Okay, so this may be the most trivial post ever, but you have to head for your local grocery store and see if you can find these:
Two-bit Trail-Mix Soft Baked Cookies.
Cranberries, walnuts, sunflower seeds, coconut, rolled oats, with yogurt drizzle.
So good.
Seriously. RUN out and buy these. Don't walk. Run. You'll love them.
Tuesday, July 10, 2007
Hiding
I've been trying for days to come up with words for what I've been thinking and feeling lately. I can't yet. I'm completely exhausted - physically, emotionally, spiritually. Most of the time I feel like I'm just barely clinging to my sanity. Just talking about some of the stuff going on in my life in casual conversation is enough to bring me to tears. My whole body is tense and achy, and I'm wondering about the merits of many, many decisions I've made in recent moments. My stomach has rebelled, and I'm eating in tiny amounts, maybe once or twice a day (with some snacks thrown in to keep my blood sugar up.) The last two times I've spoken with my mom, (once on the phone, once in person) I've burst out sobbing and taken several minutes to stop. Fear is running rampant, and I'm not even sure how to fight it anymore.
I should probably take an evening off, but I may have to go somewhere to do that in a relaxing fashion, as sitting in my new house just makes me look at all the boxes that still need to be unpacked, the organizing that still needs to be done, and I can't sit with it all staring me in the face.
I'm clinging desperately to Jesus. He feels distant, and my peace seems long gone.
I'm working to find the positive and beautiful things in this, but right now I'm having a hard time seeing them.
At least I've talked to a couple people in the last few days who experienced similar things the first time they were out on their own. One friend admitted to me that she rang up a $100 plus dollar long distance bill the first week after she moved away to university.
So, eventually, I'll write everything down, it'll be cathartic, and I'll be free. For the moment, I'm hiding a little bit, even from myself.
I should probably take an evening off, but I may have to go somewhere to do that in a relaxing fashion, as sitting in my new house just makes me look at all the boxes that still need to be unpacked, the organizing that still needs to be done, and I can't sit with it all staring me in the face.
I'm clinging desperately to Jesus. He feels distant, and my peace seems long gone.
I'm working to find the positive and beautiful things in this, but right now I'm having a hard time seeing them.
At least I've talked to a couple people in the last few days who experienced similar things the first time they were out on their own. One friend admitted to me that she rang up a $100 plus dollar long distance bill the first week after she moved away to university.
So, eventually, I'll write everything down, it'll be cathartic, and I'll be free. For the moment, I'm hiding a little bit, even from myself.
Listening With Our Wounds
To continue yesterday's thoughts from Henri Nouwen, this arrived in my inbox this morning.
Listening With Our Wounds
To enter into solidarity with a suffering person does not mean that we have to talk with that person about our own suffering. Speaking about our own pain is seldom helpful for someone who is in pain. A wounded healer is someone who can listen to a person in pain without having to speak about his or her own wounds. When we have lived through a painful depression, we can listen with great attentiveness and love to a depressed friend without mentioning our experience. Mostly it is better not to direct a suffering person's attention to ourselves. We have to trust that our own bandaged wounds will allow us to listen to others with our whole beings. That is healing.
Listening With Our Wounds
To enter into solidarity with a suffering person does not mean that we have to talk with that person about our own suffering. Speaking about our own pain is seldom helpful for someone who is in pain. A wounded healer is someone who can listen to a person in pain without having to speak about his or her own wounds. When we have lived through a painful depression, we can listen with great attentiveness and love to a depressed friend without mentioning our experience. Mostly it is better not to direct a suffering person's attention to ourselves. We have to trust that our own bandaged wounds will allow us to listen to others with our whole beings. That is healing.
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