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Thursday, September 23, 2010

The Unspeakable Sorrow

It's a little early, but the second part of George's story is up and posted on the Bargain Hunter website.  This one was hard to write, but what's coming next will be even harder -- pressing on!

The Unspeakable Sorrow

excruciatingly honest post alert

DISCLAIMER:  Just a little warning about my post for today -- it comes from an unstable, unbathed woman who has only had one cup of coffee today.  Keep reading at your own risk! :)

I feel like I've been sitting on the edge of my seat for a very long time.  Anxious, edgy, maybe even a bit snippety?  I can't seem to hold still even when I sit down to write.  My hands fidget and brain is on overdrive.  I just can't pinpoint what's going on with me.  I feel as if I'm on a precipice with barely a thread holding me from plunging down into a black hole.  There have been days I want to go into a room and scream.  I seem to always want to be alone and when someone comes home I just want them to leave again.  Solitude is my angry friend right now.  The husband has noticed it and there have been more than enough heated discussions about it.  The kids are so busy that they barely notice it.  If I'm on hand to pick them up from wherever on earth they are at that moment it's enough for them.  

There are things I seem to be holding onto. There are things I need to let go of.  There are things I need to leave in the past, never to be thought about, discussed, or rehashed again.  Excuses in the form of a thin whine have been leaving my mouth again and again.  Does anyone have a muzzle they could part with for awhile?

I almost feel as if I'm losing a part of myself.  There are so many things I want to accomplish.  So many things I want to do.  They are trapped inside my head not able to blossom and grow.  I sometimes feel that I'm not capable of doing what I need to.  This dark, little voice stops me and chains me to the chair.  Things that seem impossible seem even farther away when I let this voice talk to me.  Don't worry -- I don't really hear voices (cue Dana Carvey a.k.a The Church Lady)  I just feel a chill go over my body and I just feel like giving in.  I'm not depressed -- never have been.  But I struggle with negativity in every pore of my body.  I would like to throw it up and wash the vomit down the drain.  

The husband has so many dreams, and lack of funds or resources never stop him. He just keeps on dreaming and has GOOD ideas.  When he presents a new idea to me I want to respond the way a wife should.  With positivity and energy.  Instead this rush of despair comes over me and I just shoot it down.  I would like to cut this part out of me and throw it out the window.  What causes me to respond this way?
 
Yesterday, I opened up a book that had been a life line about a year ago.  It's called "Come Away My Beloved".  It's an intimate book with God speaking directly to you.  I felt almost at the end of my rope with all these strange feelings, and when I get this way I just can't pray.  Have you ever just not been able to pray?  I'm just feeling honest here today.  So, I opened the book right in the middle.  The chapter it opened to was titled --  DO NOT LIE DORMANTDormant?  Yes.  That was it.  I've been feeling like I've been dormant for years.  Always with lots of ideas, but never quite doing or achieving them.  I've felt tamped down, held down, told I wasn't doing it right.  Lots of feelings from years  past have been surfacing.  These need to be thrown in the trash.  It says in the book, "Never be dormant.  Do not be slothful, neither let yourself fall asleep."  Well, my friends, I've been dormant.  I've been sleeping. Right now I just want to excuse myself and give you reasons as to why I haven't been dormant -- but that would be a lie.  But the pressure in my chest to reason it away is almost coming out of my mouth as I sit here alone and type.  When the husband says I'm using excuses again I argue with him.  The argument in itself is just another excuse.  He's not perfect, he just likes to get things done in an efficient and non-excusable manner.  "Stop trying to tell me why you aren't doing it, just start doing it!", he'll say.  

"So move out and move on, and you will find greater heights before.  Unknown riches await your discovery and unimagined joys your experience."  I know I've felt like I'm on the edge of something because Satan is keeping me there.  He's dangling me with his ugly cloven hoof.  His hot breath is on my neck because he wants to keep me from falling into God's purposes for me. Plain and simple, I'm feeling the fires of Hell  because I'm afraid.  Afraid to let go of things.  Afraid to just sit and trust.  I fidget because I'm not allowing God's calm hand on my shoulder.  I try so hard to do everything myself, to make everything work.  Then I get upset when someone tells me I'm making excuses.  With God there is nothing to explain away.  If I would just give it to Him and LET HIM KEEP IT, instead of taking it back and carrying it, things might be alot different.
This is a very long post, but it's been slamming me in the chest for months now, maybe even years.  I try to be a positive person, but today I've chosen to let it out and be real.  We all know that a lot of us feel things that are hard to deal with.  My brain is pulsing right out of my skull because I want to be real. I'm not what you would call a "cute" writer -- I'm to the point. I say it how it is. 

Yesterday I finished the second part of George's story.  It's not posted yet, but it was a struggle to get it done.  For years, I've known that God wants me to tell this story.  He's told me so, and told others who have told me. I've fought God, I've fought George, and made excuse after excuse as to why it was just too hard for me to write.  I think Satan is trying to stop me from writing it.  I've gotten enough feedback from just the first part of the story that I know I need to keep pressing on.  I think I've disobeyed God for so long in not writing it that he's allowed all sorts of things to happen to us.  Things that keep poking me in the chest, letting me know I'm being disobedient.  Just for once, if maybe I listen, things might turn around?  If I do His will maybe our lives will be on the path that He wants for us?  Wow, what a marvel idea!  I need to stop feeling like this path will be too hard.  Or that I'll lose myself on it.  

"My hand will be upon you, and My energy will be at your disposal, and you will partake of My joy.  My peace will fortify your thought life, and I shall give health and strength to your bones.  My love shall be your constant portion.  I do not ask you to labor in drudgery, but the work of God is a labor of love, for God is love."

Time to get real, get dirty, and start doing what I'm called.  I can't be afraid.  And even though prayer is powerful, I can't pray myself out of every situation.  It's time to DO

 
 

Friday, September 17, 2010

A few futbol pics

Ahh, soccer season ... how I've missed you!  Hopefully tomorrow I'll get some of Hunter -- they've been off almost a week. Heading up to Hudson tomorrow for girls and boys games!

Friday, September 3, 2010

An Overview of George's Story

September, you're such a creeper.  Where did you even come from?   I love fall -- it's my absolute favorite time of year.  The sweatshirts come out of hiding, although mine always need a tumble in the dryer to get rid of that unused smell.  I don't know what lurks on my closet shelves, but I wish there was a button to press to keep all your clothes smelling fresh.  

My latest post on the Bargain Hunter website was the start of a new endeavor for me.  Once a month, I'm going to be writing a new installment on the life of my husband Antonio (a.k.a. George).  And yes, we'll eventually get to the story of why he's called George instead of the much sweeter Antonio!  When I met him, in spurts I got the whole incredible tale and how it unspooled.  From his dad's death, the stepfather from hell and the torturous abuse he suffered at his hands, to being lost on the streets from the ages of six to nine.  Let's not leave out living in Acapulco alone at ten years of age, making his way to the U.S., and becoming an expert at traveling on the underbelly of freight trains.  He's been all over, brushing paths with the cartels and gangs, getting involved with drugs, and finally praying for a way out of it all.  His story is hard to swallow, but for the twenty-two years we've been together, we both know it needed to be told.  I wasn't ready before, and I'm not sure I'm ready now -- all I know is that it's time to write.  My fingers may type truths that are unbelievable, but with the climate that is pervasive in the USA today, his story needs to be told.  His is only one story, but it tells hard truths.  We need to hear these truths instead of going along blindly with what the media feeds us.  


Thanks for embarking on this journey with me.  Hopefully it will lead me to put a book together, which for us, has always been the goal.  After I finished writing the first installment, I read it to George.  As I spoke the last lines, I realized he was crying.  For him, it's still fresh -- almost like yesterday.  Then he thanked me for starting it.  After all, it's from his heart to yours.

Mi Papa