Six Times Seven, Seventy Times Seven, Whilst Other Contemplations

Some years come and some years go, and life trods on, and it’s almost monotonous. And then other years, everything shifts entirely. I am closing in on a year where it seems like everything in its entirety was the top layer of sand on a beach that gets completely skimmed off, stirred up, and parts of it resettled, but the landscape itself shifted entirely. It’s a time of reflection, in which I don’t really have a great epiphany to share necessarily, but yet I find it’s a milestone that is of enough significance in itself that it is worth stopping for and examining.

My life has changed. A very huge part of my soul wants to sob and grieve and maybe even entirely stop, whilst another part is like a small child discovering a magical land they never knew existed right in their own back yard. Afraid to breath. Afraid to speak. Afraid to acknowledge.

I find I do not know what to say. I am afraid of the power of my own words. I am cognizant of the fact that my words have the ability to hurt others. I realize that while I feel I am just speaking my own truth, that truth is sharp like a razor blade. I am afraid of my own voice.

I am a warrior. I am a warrior because I carry on – because when defeat stares me in the eyes, I cry and I grieve – but yet I also battle. I am not a warrior merely because I take others in my wake – that is not what makes me a warrior. I have a heart that is full of compassion and understanding – but I am also strong and refuse to be defeated. It’s a balance that wobbles precariously.

A year ago I was a different person. I just was. I really think if that Ami met this Ami, we’d be fast friends assuredly, but one could learn from the other. Many of the relationships that were the most precious to me in this life have faded, others became stronger like I layered them in epoxy on both sides many times over maybe just to make sure they would stay, and still others sprang from the dust at my feet and rooted like a magical bean stalk that I could climb and even rest in.

The sense of loss is overwhelming sometimes. I grieve people that are still very much alive. It shreds me many a day, many a moment within a day; if I let my mind wander, deep tears of loss are ever below my surface. I can touch it, I can dip my hand in those waters on demand at any moment, and trail my fingers and my heart in it. I do not understand. Yes, I know I have a role in it, do not let me say that I do not. But it is beyond my ability to resolve or to heal. I can only give it over to the Great Physician.

I have to learn to set boundaries. That sounds like a great therapy 101 session – but in reality it is a never ending struggle to a person who never had them.  One day I have the most beautiful boundary you ever saw – made out of strong medieval timbers stained a deep walnut color reinforced with 20 gauge nickel brackets and bolts – and then the next day I convince myself I am indeed an asshole, and the boundaries are being used for firewood and swing sets and whatever someone feigns they need on Single Mom of New Braunfels.

I am learning to forgive. Forgiving is not an easy feat. I am learning.

I have learned what victory is – I have learned what it feels like to shout from what I thought was the ashes and realize it’s actually developed into a mountain. I have looked down upon what I’m standing on, and wondered if it is not imaginary. I expected it to vanish at any moment – or still yet expect myself to make a gross mistake – like a life defeating move in the game of Pick Up Sticks. I am learning to accept that mountain and to stand on it – and to plant my territorial flag 4 feet deep into it. Even plant daffodils and spaghetti squash in it.

The friendships I have cultivated defy my sense of reason. I have hired a rank stranger and known that that person would lie down in front of a tank army for me. The same for others, who a year ago were only mere acquaintances, if that. It is humbling. I have personally experienced a friend who was pretty much literally willing to lay down her life for me – and did; I have seen Christ in a human who does not frequent church. I do not know if you have ever had anyone do that – I think it must be extremely rare in this world – but I learned way more from experiencing receiving that than any Bible study I ever attended. I have learned that people are indeed God’s feet and hands.

I have learned that mothers and fathers are the best marrow of life, and also that being a mother means being a human. I have learned this past year to show my child my hurts and my struggles and my victories. I have learned to cry in front of her, and that that does not make me weak or wrong or treacherous.

I have learned that love means praying you don’t hurt the other person – it means at communion asking Jesus to remove yourself from that person if that’s His Will, before you hurt that person. Love means putting another person before yourself. How precious that I am allowed to pray that prayer and feel that feeling. I am learning to love selflessly. And it’s scary as shit.

I have learned I am strong. I have learned I have integrity. I have learned I am a good friend. I have always known these things about myself, and then I doubted them because others questioned them; this season of walking through fire shows me more so than ever that I am the person I am and who God made me to be all along. I have learned my transparency is not a weakness and my pain is not something to be ashamed of or hidden – and nor is my victory. I have learned that He provides – He is My Provider.

I have my voice. And my voice was created with a purpose. It is powerful. It commands respect, like any firearm. But like a firearm, it should not be taken from me.

I have also learned how to cook green beans and kale. With butter and bacon, of course. And it was actually pretty damn good.