This morning I came across this link. A little poking around, and I decided it would be a great way to spend December here on the blog. Writing about a prompt every day. Looking backwards at the crazy year that was, and forwards to hopes and dreams for days to come. I've added the button to my left-hand sidebar, and I'm ready to dive in.
Starting with this prompt for today:
December 1 One Word.
Encapsulate the year 2010 in one word. Explain why you’re choosing that word. Now, imagine it’s one year from today, what would you like the word to be that captures 2011 for you?
(Author: Gwen Bell)
I would use the word deconstruction to encapsulate 2010. (Is that even an actual word? Or is it one that I made up?) Deconstruction or maybe the word duckless. (Duckless I definitely made up.) Almost nothing today that I counted on as certainties a year ago still exists in my life. But, there have been hidden blessings in the deconstruction. I'm definitely still reeling from some of it, but I'm thankful for it too. For a year that has found me making different choices. For a year in which I've learned that God loves me, and that I am surrounded by people who also love me deeply, and who have held me up in prayer as I've navigated some awfully tricky situations.
I'm hesitant to assign a dream word to 2011. A year ago I was saying that I hoped 2010 would be a fabulous year. Despite it's blessings, it's been one of the hardest years of my life.
But if I was to pick a word to encapsulate 2011, it would be healing. I want it to be a year of seeing deep, true healing in all sorts of areas. In relationships, in heart wounds, in family. A year of rebuilding, with better foundations.
And, if I'm honest, I realize that I'm not sure healing can happen without deconstruction and being duckless for a season.
Wednesday, December 01, 2010
Daily 5 - Year 2, Day 108
Today's Daily 5:
- Actually seeing daylight for the first time since Sunday (weird schedule plus short winter days)
- getting a necessary errand done
- choosing a new blog challenge to wrap up 2010
- take home sandwich and curling up to rest
- tea lights around the room
Medicating?
I'm walking out this crazy season of aiming towards healing, and these words on a blog a friend sent me a link to a while back, hit home.
Read her post here, first.
Seriously. Read it. This woman has a way with words. Since I started reading, at least one post a week has stopped me in my tracks. This one I even printed out and carried around for a chunk of time.
Okay. Have you read it? Good.
Because I read it the other day, I'm asking the question, "What do I use to bandage up wounds instead of finding real joy and healing?"
It's a weird question for someone who has been counting daily joys for the last year and 107 days to ask.
These words in particular, caught me:
But it's one that I think bears pondering this week. What things are ineffective stop gaps, that mask pain? What things facilitate avoidance rather than healing? Are there things where this is a line to be crossed, where they help for a season, until suddenly they hurt?
And, I'm more committed than ever to Daily 5 lists. To counting the things in the day that made me smile. The things that brought a giggle. The things I'm pausing to be thankful for. Because counting joys for the last year and one hundred plus days has made me more aware of being joyful. It's taught me to look for the joy, instead of the sorrow. And it's helping me patch a life together. Not just cover over and hide the wounds, but knit the pieces back into wholeness. And that's worth working on.
You? Do you bandage things over with false joy?
Read her post here, first.
Seriously. Read it. This woman has a way with words. Since I started reading, at least one post a week has stopped me in my tracks. This one I even printed out and carried around for a chunk of time.
Okay. Have you read it? Good.
Because I read it the other day, I'm asking the question, "What do I use to bandage up wounds instead of finding real joy and healing?"
It's a weird question for someone who has been counting daily joys for the last year and 107 days to ask.
These words in particular, caught me:
I’m realizing that so much of what we do in life is simply medicate our hurts.
We eat. We shop. We blog. We open up Twitter or troll Facebook. We look around for something, ANYTHING that will help dull the pain. We even consume things that were never meant to affect real pain {like children’s ibuprofen syrup}. We volunteer. We exercise. We watch television. We drink. We buy a four-dollar Starbucks. We eat some more. We do things that both distract us from dealing with the real problems and offer us a little, tiny piece of what we think might help us. It promises real joy, but all it really offers is rescue from feeling really horrible to a level of functionality.
We medicate ourselves.
So many of the things we truly count as a JOY really are, in fact, just bandages for the pain. It’s hard not to confuse them though. A good peppermint mocha when it’s chilly outside does bring a smile to my face. But if I’m trying to distract myself from something or if it becomes an addiction then it isn’t beneficial.
But it's one that I think bears pondering this week. What things are ineffective stop gaps, that mask pain? What things facilitate avoidance rather than healing? Are there things where this is a line to be crossed, where they help for a season, until suddenly they hurt?
And, I'm more committed than ever to Daily 5 lists. To counting the things in the day that made me smile. The things that brought a giggle. The things I'm pausing to be thankful for. Because counting joys for the last year and one hundred plus days has made me more aware of being joyful. It's taught me to look for the joy, instead of the sorrow. And it's helping me patch a life together. Not just cover over and hide the wounds, but knit the pieces back into wholeness. And that's worth working on.
You? Do you bandage things over with false joy?
Tuesday, November 30, 2010
Daily 5 - Year 2, Day 107
Today's Daily 5:
- A bus driver who actually had the heat on
- wearing a favorite wool toque with pom poms on it
- "toys for Jesus"
- taking an actual lunch break
- a treatment tonight that actually managed to relieve my headache and relax my neck just a little
I Speak English
My major job at work right now is phoning families that have been referred to us by other agencies to set up appointments for them to come in and "shop" for toys for their children for Christmas. It's fabulous, as it basically means that all day every day I'm making people happy.
However, making these phone calls all day has made me incredibly aware of how much of a blessing it is to be living in a place where I speak the dominant language fluently. Most of the people I phone are immigrants with varying degrees of ability to speak English. I can't even imagine how difficult it would be to navigate a new culture on a daily basis, knowing people are trying to communicate important information to you about appointments, about your immigration status, about your health and children, and have to struggle to understand.
That said, there have been some moments of general hilarity, or deep poignancy. The woman who was so relieved when I called, and admitted she was having a hard day. She'd lost a baby recently, and was grieving. She told me that she was so happy I called because she was doing enough grieving, and she didn't want her living child to also grieve. Being able to provide Christmas for her child was a miracle in her day, and I got to be a part of it. There was one woman who turned down my offer of an appointment, telling me that while her income was still low, she could provide for her children, and she'd rather the gifts go to a family who was in the place hers had been a few years ago. And then there was the woman who, when I asked her to spell her last name, did so emphatically, in her thickly accented English, and had me working hard not to burst into laughter. Her response? "It's Fu. Eff. You!" I cracked up as soon as I hung up the phone. The whole thing was made far funnier by her complete lack of awareness as she proudly spelled her name for me, ensuring we were communicating smoothly!
These are my days, and I'm glad I speak English. It's something I took for granted, and patiently calling these people day after day is making me re-think that. It's a blessing to speak the dominant language of the country in which you live. And it's one I'll remember, if, as I dream of, I one day find myself transplanted to some place where I am no longer fluent in the dominant language.
However, making these phone calls all day has made me incredibly aware of how much of a blessing it is to be living in a place where I speak the dominant language fluently. Most of the people I phone are immigrants with varying degrees of ability to speak English. I can't even imagine how difficult it would be to navigate a new culture on a daily basis, knowing people are trying to communicate important information to you about appointments, about your immigration status, about your health and children, and have to struggle to understand.
That said, there have been some moments of general hilarity, or deep poignancy. The woman who was so relieved when I called, and admitted she was having a hard day. She'd lost a baby recently, and was grieving. She told me that she was so happy I called because she was doing enough grieving, and she didn't want her living child to also grieve. Being able to provide Christmas for her child was a miracle in her day, and I got to be a part of it. There was one woman who turned down my offer of an appointment, telling me that while her income was still low, she could provide for her children, and she'd rather the gifts go to a family who was in the place hers had been a few years ago. And then there was the woman who, when I asked her to spell her last name, did so emphatically, in her thickly accented English, and had me working hard not to burst into laughter. Her response? "It's Fu. Eff. You!" I cracked up as soon as I hung up the phone. The whole thing was made far funnier by her complete lack of awareness as she proudly spelled her name for me, ensuring we were communicating smoothly!
These are my days, and I'm glad I speak English. It's something I took for granted, and patiently calling these people day after day is making me re-think that. It's a blessing to speak the dominant language of the country in which you live. And it's one I'll remember, if, as I dream of, I one day find myself transplanted to some place where I am no longer fluent in the dominant language.
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