you on?  What kind of travelling companion are you?

A Saturday ditty

Saturdays are made for sleeping in,
for coffee and for toast.

A quiet day,
a lazy day,
the kind I like the most.

Choose - five minute Friday

CHOOSE

I don't like that.  It's hard for me to make decisions.  Choosing something means deciding against something else.  And what if that something else is better?  What if I make the wrong decision?  This conundrum has kept me paralysed often.  But avoiding the decision is choosing as well.  There is no getting away from it.  But I'm learning that the anxiety that decision-making provokes in me, can be abated by TRUST.  Trusting in the God that works ALL things for the good.  If He works ALL things and not just the 'right choices' then I have insurance and assurance.

It's taken me a while to get to the point where I do trust God; especially about the small things.  The big things are always too big for me - I don't want that kind of responsibility, so I'm much quicker handing it over to God.  The small things, well, I think I should be able to handle those.  I'm not confident in my ability to make the small decisions, so much procrastination normally results before I can make an actual choice, but I'm much slower to hand them over to God.  I'm much slower to trust that all will be well in the end.  I'm much more likely to have residual anxiety in my heart.  Still, I'm making the CHOICE to be patient with myself, to give myself more time to choose rather than rushing to cover up my lack of confidence and gifting myself more anxiety and cheating myself of his peace in the process.

What I'm learning about myself - Faith Jam

Moving five thousand miles from everyone and everything that is loved and familiar definitely creates perspective.  So in the last two and a half years I've been getting to know myself without being able to make excuses about things being 'caused' by my circumstances or people around me or my past, because I left those behind me.  I have had to take responsibility for the likelihood that if I'm still bothered by something - the cause is in me!

(1) Even though I don't want to be, I am responsible for my own happiness

(2) I am not ashamed of the things that make me happy anymore.  Bring on those singing/dancing tv shows!

(3) There is no substitute for scripture in my life.  If I keep feeding on the word, it keeps bearing fruit in my life.

(4) Exercise makes me feel much better than starving myself.

(5) It doesn't matter how much time I have, I still won't do housework until it is desperately bad.

(6) I need more alone time than I thought I did.

(7) I might not be enthusiastic about outdoor pursuits but walking out my front door and just walking for twenty minutes (without having to worry about the weather) is wonderful.

(8) I know which kind of coffee I like the best. [And seriously, NOT in a paper cup]

(9) The more I count my blessings, the more there seem to be to count!

(10) My emotions are signals; they shouldn't be in charge of my life but maybe it's better not to ignore them completely.

(11) It is possible to be free from anxiety sometimes (Praise God!)

work-out Wednesday

Since Jennifer is hosting this 7 posts in 7 days thing, I guess I can borrow some inspiration from her.  I shared her lazy-nerds-guide-to-weight-loss with my husband last night as he is a fellow nerd and introvert.  We later watched a video guide about cross-fit in wonderment as apparently there are extroverts who like to exercise with other human beings.  It's not like Sir Rianus and I have to workout in complete solitude; there are often small people that are hanging around in our very small apartment while we do our exercise routines.  This is good.  We like them to witness that exercise is a normal part of healthy existence.  Being work-out buddies with my husband, even though we are at opposite ends of the spectrum when it comes to the actual activities is fun [he lifts heavy weights and wants to bulk up, I do tai chi and want to get toned and flexible].  It is something we are coming to share.  This is a good thing.  There are very few things we have in common so it feels good to find something.  We are getting good at cheering each other on; visible and tangible results are helping :)

Do you workout?

Are you looking for more?

Since 'leaving home' as a seventeen year old, Princess Morag has lived in seven different places.  Every time she moved somewhere new, she took with her hope and optimism, that this place would be "it".  Not necessarily it-will-be-home-forever, but that it would be a place she'd find friends and a sense of belonging.  That happened once and she still had a sense that it wasn't enough.  She still craved "more".  Moving to the other side of the world was definitely "more" in every way.  It is further, it is different, it is hard, it is strange, it is more beautiful, it is drier, it is sunnier.

What Princess Morag and Sir Rianus were looking for was: more space, more car, more money, more opportunity.  Those things have not yet been realised.  What Princess Morag has discovered along the way, during the more stress, more anxiety, more isolation, more pain and more loneliness is that she is learning to have more patience, more kindness, more perseverance, more grace, more mercy, more mystery, more time, more quiet, more solitude, more air, more exercise, more writing, more gratitude.

She is still living in hope for the things they moved for.  But she has gained much in the waiting.   There was more to be found than what she hoped or imagined!

Mornings and Mondays

Princess Morag is not a fan of mornings.  Waking up is an actual painful process.  Her husband asked her this very morning, with concern, "what's wrong?".  She must have looked bad - he doesn't normally ask questions or show concern.  And there wasn't anything wrong, apart from the fact that it was morning and she had to wake up and get out of bed.

The princess once stayed with a friend.  And discovered that her friend had been raised with an elaborate breakfast ritual that involved setting the table and all sitting down together as a family.  It was of the oddest things Princess Morag has ever witnessed.

Having children has forced the princess, against her better instincts to attempt to function in the morning.  Moving to the new realm meant that this also had to happen an hour earlier than the old realm as apparently the day starts here at 8 a.m. not 9.  So the princess drags herself out of bed after the two alarms clock and two children have attempted to wake her, yells at the children to make sure they have gone to the toilet (why must she still be in charge of three bladders!!!) and stumbles into the kitchen.  Breakfasts are made, packed lunches too and with an eye on the clock she encourages them to put their clothes on for school.  Depending on how awake she is and how annoying the children are, there may be shouting.

Mondays get a bad reputation for being the worst day of the week but the princess disagrees.  You see she lives in a very small apartment and so at weekends it feels cluttered and noisy and full of people when all four of them are there.  After walking to school on a Monday - the house is blissfully quiet.  It is still cluttered and messy but finally there are conditions under which she can use her brain to formulate actual thoughts and not just automatic responses.  In her bleary eyed state, needing to put the coffee pot on, she is enjoying this start to the week.

Since she signed up to the challenge of 7 posts in 7 days - Princess Morag will bid you a happy Monday and catch up with you again tomorrow!

Small - Five minute Friday

I used to think that small = insignificant, not very important, not weighty.  Small things were no replacement for the BIG things - like happiness, support, things going my way etc.  But now I've changed my mind.  Because small things add up to become the big things, just like when you look at your supermarket receipt in complete wonderment that it came to that much when all you bought were all those little things.

The idea made it's way to me through a couple of different sources - to keep track of three things each day that were good.  It helped me to stop my exaggerated negative thinking that absolutely everything in my life was terrible.  At that stage, when my mood was black, the small things seemed so meagre but it helped nonetheless.

Finding my voice - Faith Jam

My voice isn't necessarily always in tune.  It gets nervous at the idea of being heard.  It has been compared to others and fallen short.  It has been rejected and deemed not quite good enough.  It has been included in the choir and rejoiced at being part of the chorus.

When it sings to God sometimes it soars.  Someone once asked how it got so strong....probably due to having to fight to even exist.

I didn't dream much about singing in public when I was a schoolgirl - solos were a petrifying idea, even though I liked thinking of the honour attached to being chosen.  But now... I live vicariously through the tv shows and wonder if my idea of taking singing further is a delayed adolescent dream, or something that ultimately might be part of a plan...

Currently my favourite show is "The Voice" - the auditions are conducted in front of a live audience but the judges are facing the other way and cannot see the contestant.  The idea is that they will be judged on their voice alone and not on how they look or anything else.  I like the premise.  I have also been inspired by the criteria they are looking for.  They have 'turned round' for people sometimes who have not sung perfectly, they might have made some small mistakes or their nerves might have become audible, but, their voice is unique, their voice is interesting, their voice expresses their emotions and tells a story.

Those features that they are looking for on 'The Voice' have become my goal for my own voice.  The voice that comes out of my mouth both spoken and sung, my voice here on my blog and my voice that is how I live my life.  I want my voice to be authentically 'me' - it might take a while to evolve, but that's ok.  I want to have the courage to put my voice out there, even if it shakes or hits an occasional bum note, if the message is significant then those things don't matter.  I would rather be judged on my voice than what I look like or other choices I make in my life.  I'm learning that people might actually be interested in my story.

I feel happiest when I sing.  I feel close to God when I worship in song.  It makes my stomach churn with emotion and urgency.  I have a list of songs that tell the story of my life as they are attached to various times of my life.  And then God gave me a new song.  One that was my own.  He gave me the words and then I prayed for the tune and up popped a folk tune that was familiar to me that fitted with the lyrics - amazing!

I carried my song with me for more than a year until I found the right place and time which turned out to be my bible study group.  And now I'm going to be even braver and share it here.

Love - Faith Jam

An ode to my daughter:

I mistook her for myself.  I thought I was staring into my own eyes, but I wasn't in front of a mirror, I was standing in the school playground.  Five thousand miles and and twenty-nine years since I was the five year-old waiting to be picked up after school.  Her eyes don't hide from mine.  There is not shyness there.  She was excited to be in the play: "I'm going to be on the stage!" she said with breathless delight and I shared her joy.  She is my love, she opened up my heart wider than I knew it could stretch.  She forced me to give, give, give when she was tiny and needed my breasts, needed my milk, needed all the love and patience I could give.  And through all that pain and stretching, in that season when I didn't think I had enough, I was reborn.

This nurturing that my soul was compelled to give my daughter was foreign to me.  How could that be?  As I gave to her, I gave to myself.  It opened a wound that I hadn't been consciously aware of.  It made me raw.  I needed comfort.  The fact that I couldn't find any spoke volumes about my life and relationships.

She was only a baby but already she was more responsive to me compared to anyone else.  She was delightful to me.  I remembered a time when I was seen as delightful.  I mourned the loss of that coming to an end.  She will always be delightful to me.  She is my love.

I broke down and the people I was with didn't understand.  I had to wait until I found the one that did.  I had to wait months.  I prayed.  Even though it felt like my prayers bounced off the ceiling.  I found more holes in my heart that hurt so bad and made me cry so hard.  All the while, every hour of the day, I belonged to them.  I gave my love to them.  And they got my anger too.

She was safe.  The first person to be clear on the boundaries and then let me be me.  I bared my soul.  It was terrifying and liberating.  It was surrender and victory.  It hurt and it healed.  She asked why I held back?  I saw she told the truth.  I could guess why, but it was more important to try not to do that anymore.  She encouraged me to trust that people loved me.  That was difficult.

To allow myself to receive.  To allow myself to reveal my failings.  To let others see a few tears while she saw the ones that fell like rain in the counseling room.  I believed her sweet words even though they made me squirm.  She built me up inside like a stack of duplo bricks.  Such basic ideas that had never been my foundation.  That I was loved, that I was worthy of love, that I was strong, that I was worth listening to, that there was a great future ahead of me.

If she hadn't given me those basics, I don't think I could love my daughter the way I do today.  I long for her to be more confident than me, more beautiful than me, more talented than me.  I am not jealous, it doesn't threaten me.  It fills me with absolute joy that we say "I love you", that we remember that Jesus loves us.  That we kiss and cuddle with natural affection.  That she sees my grown-up body and we talk of when she will be a woman too.  That she wants to "do all the things" for me when I get old.  That she is secure.   She is my love.

Write (Five-minute Friday)

The unfairness of childhood was what first provoked me to write.  My very first 'diary'.  It was full of frustration.  Always being told what to do, never being allowed to use my own judgement.  Wishing I was old enough to make my own decisions.

Because I wrote it down, I remember.  I remember how it felt.  I can empathise with my son when he complains about how "it's not fair".  Because life is not fair to children.  They are not on equal status with adults but with an adult perspective you know that's usually a good thing.

My journal has been my most faithful friend.  The only friend that I don't censor myself around.  The safest of all spaces.  To write is to know myself.  To get reaquainted with who I am, what I'm thinking, feeling, and what I believe.  To say the things that I can't say out loud.  To say the things that I yearn and wish for without anyone mocking me.  

Hero (five-minute Friday)

My dad was my hero, until that day when he said no.  He said "No, you can't live with me, you should live with your mother".  That was the end.  The beginning of the end of our relationship.

I see it a little different now.  I realise that his heart was broken too.  None of it was how it was supposed to be.

My brothers, I used to look up to them too.  Until that day when they left me out.  They rewrote our childhood as if I wasn't there.  Invisible + scapegoat = runaway.

So here I am, on the other side of the planet.  With one super-hero saviour in my life, and I know this is the right choice.  HE is the only hero I need.  HE is the overcomer.  HE is the redeemer.  HE is THE ONE.

{Soul Rest} - I'm falling, catch me Jesus.

I couldn't pinpoint it...why I was falling.
I tried to distract myself with grand ideas.
That used to work, when I believed they could come true.
And that's when I realised what was wrong.
I'd prayed all last year for one thing.
And then, wonderfully, He made it happen.
But I thought, that's it.  There won't be anymore yeses after such a big one.
There won't be more for me.
Because...why?

I don't deserve it?
But that's always true.
He is a gracious God.
He is a generous God.
He loves to give good gifts to His children.  Isn't that what the scripture says?
So will 2014 be bereft of anything good?
Unlikely, but still I struggled to believe.
And I was exhausted.

He carried me through the weekend.
And then today, suddenly, there is Hope.
After grief and despair.
I want to follow His footsteps.
I want to see them clearly.
I worry that I'll hesitate and then they will disappear from sight.

But Jesus didn't let Peter drown.
When he walked on the water.

"Immediately Jesus reached out his hand and caught him" (Matthew 14.31)

I want to hold your hand, Jesus.
I want to be reassured that you are there.
I want to look on your face and know I am loved.
I want to have faith.

Five minute Friday - encouragement

Encouragement is what I so desperately need and what has always been missing.  As I've given it to my children, they have turned around and given it back to me.  We will ask Jesus and we will keep trying.  We fail.  But even in the last few days, he's started turning it around, the child that struggles with control, his progress is encouraging me.  We're not a lost cause; kindness can appear like a rainbow in the sky when we didn't expect it.  I've always had the urge to encourage others, I can feel the crumbs of their hope, and long with them that they could grow into more.  But right now, I don't know what to do with my own crumbs, they don't make sense to me anymore - old dreams, current reality, the habit of disappointment combine to make my life muddy.  A mustard seed.  That's all I need.  That's what he said.  So I rest on that.

Going back - an ode to hospitality

Princess Morag had the privilege of returning to the old realm to visit over Christmas and New Year.  She was able to rekindle friendships in person that have been kept alive in the intervening time through the power of phones and internet.  She was so happy to know that her joy at going home was shared by those who she most longed to see.




Her kitchen held the past and the present.  The kettle boiling, like always, but now it was a little girl watching us as we waited while the boys, who had grown, ran around, and wrestled.  There was a welcome, and as we chatted there was a silent hum of the things that didn't need said, but could be felt, between us.  We had shared defining moments of our lives, we have been witnesses to each other.

Crossing the threshold after knocking and not waiting very long.  I knew I was safe to just enter.  I was welcome here.  My past life was staring at me from every direction.  Baby boy clothing on their son I hadn't yet met that took me back six years in an instant.  Jigsaw puzzles, toys and even the couch my pregnant self had slept on and had been the centre of my living room.

A new home: bigger, better, I knew how long she'd waited and was glad for her.  Easily slipping into conversation, we returned to our usual straight-talking style.  Truth-tellers who like to laugh, that's us.  We are survivors and strivers.

A glass of water in my hand, the same cheeky smile and red hair staring at me, so watchful and alert but taller and missing teeth.  A small space, but familiar and warmed by the affection that was always reserved for me there.  I was sorry there was so little time.

Friends, hospitality, belonging, as if no time had passed when really it had been more than two years.  I was glad to be there.  I was beloved.

The little girl in me

The little princess was cute, and she knew it.  And she remembers when that particular currency lost it's value (around age 4).  The new currency was 'being good': doing as she was told, being 'clever' at school and helping at home.  But the new currency wasn't about who she was, it was about what she could do.

She remembers discovering her parents' tape collection and playing ABBA on the stereo and dancing with complete abandon.  Until she realised her dad was watching and despite his pleas for her to continue, she was too self-conscious.

The little girl had also loved to sing, and remembers performing her shy rendition of 'Little donkey' one Christmastime for adult acquaintances.  When she was a little older, she discovered that apparently her parents no longer rated her voice as very good, a brother was touted as being the better singer.  Looking back, the comparison was completely unnecessary, but the temptation to categorise seems to have been too great for them to resist.

The little girl was astute, she picked up on what was said, and what was implied.  She molded and camouflaged herself into the position allotted to her.  She desperately wanted approval.  Unfortunately approval meant silence; a no news is good news kind of a deal.

Now, Princess Morag has a little princess of her own who loves to dance and sing.  What a joy!  What a wonderful thing to celebrate and share.  The princess is rediscovering through her daughter, how delightful little girls are.  She knows this is the truth, yet there is a commentary tape that plays in her head, with barbed and snide comments, that threatens to taint those precious mother-daughter moments.   But the princess is determined to escape from the lies that have infiltrated her consciousness.  She proclaims that those automatic thoughts deserve automatic extinction.  She declares that the attitudes that stink be replaced with gracious incense.  The princess may have been small but she was NOT like the fragile Christmas ornaments or a snowflake so easily melted.  She was, and is, like a little candle burning in the night.  She might be hiding inside her grown-up body, but she has power and perseverance.  Keep her shining Lord.

permission to...let the tears fall

The princess has never cried so much as she did in that counseling room.  At times, she felt outside of herself looking on at this woman who was a weeping mess, and she thought "wow, what a fuss!"  Tears had always been greeted by her family as a sign of her being 'too much'.  But there, in that room, in the presence of an empathetic soul, she could finally shed so many tears that she'd kept inside for so many years.  And they weren't 'too much', they were 'just right' even if her counselor did gently wonder at how many tears there could be!  They were the silent expression of pain and grief and longing.  And when met with tenderness, they were the most healing relief.

The princess used to laugh when she cried - it was a learned response from example and reaction.  It was a cover.  She has learned not to do that anymore.  She also wants to analyse her tears, and find out why on earth she is doing this strange thing called crying.  But sometimes it doesn't make sense, other than the fact that she is full of emotion, and it has to get out somehow.  At the beginning of advent it seems like tears are coming easily.  Having tried the analytical route and come up with a few ideas but no real answer, the princess is instead going to give herself permission for it just to happen.  The tears aren't for anyone, she is usually alone when it happens, they simply are.

It seems that many different things bring the tears, and not just sad things, but things of beauty, tenderness, innocence, longing, music.  The princess is no longer rock-like, for others to lean on.  She is more tree-like; she is still dependable but she can move, and swaying in the wind of life, she is allowing her tears to fall as the leaves do in the autumn season.

Fly - five minute Friday

In less than a month I will be flying home.  It has been more than two years.  Excited doesn't completely cover it.  In this season of Thanksgiving I am very glad I get to fly instead of travel by road or rail across a continent before sailing a large ocean.  I'm hoping we don't get sick.  I'm hoping being cooped up in a small space with a five and a six year old doesn't test the sanity of me, my husband or the other passengers too much!

Scheduled air travel will be turning 100 years old on January 1st.  I'm dismayed that ticket prices have risen so much in the last 10 years.  I am thankful for the Christmas gift of these plane tickets - they are absolutely priceless.  I will be flying home to cuddle my baby nieces.  I will be flying home for Christmas.  I will be flying home to be reunited with my family and friends.  I will be flying home to discover how much I've changed and what has stayed the same.  I will be flying home in the knowledge that God is with me whichever continent I am on.

Thanksgiving

Thanksgiving still feels like a new holiday to the Princess.  In the old realm, Sir Rianus would cook up a turkey dinner and it was fun - but as there was no collective celebration in the culture, it didn't seem like a particularly special occasion.  In the new realm, this is not the case.  'Holidays' seem to be a big deal and must be followed.  Unfortunately, it is difficult to create a tradition within the new realm when splitting time between two splintered halves of a family across the years.  Coming so late in the year, the Princess finds it difficult to identify Thanksgiving as a harvest meal.   The pilgrims arriving in a new country - yeah she understands that part! And the giving thanks - that is becoming an essential habit of her daily life.  She is happy to join together with others to praise God for his goodness.

5 minute Friday - tree

She and the tree were the constants through three seasons.  Under it's branches I nervously waited for the door to open.  Desperately wanting to be there, but part of me ready to run.  The leaves and the tears fell.  It looked empty and I despaired during the dark days.  When spring came with the blossom, there was warmth and some hope bursting forth.  But fear and anger would sweep in sometimes like the wind and the rain.

Basking in the sun, bright green leaves on the tree, the news came that brought the end.  I'm sure the tree is still there bearing witness to more lost souls knocking on the door.  Where is she?  I don't know.  But I miss her.

"be yourself"

"be yourself".  It's a common maxim.  However, the Princess's first reaction was to feel angry and frustrated which leads her to suspect it might be more accurately described as a simplistic platitude.

For which self should she be?

Should she be her best self: full of optimism and wisdom and faith?  This is the self she normally brings to the blogging world.  But what of the other selves that she has?  Her worst self is full of self-loathing, self-neglect and wallowing in self-pity - she doubts that many people want to see that self.  Having been relatively disengaged from community life in the last couple of years, Princess Morag has become far more acquainted with that worst-self, and led her to the conclusion that she can't even trust herself anymore.

Looking back, she can see how she developed a false-self while growing up.  There were seeds of her true self there, but they were connected by a web of confusion.  When she expressed negative feelings, they were corrected for her and renamed as less offensive conditions such as "tiredness", or "grumpiness".  Anger and frustration were not allowed and tears were "being silly".  Being highly sensitive she quickly learned to cover up those emotions and hide her own feelings behind concern for others.

When she tried to voice her interests they were quickly dismissed and she had to make do with the activities that had been prescribed for her.  Despite successful surgery, she remained "the sick one", "the one to worry about".  At the same time, she was to be the listener, the soother, the helper.  She was good at those roles, and still is, but fulfilling a role is not the same as being yourself.  In 'helper mode' the princess is charming, and flexible, capable, easy to be around.  Slipping into character comes naturally, but at a price.  Her real self is forced into retreat and observes this 'other person' that she has become and feels small, squelched and helpless.  For the princess at heart is still a child, maybe even a baby.  But babies can't look after other people, run the show, and make sure everyone else is ok in order to be deemed acceptable.

Even in friendships it was difficult to bring out the real self.  When Princess Morag was at school, she would watch as other girls somehow knew how to have fun, and wondered why she didn't know how to do that.  She sadly accepted that being the serious, sensible one was her lot.  In later teenage years, she observed her best friend taking advantage of a freedom she had that the princess would not attain for a long, long time.  Not only was the princess trapped within a family environment that did not allow her to rebel, she was emotionally regressed by her parents divorce and did not have any desire to do teenagery things.

College allowed the real self to be born through freedom of choice and real friendships.  Unfortunately, she was not matured by graduation and the real world outside of the protective college bubble blew in a cloud of depression and storm of anxiety to plague the following years and the real self was buried once again.

The neglected real self has been trying to get attention for quite some time, often using dirty tactics after so many years of being ignored.  The real self loves music and dancing and singing.  The real self is able to be happy, but also has a lot of grief.  She cried for hours in counseling, without any words really to explain why.  She is determined.  She is intelligent.  She keeps looking for a safe place to come out.

The real self want to know who she belongs to, where does she fit in to life here on earth in the body of Princess Morag?  Recently, the real self has been reverberating during bible study, as Princess Morag discovered that in the eyes of God she is a precious child, indeed she is a princess, and she is a bride not just in the eyes of Sir Rianus in the year 2005AD.  To revel in those roles as her real self, not just as a momentary private fantasy is a challenge, but one that brings a smile to Princess Morag's face and a stirring of dignity in her soul.  The false self is always anxiously searching the faces of those around to check she is performing adequately; she is never satisfied because she is never perfect.  The princess wants to be the self that is loved to the marrow of her bones, deemed beautiful in the eyes of the only one that matters, beheld and beloved for all of her heart, body, mind and soul.  She wants to don the cloak of grace, the gorgeous tiara that was exchanged for the ashes of her previous existence and enter into the kingdom of real life.

  

Five minute Friday - Laundry

The laundry is like a Dr Seuss book - it's here, it's there, it's everywhere!  Clean, dirty, not quite sure.  Big socks, little socks, always odd socks.  No washing machine in the apartment.  Quarters and effort required.  But thankful for the brilliant sunshine and zero humidity, great drying conditions.

Unlike in the baby years when all those tiny baby clothes were hung on indoor racks and I was 'helped' in my task by little hands and a dehumidifier stopped our house growing so much mold and the windows steaming up!

The giant clothes I don't have to worry about, he does those himself.  But I like to pair his socks and put them away for him, it's just a little thing, a way to be a wife.  I sigh over his inability to ensure the dirty socks make it into the laundry basket, but it's just a little thing, common to most men I'm sure.

I am from the land of green grass...

I am from the land of green grass, and rain and eating lots of potatoes,
From hanging the washing outside in hope, watching the clouds.

I am from the middle of the family, sandwiched between boys.
I am from the posh school, the local school and the oldest university.

I am from the children's hospital, scarred but made well,
I am from the hairdressers, long hair, now bobbed.

I am from the broken home, the truth made known,
and behind it confusion and lies?

I am from my new family, two children of my own, scarred again.
I am from a spark of new life, covered in darkness and crying out to God.

I am from the old realm, living in the new, wondering where is the green?
Scorching sun, blue skies and rarely a cloud, mountains that are rocky or covered in snow.

I am from a place of self-sufficiency searching for the one who can help.
I am from loneliness and feeling forever unknown.

I am from friends left behind, sisters in spirit and love.
I am from grief over relationships that have died and memories that hurt.

I am from that land of pomp and circumstance,
Of two flags of allegiance, and the poet well-known.

Where there are castles and cathedrals of ancient stone,
A long history of people with grudges they have borne.

Where religion matters but hearts are not considered
Where prejudice is passed on along with ignorance.

The land where alcohol is the answer and drugs the solution.
The land I wanted to leave behind and the one I miss terribly.

A synchroblog from Shelovesmagazine.

birth story haiku

Inspired by Jennifer Fulwiler

Baby #1
planned caesarean
too much morphine, I’m woozy
then breastfeeding hell

Baby #2
baby 1 got sick
c-section on not much sleep
gorgeous baby girl

feet

Princess Morag has a love/hate relationship with her feet.  She loves one and hates the other.  The right foot, despite it's small size is pretty normal looking and that's good as far as Princess Morag is concerned.  The left foot, well, that's a whole other story.  The princess noted, as a teenager, that he feet and ankles would swell if she had to stand for a long time.  It didn't cause much trouble, but she was diagnosed with primary lymphoedema and warned against any kind of trauma to her foot, or it might lead to permanent scarring/swelling.

Then Princess Morag went to work at summer camp in the USA and a mosquito, or some other bug, decided to feast on the top of her left foot.  The Princess didn't know anything was wrong until suddenly it was bruised and swollen and red, and she went to the hospital to be told it was an infected bite and she had to rest it. Following this infection, her left foot would swell to a greater extent than her right, so it became her "bad foot".  It has caused people to stare, exclaim and point out it's size, much to the princesses displeasure.  She is not keen on drawing attention to herself, so this kind of negative attention is particularly unwelcome.

For the last five years, or maybe more, Princess Morag has endured the private shame of knowing that the already 'bad' foot, was embarrassingly also home to plantar warts/verrucae on it's sole.  It was quite easy to just pretend they weren't there, until more recently when they spread.  Princess Morag procrastinated for a long time in making the appointment with the podiatrist.  And then he said he might have to cut them out!!  Princess Morag did NOT like that idea.  She spent the summer trying to find some courage, and finally made the appointment.  They had become a little painful, so getting rid of them now seemed like a good idea.  Thankfully (maybe) the podiatrist decided to try acid treatment first.  But now her left foot is a gross, painful extremity and Princess Morag is unable to perform all her activities of daily living with ease.  Standing on two feet is something most of us just do without thinking, ditto for walking.  But when it becomes painful and difficult, you realise how much you have been taking for granted.

Princess Morag wants to say sorry to her left foot, for saying it was 'bad' and for calling it 'fat and ugly'.  Because all this time, it has still been performing pretty well, allowing her to stand and walk with ease.  She hopes it will make a full recovery.

It's like potatoes

Princess Morag has entirely changed her view on rain.  The old realm was a rainy, grey place, and she agreed with the general consensus that more sunny days and blue skies would be nice.  But since living in the new realm where sunny days and blue skies are the norm, she now holds the view that rain is awesome!  Rain, in fact, indicates God's blessing.  And when you live without it, you start to feel a little desperate.  There have been days where the princess has woken up to grey clouds and gone about her day very happy as a result.  And the next day, when inevitably the blue sky is back, she actually feels disappointed!  And on the handful of occasions that it has rained, she might have rushed outside in excitement, called her children out, and danced with them in the rain!

The earth needs rain, and when there isn't any, man manufactures a replacement a.k.a 'sprinklers'.  So then you can grow plants and have green grass, but the areas that the sprinklers don't reach remain brown and dead looking.  Anything that is manufactured to mimic God's blessing doesn't quite make the mark.  It might satisfy for a while, or give the appearance of something that is good.  But it's not good like the real thing.
When the princess sees photographs or film of the old realm, she gushes about how green it is, in much the same way as she used to mock people of the new realm doing.  But now she understands, now that she lives in the desert.  The old realm has the real rain and you can tell by the lush green grass and trees, and dark brown earth and grey skies.  The whole palette of the natural world there is different. And the princess misses it.

When she was growing up, Princess Morag ate a lot of potatoes.  They were standard dinnertime fare, almost every night.  When she left home to go to university she chose not to eat potatoes very often as she was sick of them.  Pasta and rice, these were much better she thought.  Until a decade later when she pregnant with her second child and suddenly potatoes were awesome again - she had been missing out, all these years of not bothering with potatoes very much because they had been under the curse of the familiar.  Don't discount those things that are commonplace.  Be grateful for them.  If you didn't have them, you might miss them very much.  You might be avoiding a blessing when you scoff instead of embracing the everyday goodness.

A mother's lament

"What happened to my baby girl?"  Princess Morag asks.
She got these legs now, instead of stumps!
She answers back and shrieks at taunts.
She's starting school!!

Her brother will teach her what to do.
And she'll make her own way at the same time.
She'll make new friends, and write all her letters.
She'll play outside and walk to the lunchroom.

When she gets home Princes Morag will hear,
that she's done this and that, and what the other girl said.
All the things her brother doesn't bother to tell.
But at night she'll want to snuggle the same
And all tuggled together she'll be a baby for a moment again.

Give me a proper cup please!

One of Princess Morag's pet peeves is having to drink coffee from a disposable cup!  Even a travel mug turns out not to be a great substitute as it tends to be very plasticky.  Really the only thing coffee should be drunk from is a proper cup, made of china.  In the old realm, this is how coffee was generally served unless you specified that is was 'to go'.  Here in the new realm, this is not the case.  In some well known coffee establishments there are no proper cups in sight - aah!  

So Princess Morag tends just to make coffee at home, and now that she is selling direct trade, freshly ground, delivered to your door coffee, maybe recreating the coffee shop experience at home might just be the way to go.  Unfortunately it means she has to wash her own cup afterwards, but at least she will be treated like a grown up and allowed a proper cup!!!!

me too Glennon!

Princess Morag has several blog crushes.  The biggest of all is probably Glennon Melton.  The other day G posted/tedx-talked: All I ever needed to know I learned in the mental hospital.  And Princess Morag can testify to the same experience, except she worked at the mental hospital so there is slightly less stigma attached.  When she was supposedly an 'allied health professional', Princess Morag learned about these mysterious things called 'anxiety' and 'confidence' and most odd of all 'assertiveness'.  She also met people who were profoundly depressed and felt a disturbing connection to them.

Princess Morag learned a lot of things in school.  She was very good at school.  It was easy.  She knew what she was supposed to do, and she did it.  But at the same time she was pretty frustrated at learning a lot of stuff that she knew was never going to be useful in life - imaginary numbers??  Really?  Imaginary people in books, she liked them, but imaginary numbers seemed a little unnecessary!   So Princess Morag knew maths, chemistry, biology, geography but where was she supposed to have learned about these things called feelings and helping other people deal with theirs when she had only just discovered that she had them too!!

The Princess's feelings had been buried for a long time, apparently they were inconvenient to other people when she let them out, so she tried not to do that.  But she was like a magnet to other people's feelings, she could sense them, and people would talk to her about stuff that was going on with them.  Including, rather inappropriately, her parents while they were separating.  So psychology had been the subject she was desperate to study and the mental hospital her first choice of place to work and she probably couldn't explain exactly why, except she was curious and she wanted to help people. Turns out it is hard to help people when you've spent your life ignoring your self.  Those feelings that were buried start escaping and then the Princess found herself crying at the dinner table every night, with her new husband looking on, confused.

Thankfully there is this magic thing called counseling and the Princess's boss referred her to the hospital counselor and there Princess Morag was able to unburden herself of some tears and feelings in a place where it was ok to do so.  Princess Morag used to joke that her job at the mental hospital was mostly "taking crazy people to the park".  She then swapped that occupation for "taking her two children to the park" - it didn't feel much different.  And most recently of all she started "taking her crazy self to the park" - are you sensing a theme?  When the Princess was an Occupational Therapist, she knew her job was mostly common sense but it turns out that common sense really isn't very common at all.  And learning about anxiety and confidence and assertiveness, well, those things are all to do with being HUMAN, and giving people respect for being alive, and showing up, whether that is at the park or any other location.