Pedicure of the Soul

Part of my desert experience in Mexico involved God removing the callouses that had encrusted my soul by a lifetime of living in the USA. After a few month of living in Kino, I began to notice that whenever we would have to come back to the US for supplies I would feel a sense of oppression when crossing the border. This happened enough times that I began to ponder and contemplate it's meaning. I saw in my minds eyes a bubble over this country. This bubble was the spirit of oppression. It controls the people and causes them to be in a state of constant motion. Much unrest and no peace. I began to dread the trip because of the distress this caused me. It was so peaceful and simple in Mexico. I felt a freedom to just sit back and enjoy the beauty of God's creation. I felt like he had given me a pedicure of the soul. Gently, as I soaked in his presence the layers of dead skin and callouses were removed. He polished my heart and gave me a youthfulness that I hadn't had in many, many years.

After I moved back to Louisiana, I began to feel the pressure of the "daily grind". Remembering those feelings of peace in Mexico and unable to find them in my new life has caused me depression and confusion. In fact, not only have I been unable to find peace, but without my callouses as protection, I have been feeling so much pain and sorrow that I spend many hours a day in tears crying out to God for the injustice and horrors that we as humans inflict on one another. Weeping over the state of our Nation and the world. This new sensitivity has been very disconcerting to me. For months I have not been able to understand why I have been acting and feeling like such a big cry baby. It has almost been embarrassing. I have always been a strong person. In control of my emotions and my life. Now all of a sudden I am a weeping willow. Crying out over everything. I even begin to wonder if I am going crazy. Instead of embracing life with robust enthusiasm, I began to isolate, afraid to be out in the general public for my bizarre behavior. I started seeing a counselor and even contemplated medication. But then I would converse with God and tell Him, it is not right that God's child should need those things, those worldly things, in order to cope with my emotions. Although they made no sense to me they are still very real to me and I begged him to explain it to me.

God is so Faithful. Just when I come to the end of myself , he sends his messengers to shed His light on my situation. Holding me close he spoke to me. Saying that I am right. I do not need those things, he is showing me what it is to be human. To see the world through his eyes. The world is in a mess. This country, as she turns from her covenant with him, has allowed the spirit of oppression to surround her and encompass her. God's heart is breaking. His eyes are crying. He has so much hope for us, but our decisions are causing a series of events that will continue to bring pain and suffering to our people. Then he reminded me of his promise,

2 Chronicles 7:14 if my people, who are called by my name, will humble themselves and pray and seek my face and turn from their wicked ways, then will I hear from heaven and will forgive their sin and will heal their land.

I miss my Mom

One's family of origin has such a strong pull on one's life. We spend our entire adulthood trying to separate ourselves from it or at least trying to recover from it. It is hard to look forward without looking back. As we see our childhood through grown up eyes, we begin to see the reality of the relationships and situations that molded us into who we are. Some good, some not so good. None the less, the good relationship that we had and lost become more and more important.

I look around at my new apartment and think,"Mom would have loved it here. She would have found peace and comfort and acceptance here. " Something that she struggled with her whole life and really never found in her own home. I miss my Mom so much . I sometimes feel like a ship without a rudder since she passed away. Being the only daughter in a house full of boys, Mom and I had an alliance, a unique camaraderie, a friendship that I miss and long for. She always loved to come visit me. We enjoyed each others company so much.

Growing up Mom lived vicariously through me. She would paint and decorate my room in colors and accessories that she liked. Whether I liked it or not, I always told her that I did. It made her so happy to do for me and seeing the joy in her face made me so happy. Mom didn't have much as a little girl. In fact she was the last of 9 children and a "change of life" baby. She came from a dirt poor hillbilly family, deep in the backwoods of Kentucky. I think she probably made a promise to herself and to God, that if she ever had a little girl, she would make sure that that child never wanted for anything. She kept that promise. I was her china doll and nothing gave her more pleasure than to take good care of me. Which she did with an enthusiasm that I delighted in.

Most of my really important decisions in life were weighed against the question,"What would Mom think of this and would this hurt her?" I lived to make her happy just as she lived to make me happy. We were an inseparable team of love and now she is gone.

My First blog

So, I have been encouraged by many a friend and family to start a blog. I guess I have complained enough about have things to say and no one to listen. Now I sit here wondering what exactly my FIRST post should be...hmmm, perhaps just the experience of blogging. Strange thing, to write to the public at large. 21st century journaling. Does this mean the makers of composition books will go out of business? I have filled many of those, now hidden in the recesses of my closet.

I guess the "theme" of my blog will be as the title suggests, my journey through this life as a Widow. A label that I have struggled with and examined since the day God took my Beloved. I received the role with bittersweet trepidation. My transition into widowhood began in 2003 when my Beloved, Joe, was diagnosed with esophageal cancer. It was a time of deep despair, fear and hope.