where's jamey?

yesterday, i took a long nap. and when i awoke, i had been dreaming. this dream was also a movie i was watching. (this is very common in my dreams… does anyone else have cinematic dreams?). it was about a little family. the scenes i remember are: the dad is taking the two little boys, the older maybe four years old, the younger a one-year-old in a rear-facing carseat, on a short roadtrip. they are going to meet up with mommy. they make a pit stop and are running wild in a beautiful golden light-filled field, playing together, letting the dogs stretch their legs. then, they pack up and head off for the last leg of their trip. the camera pans out and then zooms in on the empty 4-year-old’s carseat. and the little gray curly-haired dog runs off into the field toward the boy, who got left behind, out on his own adventure.

Where’s Jamey? is the film’s name in the dream (you may have noticed this is my name, at least it would be, had I been consulted on its spelling); and, still asleep, i think how unlikely the leaving behind was, and why would the camera zoom in on the empty carseat again when they got to their destination? The audience already knows the boy is missing – it should be focused on the adults’ faces as they see it…

i’m sure the rest of the movie would be parents and baby rushing back to where they last saw him, and him long gone, trekking, finding his way home, dog at his side… until credits roll. (really. sometimes my movie-dreams end with rolling credits. strange, but true.) 

so i awaken and tell my love this dream, and he asks: “are you feeling abandoned by someone?” sort of an obvious interpretation of this dream, but a nonetheless insightful question.

and yes.

well, i think it’s more a fear of being abandoned. i have these deep questionings and desires swirling around in my life and spirit, and i’m afraid if i voice them, i will be left alone. the real me, at least, if i were to be discovered.

maybe my thoughts will be discussed with affirmation or critique.

maybe my actions will be criticized or applauded.

but what about me, the person…will i be loved?

when i say i need to take a break, how will people respond?

and DOES IT EVEN MATTER?? 

it’s when i realize that it doesn’t that i feel most free to say what the Spirit is moving in my life. and i say THAT, and feel like a poser, as if i’ve spent hours on end in prayer and meditation and had some special revelatory word from the Lord. but this life gets lived in its moments, and my spirit intertwines with The Spirit moment-by-moment as i turn my face to the light. so. i am not a poser. i do not claim special revelation from God (this time). but this seems to be the journey i’m on, and he has been asking me to take courage and jump to the next step. i’ve never really taken many “leaps of faith”… i want it to all get figured out beforehand.

before I tell anyone.

before I tell you.

before you tell me exactly what you think. 

I’m thinking about taking a break from going to church. 

there – I said it.



in unrelated news: this morning when I woke, I was dreaming of a writing career. 

unpracticed

what is the gesture of a woman's hand covering her mouth?

what is the gesture of a woman's hand covering her mouth with eyes wide open?

-Terry Tempest Williams, When Women Were Birds

i haven't been speaking. i have been afraid, doubting. that my words don't matter. that i am wrong. that people {i love} will criticize, ostracize. that i should just forget it. that learning to write and make art and be present are selfish, and i have two babies and a man that need me. need my time and attention. and there isn't enough of it.

at least not if i want to get any sleep.

i cannot do what I want, because I am doing what i must. 

Must I forever walk away from what is real and true and hard? 

When it comes to words, rather than using our own voice, 

authentic and unpracticed, 

we steal someone else's to shield our fear. 

 (also from When Women Were Birds)

a superiorly ironic quote, yet it was what finally propelled me into acting. into sharing my writing again in this space. i think it was how she paired the adjectives "authentic and unpracticed". that sometimes the unpracticed can be the most authentic. i am taking this amazing, life-changing ecourse on story and its telling. and since the day it started, i have not composed a single blog post. (what i have posted in that time were prewritten poems or just my list of #dobravethings on saturdays) 

because the current state of my "voice" is: unsure. 

not just unsure of how to tell the story, but i still find myself in the throes of how to live the story.

and if i am so unsuccessful at stepping into freedom, leaning into the light, 

how can i believe i have anything to offer anyone? 

but maybe what needs to be offered is me. right now. on this blogspot altar. maybe me - in process and all - is where i am supposed to be. and where i am supposed to invite you into.

so come in. have your third cup of coffee with me, too much sugar and all, and let's talk.

do brave things saturday

this weeks braveries:

*penned an idea for a novel i want to write (eek!)

*stayed silent

*ranted

*sent my husband to a men's retreat for 4 days (one with no phones or internet and two boys with croup at home!)

*continued to engage in a relationship in conflict

*went to valu plus top valu market - the most stressful grocery store ever.

*shared a vulnerable idea

*dreamed a whole bunch

*housed backyarded a stray dog and searched for its owner (when my normal course of action would have been to let it fend for itself in the dark streets - heartless, i know... i may have been forced into this by my bleeding-animal-heart sister... but i still feel brave, feeding him meat scraps and all while jason is gone on his trip), even trying to take two boys out walking with him during a break in the rain yesterday... we made it halfway down the street before i realized the impossibility of the task sans sidewalks or the double stroller, which was soaked... and it started hailing as soon as we got back into the house. c'est la vie.

*put myself out there, risking rejection and loss

*jumped in mud puddles

*bought a writing desk (feels like it makes this "writer" stuff real... scary to say) and allowed it to decorate itself (seriously. these pieces all just flew here in the span of 5 minutes) in the temporary space we put it...

i know jess is speaking bravely this week... anyone else? braveries?

the vision

Her hair is thin, mostly gone now

I gaze at her in search of hope

Of a moment’s breath that might open

Eyes and heart to heaven

Sitting in the recliner matching hers

Suddenly I see her for the first time

The way he sees her, loves her

It seems actual light has fallen on her.

The way he longs to hold his little girl

Tuck that one long strand behind her ear

Spend every moment with her

Be with her forever

Be with her forever

linking up with emily today

#dobravethings saturday

this week, i:

*started an ecourse on story and writing (and told my story & wrote ;)

*made goals (yikes!)

*went to see a movie by myself (on purpose - i wanted to experience it, just me & God - i am so prone to worrying about how other people are experiencing something that i sabotage my own experience)

*went to the doctor

*cut and dyed my hair - i am no longer a blonde, for the first time in my life!

*posted this

*believed God

*skyped

*risked giving the heart-answer over the expected answer

what brave things are YOU doing?

shame uninvited

little girl, don’t you see?

that bully can’t hurt you;

you needn’t hide

she forced you, threatened you

but you are still lovely

so lovely

don’t make shame your friend

that dirty feeling is a lie

you are as free as you ever were

to run through open fields

full of light-flare and insects buzzing

and jesus

waking to quantum leap and alone in your misery

on the car ride home

you see your reflection for the first time

and look away to avoid seeing for fear

that she’ll tell. that you’ll tell

or remember

but you don’t have to live in those walls

those ones you built because you were too young to know any other way

rip them down, brick by brick

your hands will certainly bleed

but it will be worth it for the glory of the other side

you’ll see

my husband pointed out that this makes it sound like i experienced some sexual abuse. while this is not the case for me, it is part of all too many little girls' stories, and i believe some of the same emotions and changes in identity occur at its hands. let's all uninvite shame wherever it has made its home within us.