I decided to start out running, because I had this already written and I wanted to post it. I love having a smartphone. The picture quality is better than anything I get with my actual camera. So, again, welcome.
I have so many words that run through my head, so many
thoughts. But when it comes time to
write them down or speak them out, they sort of…bottleneck. They create a crush, a backup that blocks my
mental pathways and makes it hard even to begin.
My mother is amazing.
She and God have a lot in common.
I thought that today, when I was walking in the sunshine, enjoying the
weather and the time alone. Not that my
mom is godlike. It’s just that, like
God, my mom has this ability to say or do exactly what I need most, at the
exact moment I need it said or done the most.
Obviously, not every time. There
are some times that she misses bigtime- but that’s usually when I’m not in the
mood to listen to anything anyone
says. And nobody’s perfect, even I know
that. I’m coming to the point in my life
where my mom no longer lives on the pedestal that was her home when I was a
child. It’s been…sobering.
But in a way, it’s also been…liberating. It’s freeing, knowing that someone who ‘has
it all together’ really…doesn’t. We read
the stories in the Bible, and there is so much there, so much to learn. But there are so many details left out. Like…
·
Was Ruth ever self-conscious when she was being
obedient? Did she ever feel too heavy or
too thin?
·
Did Moses ever have marital problems? Did Tzipporah ever give him the silent
treatment when she was angry with him?
·
Did any of the disciples leave behind wives or
children to follow Jesus? How did their
families react to losing the income of their menfolk?
·
How many apostles or early Christians suffered
from depression even after they accepted Christ?
I suffer from so many insecurities. My weight, my appearance, whether or not I’m
good enough- for my family, my friends, for God- whether or not I’ll succeed at
anything worth doing. It’s quiet
suffering, you know, and it doesn’t leave a visible or obvious mark. I’m not starving or homeless. I’m clean and safe and surrounded by luxuries
that I take for granted. I’m healthy and
I have a terrific family. Someone on the
outside would look at me and think, ‘what does she have to feel bad about?’
I sometimes wonder if my brother, my beautiful, sweet
brother, is embarrassed to be seen in public with me. I’m not a small woman. If I was literally skin and bones and nothing
else, I’d still not be skinny because I have a pretty massive skeleton
(fortunately, I can honestly say I come by this naturally, as the whole
paternal side of my family- and my maternal grandfather- have large, dense
bones). So I’m not looking to fit into a
size 0, or whatever the smallest size is in fashion nowadays. I just don’t want to feel like my family
suffers when I’m around.
Do you know what that feels like? To wonder whether the most important people
in your life are embarrassed by your size?
There are days when I feel like nothing ever goes right. When looking at myself in the mirror is
physically painful and making myself smile and talk does nothing but drain
every bit of energy and life from my body.
And then there are days like today, when everything that
happens just makes the day that much brighter, that much better. When I spend time getting to know God and
learning who I am, finding out how much my mother loves me, and through that, how
much God loves me. Days when I’m not
ashamed of who I am. I like these days
best- who wouldn’t?- and I’m finding that I dread the other ones somehow less
now. Maybe that sounds odd.
I think I’m mad, you know.
It’s this quirk I have, this tendency to talk to imaginary people (I’m
not talking about the out-loud prayers I sometimes pray when I go on walks) in
my head. My friend Sarah actually
suggested I write a book to that effect, about my “ongoing congress with
fictional entities” (my quote- I like it).
“Conversations with the Imaginary” or some such title. A series of anecdotes about the various
fictional characters I invite into my head and have conversations and sometimes
even debates with. Yes, I debate with
characters from books. And anime. And movies.
In my head.
I’m crazy. I came up
with a list, in my journal, of all the different euphemisms for crazy. That was actually a kind of fun project, but
really only because I like lists. My
favorites were ‘barmy’ and ‘starkers.’
Did you know that ‘starkers’ also means naked? Somehow, that correlation is HILARIOUS to
me. Who wouldn’t want to be nuts if they
got to be ‘naked’ while doing it?
The thing about this kind of crazy is that…I think it’s an
okay kind of crazy. Not that it’s
comforting, really. I mean, I talk to
invisible people because I’m lonely, but after the conversations end, I’m still
lonely. That doesn’t change. But with my brain and my imagination running
on constant overdrive, it’s an outlet I never thought of. And isn’t there a saying somewhere, about all
writers being a little crazy? There
should be. Even if only because I’m a
writer and I’m a little crazy. J
I’m going to try this thing my mom suggested. She got the idea from her Californian friend
from Peru. That’s not my part of the
story, but I just kind of wanted to put it like that. :P Anyway, the woman does
this thing, where she takes a picture every day, sometimes of something her son
is doing, sometimes just something she cooked- the picture doesn’t matter- just
something that describes each day for her.
Three hundred sixty-five days a year, she takes these pictures and makes
books for herself and her family, photo books that document her life.
I want to try that. I
have no idea where I’ll put them, but I know it’s something I want to try. A picture’s worth a thousand words,
right? That’s a thousand words a day,
even if I don’t add a description or explanation.
Right now, though…right now, I want to revel in the
awesomeness that is the movie To Save a
Life.
No comments:
Post a Comment