Exposing Myself

As more and more of life lies behind me, I find myself often looking back at where I've been.  For the most part, I look back with fondness.  As a whole, it's been a good life.  More often then not, I've been loved and nurtured.  I've been safe and sound.  I had enough of everything that's mattered.  


But I don't think anyone gets through this life completely unscathed.  We all fall down.  Sometimes we get knocked down.  We know the notion of sticks and stones breaking bones but words never hurting is a big fat lie.  Time doesn't heal all wounds.  Not everything comes out in the wash.


Most of this life's battle scars mar heart rather than flesh.  And while some people crumble under the weight of a broken heart, most of us learn to bandage our wounds somehow and keep on going. 


But our brokenness always reveals itself.  It helps shape us from the inside out.  In our broken places, we are changed from who we were to who we are.  The words spoken, the deeds done, the choices made...it all plays a role in molding us at the very core of ourselves.  


Sometimes people reach into our world and perhaps without even realizing it, they tear a hole in us that we spend the rest of our lives trying to fill.  They steal something from us with their cutting remarks, brutal mistreatment or their cruel disregard for us as human beings.  They violate us somehow...taking something away that wasn't theirs to take or leaving behind for us to deal with something that was never intended to be ours.  


We question our value.  We wonder if they are somehow right to degrade us, to disparage us...as if there is some justification for robbing us of something that was, at it's very root, the heart of us.


We find ourselves changed.  We find ourselves forever altered by things that were often completely beyond our control...sometimes beyond our comprehension.  We find ourselves vulnerable...our wounds open to infection.  We find ourselves defenseless...our brokenness rendering us powerless to save ourselves. 


And while we more often than not find the strength to move on, some part of us bears that scar.   In mistrust, in doubt, in depression, in addictions of every form and nature, in self-loathing, in anger, in fear...in whatever the symptoms may be...the brokenness of our hearts is exposed.  


For me, I wear the scar of my personal dysfunction for all to see.  The hurts I hold inside I keep buried beneath the layers of my physical body.  Like a suit of armor, I have built this body to guard my heart.  In some twisted way that only I truly understand, it is my best friend and my worst enemy.  It protects and punishes me all at the same time.  And while I am not generally unhappy in my current form, I do recognize that the me I seek to shelter within this fleshy vessel is just as open to the hurts and heartaches of this life as it would be in a smaller shell.  


I haven't a plan...I haven't a goal...I just have a revelation.  Where I go from here is yet to be decided.  What I know for sure though, is that I don't want to be forever defined by the scars on my heart.

Missing My Grandma

I'm missing my grandma today.  I try not to just sit and think about her too often.  Not because I don't love her and not because I don't ache over not having her anymore.  It's quite the opposite actually.  As I sit here just beginning to let myself wallow in my memories of her, tears pour freely down my face.  I can quickly become consumed in heartache and anguish as I long to touch someone I can no longer reach, as I long to take hold of someone who has slipped so far away from me.


Growing up, my grandma was the axis around which our family spun.  Through both good times and bad, she was the single most powerful force that held us all together.  Despite divisions and strife that occasionally reared their ugly heads, her matriarchal influence somehow kept us in line.  


My grandma was a confidant to me.  I could tell her anything, and she listened without passing judgement.  She was a great sounding board, giving me honest and thoughtful advice at times when I was just beginning to discover who I was and who I ought to be.  


She was my biggest supporter.  When I was with her, I felt invincible.  She always saw good in me when I couldn't see it in myself.  She saw beauty in me when I was sure no one else could.  She made me feel comfortable in my own skin and confident in my own abilities.  She made me feel strong, like there was nothing she thought I couldn't do.  


She loved me.


She loved me like only a grandma does.


How pleased I think she would be to see who I've become.  How delighted she'd be to see the wonderful young men my children have grown to be.  How ecstatic she'd be to welcome my grandchild into this world.  How I wish she were here now to share in this time of my life.  


What I wouldn't give for just one more day with her.  What I wouldn't do to be able to tell her how much I love her and how I hope to be the kind of grandma to my own soon-to-be-born grandchild as she was to me.  


Oh how I long to feel her face against mine and stroke her soft hair and melt into her embrace.  I wish I could smell her.  I wish I could sit on her couch and pour out my heart to her again.  I just wish I still had her.  I just want heaven to give her back to me, if only it could.


I miss you Grandma.  I love you...and I miss you.