Wine-Stained Hands

I've been thinking a lot this week about one of the most powerful encounters with Jesus that I've ever had.  I've shared in this space before about my story of healing (I share it every year on the anniversary, November 1st), and that is a pivotal moment.  But, there is one other pivotal moment.  One that I've carried inside my heart for quite a few years, choosing not to share it publicly, to protect it, and process it, and let it make itself truly at home within me.

This week I realized that I might not ever be fully at home with this experience.  That it is an experience that will probably shape me for the rest of my life.  And as I realized that, I discovered that I am ready to share it.

It feels risky, sharing this here.  I prefer to talk in generalities in this space about my life with Jesus - to talk in quiet tones about the ongoing dance that I do between the conservative church upbringing that shaped me, and the charismatic experiences that have defined the last ten years of my life or so.  It's easier to talk in generalities than to be specific about realities.  It's easier to talk in generalities that it is to risk judgement, confusion, or misunderstanding.  And yet, this week, as I reflect on that moment, and on things that have flowed from it in my life, I can't help but feel it demand to be expressed.  And so, I'm going to try.

It's no secret to those who know me even a little that I have an active dream life (waking, but particularly sleeping).  Dreams have been a part of my reality for as long as I can remember, from the earliest nightmares as a child, to the dark, earth-shattering dreams I experienced at the height of my battle with depression, to the dreams that are oddly close to reality.  When I first encountered the idea taught by charismatics that dreams are still a primary way that God speaks to his people, I was horrified.  At the time, in the throes of depression, I slept minimally, and what little sleep I had was marked by nightmares so vivid that I would wake and lay in the dark, wondering why my bed was shaking until it would hit me that the bed was shaking because of the trembling of my body due to residual fear and adrenaline.  With this as my primary experience of the dream world, I couldn't imagine why anyone would actually pray, asking God to cause them to dream!  (In fact, I remember  agreeing to pray that for one friend, since it was her specific desire, while at the same time only quasi-jokingly informing her that I thought this was an absolutely crazy request!)

And then, then God stepped in.  My moment of healing happened, and that night was marked by the first time in years where I managed six straight hours of sleep uninterrupted by either waking or nightmares.  I assumed that my years of dreaming were about to give way to years of peaceful sleep, free from dreams of any sort.

I assumed wrong.

By the fall of 2007, I was coming to a grudging acknowledgement (acceptance was still far away) that dreams, this time falling into four categories, were going to be a long-term part of my life.  I developed four categories, "god dreams," "bad pizza dreams," "processing dreams," and (for lack of a better descriptor) "demonic nightmares."  The vast majority of the dreams I was experiencing still fell into the latter three categories, and I was choosing to simply be thankful that the last category was rarer than it ever had been in my life.  I was definitely not asking Jesus for an increase of dreams of any sort, and I continued to be highly skeptical of those who celebrated their dreams as encounters with a living God.

And then, one night, that fall, in the midst of a season in which I was experiencing a myriad of new things in my walk with Jesus, I went to sleep.

You knew that was where this was going, right?  I mean, could it be going anywhere else?

I went to sleep, and dreamed the following:

I entered a room, set for a formal banquet with snowy white table linens, gorgeous china, and sparkling crystal.  People milled around, finding seats at the table, but I held back, shy - afraid even.  The only one in the room that I recognized was Jesus and I would have done anything to escape his notice.  Slowly it dawned on me that everyone was now seated, and the only seat left at the table was in the center, directly across from Jesus.  It was the opposite of the invisibility I craved.  But, knowing everyone was watching, and desperate to have their attention turn elsewhere, I quietly made my way to my seat, keeping my eyes down.  Once seated, I refused to look up, but again somehow knew that I was being watched.  This time, it was Jesus watching me.  He was clearly waiting for something, for a blessing of sorts, I thought.  Instinctively, still never looking up, I knew how to respond. I rested my elbows on the edge of the table, and tilted my wrists towards him, cupping my hands over the center of the table, and burying my face quietly against my wrists.  He took a carafe of red wine, and poured it over my hands, until it pooled and spilled over, contrasting against the sparking white linens.

And then I woke.

There's something else I should mention.  At that stage in my life I'd never tasted wine.  I feared alcohol, having seen it's affects on the lives of some I loved.  And knowing that my own personality tended to extremes, and to addiction, in fear I'd made a choice to abstain.  It was beyond odd that wine would be a defining characteristic in my dream.

When I woke, I felt baffled.  I was astounded to have encountered Jesus in a dream (something that has never happened before or since), but was confused by the sequence of events, by the wine.

As the day went on, I puzzled over the dream, wondering at it's meaning.  A few lines from a song recorded by Steve Bell stood out in my heart and played through my thoughts:

Come back to me

with all your heart

Don't let fear keep us apart...

long have I waited for

your coming home to me

and living deeply our new life

I puzzled over the connection of the song to what I had dreamed.  Years later I see the lyrics as a description of the invitation being offered to me as I settled into my place across from Jesus.

That same day, as was often the case, I was listening to a sermon as I walked home from the train.  On that particular day, I wasn't paying very close attention as I walked, thinking instead about the dream, and the events of the day.  It suddenly occurred to me that the pastor speaking (I think it was Rob Bell) was talking about wine!  Odd, and timely.  I started paying attention just in time to hear the pastor speak the following:  "Wine is about the shalom of God, the wholeness of God, the healing of God."

I tuned the sermon back out as I began talking to Jesus, my words spilling over each other in their haste.  "Did you pour your shalom over my hands last night?  Did you pour your wholeness and healing over me, until it overflowed?"

Years later, that is the question I'm still asking.  Months after the dream, while I was in Malta, I asked someone to pour wine over my hands in reality, needing to experience in waking what I had known in sleeping.  That moment in Malta was four years ago this week, and both the dream and that time in a Maltese field have continued to work on my heart.

A view of Maltese fields taken from the walls of Mdina

When I read this post about healing earlier this week, I found myself again pondering that dream that I've quietly held all these years, telling very few, and pondering the ways it has worked in my heart since then.  I found myself thinking again in new ways about what it means that one night, in a dream, Jesus invited me out of fear, and blessed me, pouring his shalom over my hands until they overflowed.  I still ask that question of Jesus, "what does it mean that you poured this out on me?"  And I still find different answers on a regular basis.  I find partial answers in the moments when my heart travels as I pray, and in the moments my hands begin to burn as I lay them on someone and ask for healing.  I keep walking, journeying, asking questions.  I study healing, and sometimes I despair, finding it hard to believe that it is something Jesus desires.  And yet, in those moments, I close my eyes and feel the wine in the dreaming, splashing onto my hands.  I picture the color of the wine staining my skin as it overflowed my hands in Malta, spilling onto the soft, dark dirt on which I stood.  And I am reminded that however it looks, this is a moment that changed and will continue to change me, and that Jesus is constantly pouring out his shalom, his healing, his wholeness on this earth, and simply asking me to be a vessel for that, to notice and point it out.

Daydreaming...

In seasons of limbo, when discontent strikes hard and deep, I daydream.  I think about the things I miss about a more stable living situation - showering in the same house where I sleep most nights, normal meal planning and cooking, not feeling confined to one small part of the space.  I dream about plants that fill a space - jasmine plants in every room, filling the air with their lovely scent.  Palms, Boston ferns, peace lilies, spider plants and rubber plants for their beauty and air purifying properties.  A cozy chair with cushions, an ottoman and soft blankets in which to wrap oneself while curling up to read.  I dream about coming home easily, not catching my breath and breathing a prayer for patience and grace before I open the door (or at least not doing that every. single. day.) I dream about a space with windows and sunlight, instead of a basement cave.  I dream about not having to plan and schedule things like laundry, showers, and other random tasks.

And then, in an effort to combat the discontent, I remind myself to count some blessings.

Today, as I head back to grandma's after a week of house-sitting, I'm reminding myself that I have the following to look forward to:

• access to my entire closet, instead of a suitcase for making daily wardrobe choices
• access to my entire stash of snacks, to supplement work lunches, not just what I packed to get me through the week
• being surrounded by my book collection
• curling up in my own bed.
• getting back to a regular nighttime routine, including a liturgical prayer book that I'm very much enjoying
• finding rhythm again
• access to my stash of creative supplies, tackling a couple of projects, and being free to be inspired for more
• lighting candles all around the room for warmth, atmosphere, and happy smells

Tuesday Morning, Resting

This is the first day in several weeks where I haven't had to crawl out of bed early, rushing off to work, or school, or some other commitment that was stealing my time, and I am savoring it, still nested under blankets, though it's now closer to afternoon than morning.

I fought for a few extra hours of sleep this morning, pushing through the dreams that lately have been haunting the last hours before I wake.  Each time they roused me, I rolled over, turned on a new piece of music, or a sermon, and let the notes or voices carry me back into sleep.

I stayed at mom and dad's last night, since I was out late with them, watching my brother play hockey, and it didn't make sense to go home for a few hours, only to crawl out of bed early and return to their house.  It was nice to have an extra night here, without the stresses of the crazy living situation at grandma's house.  Without the way her house seems to intensify the dreams.

I've been awake for a few hours now, laying here, quietly reading a novel that I picked up at the library last night.

I'm fighting a cold that began to make itself known yesterday with full sinuses and an aching throat, and this quiet morning is much needed, since it will be a rarity in this month of juggling responsibilities and commitments.

In a few minutes, I'm getting up.  A shower, some food, a bit of yoga, then settling in to tackle the next term paper on my agenda.  The last term paper.  The one that needs to be basically accomplished before I go to bed tomorrow night, since it is due on Friday, and my usual Thursday day off for writing will be mostly filled with a shift at work, and then teaching at house church.  So, I will write, today, tonight, and tomorrow night, and polish a little after work on Thursday, before printing and submitting on Friday.  And then, then the papers will be done and it will be time to study for the final exams that begin on Monday.

And so, my day begins with rest and then picks up speed.  Here I go.

And on again...

It was a short night anyway.  The kind where I was up too late, because I got home late, and then turned my attention to a number of things, and I was up too late, knowing I needed to be up kind of early this morning.

I wasn't sleeping in my own bed.  It seemed easier to stay at mom and dad's, knowing I'd be home late, and need to be back at their house early.  It was easier to sleep here, than to try and get home late and then navigate an early morning bus on the Saturday bus schedule.

I don't usually have vivid dreams when I'm not in my own bed.

But I did last night.

Processing dreams.  Too much on my mind.

I dreamt of Kirsten.  She and her husband James are walking through the valley of the shadow right now.  Today is the funeral service for Ewan Eliezer.  Kirsten's words this week have been powerful, and yesterday morning, as I watched the slideshow in this post she wrote, I sat and wept for this family that I've never met, but whose life I've shared a little, online.  I wept as through the beautiful images a friend of their family took, I got to sit with them as they said goodbye to their son.  And today, this afternoon, I'll be praying for them as they attend the funeral for Ewan Eliezer.  I dreamt of Kirsten, images from some of her posts this week, and I woke praying.

I dreamt of other things too.  Of a challenging situation I find myself in the midst of right now.  Of so many things that require some thought and prayer.  The snarky, feisty person who was laughing because it was really the only choice other than cry before going to bed went into hiding overnight, apparently.  She'll come back, at some point, but I woke tired, and heavy-hearted.

the kind of day where I reach (and I rarely reach) for over the counter painkillers to numb the headache before I ever crawl out of bed.

Not really wanting a day filled with people.  I want a day of holing up somewhere to pray and think, and maybe wallow just a little.

But, in a moment, I'm going to crawl out of bed, and in half-an-hour I'm going to walk out the door, and set aside the dreams for the morning at least.  I'm going to spend the day with people and choose to enjoy them, to enjoy the things we do, even when everything in me wants to spend the day as a hermit.  Because that's my choice too.  To set aside those moments and just be.  To shake off the remnants of dreams.

and on it goes...

No Words, Really

I've been staring at a blank post for a while.

Not quite sure what to say.

Last night had some hard dreams again.  Sleep is a bit of a juggling act right now.  If I go to bed early, I tend to spend several of the early mornings hours laying awake and pondering.  If I say up late, I tend to sleep later in the morning, but have intense dreams.

I don't know what to say.

I'm tired of the sleeping problems, of having to pick between melancholy early morning hours, or painful dreams.

Waking from Dreams

I forget, sometimes, that often when there is some sort of forward momentum in one part of my life, there is a tendency for backlash in others.

I remembered that reality rather harshly this morning, waking from a couple of dreams.

Often I know that a dream isn't reality, even while I'm having it.  That I'm experiencing something that is symbolic or spiritual or just bad pizza. 

This morning's wasn't like that.  It took me a minute or two after waking to remember that what I'd seen and experienced was a dream.

It's a dream that reflected a fear that's embarrassing to me in a way.

I haven't talked much about the fall out from the last car accident I had in January.

The fact that on the rare occasions these days that I get behind the wheel of a car, panic comes.  That part didn't surprise me, really.  It happened after the previous accidents too.  And in each case, it's usually dissipated simply by time.  By getting behind the wheel over and over again, and praying, and driving carefully, and doing it through the panic. 

And I don't and can't have a car for a while because of the insurance issues, so I didn't expect it to dissipate quickly.

I haven't told many people that even being a passenger in a car similar to mine is hard.  That riding in the front seat of a smaller, low to the ground vehicle is also nerve wracking.

There are a couple of people who drive, and I'm able to relax.  But not many.  If they happen to drive larger vehicles - SUVs or trucks, that helps a little.

This morning I relived my last accident (by far the worst one.)  I relived it in my dreams, twice, though the details were wrong.  The crash, the airbag, the panic over what to do next, who to call.  The sinking sense of dread that now the insurance will be a problem forever, because I'd had even more accidents.

It wasn't the fear that I'd expected to surface.  It wasn't even like I was expecting fear to surface, per say, though, upon reflection, given other things in my life, it didn't surprise me.

It felt like, maybe even was, attack.

And it wasn't an easy way to start the day.

Nearly two hours later, I'm approaching okay.  In half an hour a friend will pick me up, and we're going for breakfast, and I'll ride in her car, and pray a little, and push away the fear for the reality of enjoying time with my friend.

But if you're the praying type, I'd appreciate your prayers right now.  As I walk through some stuff that aches and it stirs all the other fears, I'd appreciate your prayers.  For courage, and for protection, because there was a very real element of oppression, a sense upon waking that this was attack - against the progress I'm aiming for, against the freedom and healing I'm fighting for these days.  I'd appreciate your prayers as I shake off the remains of the dreams, or of whatever else comes.  Because pushing for healing is important, and I'm pretty sure I can't do it alone.

Between the Eyes

Clearly, choosing to love (whether I want to or not) is going to be the theme today.

I kind of knew that, based on the dreams I'd had, and the actions that seem likely and necessary stemming from them, before I ever opened my eyes this morning, but, just in case I needed some convincing, there were several things waiting for me in my email inbox.

Things like this quote from a daily email written by Richard Rohr:

"...love is not a feeling, but a decision, yet a decision that increases our inner freedom each time we do it.  You will know this only after you act on love. Jesus didn't say when you get healed, love; when you grow up, love; when you get it together and have dealt with all your wounds, then love. No, the commandment for all of us is quite simply, “Love!” Once we know it is not a feeling, but a grace empowered decision, we can all do it. And each time it is a growth in freedom—and flow."

And this quote from here that my friend Jenny posted on her blog this morning.  The first thing I read, after opening my eyes and noticing the email that she had a new post:

"You climb from winding sheets into the opening day. Gently, Love asks to occupy the throne of your heart—the very seat of motivation. The request is so familiar that you risk contempt, forgetting how your world grows rich when Love reigns supreme. As if on cue, Fear counters the offer. Spilling worry like filth from a foul pail, this usurper exchanges timidity for hope and urgency for peace. These bitter enemies meet daily to see whom you place upon your seat of motivation. For this seat fashions the essence of every thought and every action. You decide between Love and Fear when choosing who will rest upon your seat of motivation. Tomorrow will be decided early—as you climb from winding sheets."

And then I realized that my own words were bound to convict me, too.   I'd forgotten what post I'd scheduled to go live today.  Clearly God has a sense of humor.  I can just see Him giggling, knowing what would come within this week, as I wrote that post on Monday night.

I really do want to be well.  It's a sentence I say with an ever growing conviction.

It's also a sentence I'm saying this morning with the following add on.  I want to be well.  Even when it means loving by choice, when it's hard, when fear must be battled, knowing that it will likely hurt.

The theme is hitting me between the eyes today.

Love is a choice.  One with a cost.  And one so necessary to make today.

Seriously? Seriously?

I had another crazy dream this morning.  Along similar lines to the one that so disturbed me last week, but not quite so disturbing.  Still, something I could have lived without at the moment.

I feel a little like I'm banging my head against walls at work these days.  So I stop banging and try not to care.  To not think about the fact that if I do such and such one way, it's not right, but if I do it the other way, that's not right either.  To not think about double standards and all that crap.  I hate that defeated "it's not worth the fight" feeling.  I mean, I know the value of "pick your battles", but these days it seems like there are so many battles that need to be ignored, because, in the grand scheme of things, if I'm going to take a stand, that's probably not the thing to stake my job on.

I think it makes me more upset that I'm dealing with all of this in a supposedly "christian" company.  I mean, I'm not naive.  I'm a pastor's kid and I've seen it all.  I know that those who claim to follow Christ aren't inherently less sinful and more moral.  But I think we should be trying for that - for a higher standard, beyond reproach.  Not lowballing to see how much we can bend the rules before someone objects.  It's terrible to say, but somehow, that bending of standards to suit one's purposes seems more acceptable, more expected, in a workplace that has a "secular" label.  And, to be honest, some of the secular workplaces I've been employed in have a much higher standard of honesty. 

All of that makes me sad, and then it makes me angry, and then it makes me feel helpless and powerless.  Especially on the days when the double standards are out in force and I've stepped away from several battles before 9:00 ever rolls around.

So, I remind myself that I am doing my job.  And that I do it well.  That I'm only responsible for my own choices and actions and honesty, not that of others.  And that I don't get to judge.  Even when it seems easy and I really want to.

And then I kind of let out a big sigh.  Because those reminders stink too.  Even when they're coming from me to me, and not being hurled at me by someone else.

I set my facebook status this morning to one of my favorite quotes from Grey's Anatomy, "Seriously? Seriously?"

Because that's how I'm feeling about life these days.

I have a better day, and then I have a crazy dream.

I talk myself into being okay with work for another day, and something happens to set me off.

The give and take of life makes me crazy sometimes.

And all I'm left with is, "Seriously? Seriously?" as I trudge forward down whatever path God is leading and think about those scriptures that talk about "the narrow way" and how they weren't kidding when they said this journeying with God is hard and steep and dangerous.

Be Gentle with Yourself

Yesterday, after I'd shared the nightmare I woke from with a dear friend, one of her pieces of advice was to be gentle with myself physically.  That, for me, is a helpful reminder.  It seems like common sense.  I'd been denied several hours of sleep, and gone through an adrenaline rushing, emotionally challenging experience - why wouldn't I care for myself.  But, because sleep issues and even dreams are so often a part of my reality, I forget that sometimes it's okay to give myself a little bit extra grace.

I tried to do that yesterday. 

It was, quite honestly, a pretty hard day.  Even now, if I close my eyes and let it, the images and physicality of the dream return.  The strange newness of a series of themes that have long been a part of my dream life.  Their invasion from neutral space into very personal space.

I tried to focus on other things.

I took the advice of my friend, and prayed through some specific scriptures.  Especially Psalm 91.  I giggled when I emailed her later in the day to say that a passage from Acts had been coming to mind each time I prayed Psalm 91, and she wrote back to say that she'd also had that passage on her heart after hearing my dream, but hadn't shared it with me.

I ate red meat.  That doesn't seem like much, but I don't actually eat a whole lot of red meat, and it's one of the things that sticks out from yesterday as a "thing done right".  I've always preferred chicken to beef.  But, when my body is depleted, when I'm physically exhausted, I tend to crave red meat.  Steak preferably, or maybe a really good burger.  So, last night, in my exhausted state, I sat in a pub with a friend, staring at the menu, debating options, and asked my stomach whether it would prefer chicken or steak.  The resounding answer was steak.  Which, in combination with the tomato-meat sauce over pasta that I had for lunch yesterday, means I had two full meals with red meat and hearty proteins.

I worked not to indulge in sugar, and continue to fight the cycle of feeding stress and exhaustion with chocolate, and then having an even worse energy crash when the sugar high bottoms out.

I still have my car for a few more days, but I looked at the weather forecast for today and gave myself permission not to drive last night.  We're having snow and icy rain again, and I didn't want to drive in that last night, or this morning.  So I left my car where it was parked at my parent's house, and took the bus home from the train station last night, and the bus to the train station this morning.

I gave myself permission not to freak out over the things left undone on my "to do" list for the day.  Because there were quite a few.   Not only because I was so drained, but because I had plans to meet a friend that would take some time.   I'm sort of task oriented, and I get great satisfaction from checking items off my list. But last night that just didn't really happen.

When I got home earlier than expected, that, too, was a gift, giving me time to quiet myself and pray through my bedroom, to calm myself and find God's peace in such a way that I wasn't afraid to close my eyes and try again for sleep.  And it was definitely better to use the time for that than for checking items off a list.

For those of you who prayed last night, thank you.  I slept a bit better.  I still woke around 4:30, and only sort of dozed after that, but I didn't have a repeat nightmare.  Unless you've had these sorts of nightmares, I'm not sure you can fully understand how much of a gift of grace and blessing that really is.  I'm still tired, still drained, but I see light.  There are good things happening as this week progresses.

I came across this quote on Kelle's blog the other day, and it's what I'm aiming for as this week and life carries on:

"I will not die an unlived life. I will not live in fear of falling or catching fire. I choose to inhabit my days, to allow my living to open me, to make me less afraid, more accessible, to loosen my heart until it becomes a wing, a torch, a promise. I choose to risk my significance; to live so that which comes to me as seed goes to the next as blossom and that which comes to me as blossom, goes on as fruit."

-Dawna Markova

Daily 5 - Day 263

Today's Daily 5:

1. Fresh red bark mulch in a flower bed I walked by this morning
2. Made it through a really challenging day
3. The scent of frankincense
4. A lit candle
5. steak sandwich in a pub for supper
6. dinner with a friend
7. iphone
8. wore my hair in leftover braids from the wedding hair practice today
9. prayers and scripture and advice from a dear friend
10. Remembering to somehow trust, even after a really rough day and night

Thankful

It has taken me most of the day thus far to shake off the effects of this morning's dream.

It's still there, but with less strength, and I'm thankful for that.

I'm thankful for the reminder from scripture a dear friend sent to me, with advice on how to pray through this particular dream.

I'm thankful for a number of other friends who said they'd be praying for me today.

And I'm working to just keep pushing it away.

To remind myself that where there is light, there cannot be darkness.

Some times with more success than others.

But some success is worth being thankful for too.

Rough Start

I've been wide awake since 4:30 this morning.

A nightmare woke me.

A nightmare that has me thinking about the definition of "worst". 

Because I would tell you that this was the worst nightmare I've had in quite some time.

It wasn't the most violent, or even the darkest.

But it was the most personal, and invasive, and I'm feeling that this morning.

I was finally at a place where I could possibly begin to relax into sleep again, and my alarm went off.

And that's how I started my day.

So, I'm here.  Sitting at my desk.  Sipping a mug of passion tea.

And trying to regroup.

To not let the nightmare steal my day, the joys possible in this day.

And yet, I'm entirely cognizant that I believe dreams have significance, and this one was a doozy.

So I'm working on how to respond to that as well.

And, in some ways, I'm grieving.

I feel that with the loss of the car (it'll likely be sold by the middle of this week), I've been greatly cushioned.  In so many ways, I'm at peace.

But I'm grieving, too.  And angry.

If only my insurance company had quoted me correctly in the first place.

If only I wasn't losing a freedom that so helped in making the challenging situation at Grandma's more liveable.

So.

Thankful.

Last night I started back on the medication that controls some of the hormonal problems that so affect my mood.  I'd needed to be off it for a couple weeks.

Those weeks, when I could have used the support, just happened to be some really rough ones.

I'm back on it.  And I anticipate less of a low mood by later this week, as it builds in my system.

It's a hopeful thing.

And there is sun outside my office window.

And I have a mug of tea to sip.

And plans to have tea in my favorite tea shop with a friend this evening.

I'll get a hug out of that.

I got a caring email from a dear friend (thankful, too, for the iphone that let me send the email she was responding to while I was on the train.)

But it was a rough start.

And I'm praying my day doesn't stay the way it started.

I'm fighting for that.

And on it goes

This week seems like the unending stream of crazy, and it's starting to wear on me.

Work has been nuts, and today is no exception.  The list of things to accomplish is huge.  And some of them are key - like, say, payroll.

I've now not slept in four nights either, thanks to disturbing dreams.

One night in particular I spent the whole night dreaming that there were Daddy-Long-Legs spiders crawling all over me, but particularly all over my face and arms.

I've definitely hit the wall of my ability to absorb and process without some down time, and my sleep is reflecting that.

At least it's very nearly the weekend.  This week in particular I'm really anticipating Saturday and Sunday.

St. Patrick

It's kind of a tradition for me to post St. Patrick's Breastplate Prayer every year on St. Patrick's Day, and this year it's a prayer I feel I especially need, given the night that I had.  It's comforting in some deep ways.

But first, a "bad joke" that I found this morning:

What do you call a fake stone in Ireland?
A sham rock!

Okay, well, it made me laugh, and today, that counts for something!

So, St. Patrick's Breastplate Prayer:

I bind to myself today

The strong virtue of the Invocation of the Trinity:
I believe the Trinity in the Unity
The Creator of the Universe.

I bind to myself today
The virtue of the Incarnation of Christ with His Baptism,
The virtue of His crucifixion with His burial,
The virtue of His Resurrection with His Ascension,
The virtue of His coming on the Judgement Day.

I bind to myself today
The virtue of the love of seraphim,
In the obedience of angels,
In the hope of resurrection unto reward,
In prayers of Patriarchs,
In predictions of Prophets,
In preaching of Apostles,
In faith of Confessors,
In purity of holy Virgins,
In deeds of righteous men.

I bind to myself today
The power of Heaven,
The light of the sun,
The brightness of the moon,
The splendour of fire,
The flashing of lightning,
The swiftness of wind,
The depth of sea,
The stability of earth,
The compactness of rocks.

I bind to myself today
God's Power to guide me,
God's Might to uphold me,
God's Wisdom to teach me,
God's Eye to watch over me,
God's Ear to hear me,
God's Word to give me speech,
God's Hand to guide me,
God's Way to lie before me,
God's Shield to shelter me,
God's Host to secure me,
Against the snares of demons,
Against the seductions of vices,
Against the lusts of nature,
Against everyone who meditates injury to me,
Whether far or near,
Whether few or with many.

I invoke today all these virtues
Against every hostile merciless power
Which may assail my body and my soul,
Against the incantations of false prophets,
Against the black laws of heathenism,
Against the false laws of heresy,
Against the deceits of idolatry,
Against the spells of women, and smiths, and druids,
Against every knowledge that binds the soul of man.

Christ, protect me today
Against every poison, against burning,
Against drowning, against death-wound,
That I may receive abundant reward.

Christ with me, Christ before me,
Christ behind me, Christ within me,
Christ beneath me, Christ above me,
Christ at my right, Christ at my left,
Christ in the fort,
Christ in the chariot seat,
Christ in the poop.

Christ in the heart of everyone who thinks of me,
Christ in the mouth of everyone who speaks to me,
Christ in every eye that sees me,
Christ in every ear that hears me.

I bind to myself today
The strong virtue of an invocation of the Trinity,
I believe the Trinity in the Unity
The Creator of the Universe.

Seriously?

It was a weirdly eventful night, thanks to dreams and other sensitivities again.  A fact that is more frustrating given that I made the effort to turn my lights out early in the hopes of catching up after several weeks of rough sleep.

I woke this morning and the first thought that passed through my head (well, maybe the second, after a groaning realization that it was, in fact, morning) was to revert to a long-term habit of quoting Meredith Grey, "Seriously? Seriously?"

A few hours later, that's still pretty much where I'm at. 

I woke with a headache, too, so I'm trying to fight that off, preferably without drugs if possible.

And I have a ton to do, but the weirdness of my last few nights keeps reaching for me, drawing me towards it. 

And all I can say is, "Seriously?"

Sometimes it's the little things

I woke this morning from crazy, unsettling dreams.  The kind of waking that made me hesitant to glance at the clock, fearful that there would still be hours left in the night, fearful that there wouldn't be.  The themes varied crazily, but enough to make me pause and think, "Clearly I'm still working through this and that."

Sometimes it's the little things that make life doable.

The tiny bit of hope I found in actually cooking a proper meal in Grandma's kitchen last night.  I'd realized over the weekend that because I mostly avoid the upstairs, and the inevitable conversations that end in me biting my tongue on "I don't care" responses, I've been eating rather unhealthily.  Grabbing snacks and supplementing them for meals.  Take-out.  Frozen pizza.  Basically anything that I could get on a plate in less than ten minutes, making for a quick escape back down to the basement.  Last night I cooked.  Healthy food.  (My body thanked me.)  And Grandma mostly left me alone.  Yes, while the food was in the oven I still escaped - to the shower, and back to the basement, relying on my watch timer to let me know that the food needed to be checked on.  But it was mostly okay.  And somehow, that tiny bit of normalcy - real food, prepared by me, and then carrying my plate to sit in front of my laptop and catch up on a bit of television viewing, that tiny bit of normalcy carried hope.

There was a little bit of hope in taking the cardboard away, just for the evening, from the window in the corner of my basement world.  In the tiny bit of fading dusk peeking through a window not really positioned for allowing light in.

There is an odd little bit of hope in cradling a mug of passion tea this morning, and listing these seemingly little things, especially after a morning with weird dreams, and a cold commute in the dark.

Limbo

I feel like I'm running out of things to say.

This week is kind of like limbo.

Three more nights sleeping in my current apartment.  But most of the belongings that made it "home" are already gone.  The living room is now very nearly empty after the sale of my couch and loveseat the other night, and our voices echo as we stand near the door, talking in the mornings as we don layers of clothing for the morning commute.

The person I dreamt about who was sick yesterday, is still sick.

I think my friends have welcomed their baby to the world, though I have only the unofficial "facebook" confirmation of that.

Last night I chatted online for a while with a very dear friend.  Events in both of our lives mean that our formerly regular communications have been haphazard and spotty for the last several months.  Emails most days, but rarely the real-time conversations that we'd consistently shared online or by phone.  I don't think I'd realized how much I'd missed chatting with her about all of the stuff big and small, going on in both of our lives.  It was so good to talk with her that I very nearly cried.  And, we're planning to fit a phone conversation in, sometime in the near future.  That something to look forward to is a beautiful thing right now, in the midst of this odd week of limbo.

Tonight there is a bit more to pack.  And maybe a little bit of time catching up online with my favorite television shows.  I won't need to watch olympic coverage tonight.  It will be all about the hockey game.  I have a very strong dislike of hockey.  It's not the sort of dislike born of not understanding.  I was raised around hockey and have a fairly solid understanding of the game.  I simply don't like it.  (Though, to be fair, I tend to always prefer individual sports over team ones anyway.)

I read this blog post last night, just before sleeping.  I found her words to be profound, especially these: "In the midst of my pain and sadness in life, my sarcasm often brews. I usually don't mean what I say, but I say it because it feels good and the wit it takes to concoct something halfway funny and caustic distracts the part of my brain that feels pain. And because I'm sad, I usually don't feel guilty for biting satire."  Yes.  I am definitely that person too.


This morning I'm just grateful that our receptionist is back in the office.  I wasn't relishing the thought of another scattered day like yesterday.
 
And with that, I'm off to dive into a long list of "to do's".

Strange Days, Redux

The dream I wrote about yesterday morning is still having odd effects, as other bits and pieces of what I saw while I was sleeping play out in my waking reality.

Someone I saw in the dream, who seemed quite ill, leaving me concerned and praying as I woke, is in fact, quite ill today.

It's a bit strange, this playing out of my dreams in waking moments.

I'm waiting for news of the friend who was in labor yesterday, waiting with her husband, and working to welcome their first child into the world.

Another very dear friend is celebrating her birthday today, and I'm thinking of her and praying.

And so today I find myself again in that odd, deeply prayerful place.  Praying for Haiti, for the person who is ill, for my friends and their child, for my dear friend as she begins another year of life.  And for so many other things on my heart.

Strange days indeed.

Strange Days

I'm praying oddly and deeply this morning.

I woke from an intense dream.  Amongst other things, in the dream I was in Haiti, walking up a hill, but something about the skies and the clouds was foreboding, and I turned back.  There were other themes too, and as I woke in the dark I found myself praying quietly for each of things that the dream touched.  And wondering, "what happened or will happen in Haiti today?"

Then I rolled over, roused myself and checked my email.  The first email I read was from someone on the ground in Haiti.  There was another earthquake this morning, of 4.7 magnitude.  His brief email is all the information I had.

It was a sort of stunning way to begin the day, dreaming so specifically, wondering and praying, and then reading that news.

A few years ago I dreamt intensely of China, and woke to the news there of a devestating earthquake.

It's such an odd thing, to pray and listen that way, with my dreams.  I don't understand it, and I'm not certain I'll ever grow used to it.  And yet, I'm glad in a way to pray deeply.

A short time ago I got an email from another friend.  She went into labor early this morning, and she and her husband will welcome their first child to the world sometime soon.

And so I find myself praying, for each of the themes and people and places that my dream this morning touched, many of which have now faded into that invisible space between sleep and waking.  I'm praying for my friends as they welcome new life into the world.  And I'm praying for each of the people and concerns with whom I will come in contact today.

Strange days indeed.

Disconcerting

On the list of things I'm finding disconcerting lately:

Dreaming about someone with whom I have a relatively distant relationship, and very little contact with, and then having them pop randomly up in my facebook newsfeed later that same day.

It's happened twice recently.  So very odd.