Inside Out

Those kids of mine are smiling so hard up there.  I just want to take one cute picture of them both looking at me and smiling their perfect little happy smiles–the ones that they give me after I tickle their breath away–and this is the perfectly random imperfection I get.  This moment of painful bliss so captured must surely contain some sort of life lesson for me.  I feel often like I’m smiling so hard that my face starts to contort and my nervous twitching becomes sickly pronounced.

Where is that big umbrella I ordered?  Where is the blesséd honey to coat the wounds of our souls? Where is the assurance I need (apparently hourly) that all shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of things shall be well?  Brandon wrote some of what scares himJessica cut open a few veins and bled on her blog.  Why do I feel like I can’t write freely?  What is this beast that binds my words?  Is that my good judgment or my paralyzing fear?  I feel like there is always a tension in me between warring and resting, and I can’t figure out which side is evil and which side is good or when to do either.

Hence the precarious balance between smile and grimace.  So don’t mind me; I’ll just sit in this corner and mutter to myself.

  1. Grace said:

    Sometimes rest is war. You know, like the analogies about the hidden root system being the largest part of the tree, or how children really do grow overnight. Cliche’ but true. Sounds like your soul is processing something on a deep, maybe subconscious, level. Maybe another layer of fearing people’s opinions? Or not valuing your own voice? I’d say, keep waiting if you need to. Much happens in rest.

    • alltheseblessedthings said:

      I like the thought that resting is war sometimes. I know that it takes a lot more effort for me to stay quiet and to wait and try to be peaceful. Those analogies were beautiful and encouraging, so thank you.

      My soul is processing way too much. I’m so tired. My soul and my brain are putting in a vacation request, hoping for some true rest. :)

      Thanks for the response. I value your input.

  2. Jess said:

    I hear you on feeling a need to find balance between warring and resting. I’m trying to find the middle path in my life, too. In all ways. If writing here is too scary, you can write in a secret diary that has a lock. You can write everything and then rip it up. You can type it all and print it out and fold it up into a tiny square and bury it in the yard. For me, it just helps to get it out. Whatever “it” is.
    I love the analogy of the root system beneath the tree. I think, too, that the most important and difficult work we do in our lives is what happens below our surface.

    • alltheseblessedthings said:

      I totally kidded about the locked journal thing the other day! I am a pretty internal processor (?), so even just writing things secretly is hard. You know, the whole Anne Frank thing sorta scares the shit out of me, too. The one-day-when-I’m-dead-everyone-will-know-all-my-dirty-secrets thing….

      • Grace said:

        Haha! I kept a diary full of lots of painful, angry things when I was a teenager, with the secret hope that the people who’d hurt me would read it after my tragic, untimely demise! Is that twisted or what? Those diaries are long gone. Even so, still today, part of me likes the idea of my kids or grandkids getting a window into my internal life…especially if I’m gone and don’t have to explain myself!

  3. alltheseblessedthings said:

    Adolescence is so painful. I wonder how bad things could’ve been if all your dirty secrets and angst were aired publicly. I’m pretty sure The Diary of Anne Frank was what really set me against journaling. So, I haven’t kept one–except when required for school–since I was 13. The world feels safer without my junk spewed all over it.

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