Prideful Share

Weeks worth of emotions, thoughts and words are ruminating in my brain, their current consistency too thick to plate (upon the page). With a bit more time to marinatee they will become tender and more favorable a dish to pass.

For the time being, I am sharing a poem written by my eleven year old son. Bloody brilliant if you ask me! This mom is so impressed!

Element Poetry

by Carter Retzlaff

Gold

Shiny, rarity

Melting, freezing, bending

Jewelry, electricity, dentistry, bedrock

Dissolving, reflecting, shaping

Valued, attractive

Au

 Poetry © Carter Retzlaff

(I had to ask what "Au" meant. It's the elemental abbreviation for gold on the periodic table. He is already learning chemistry, a subject never presented in my education.)

The Funny I Promised Yesterday

 

     I believe it is possible my daughter has a literal heart of gold. Her disposition is so sweet, I swear she could cause cavities. I have never heard a negative or mean thing come from her mouth. Ever! That's why, when on Valentine's Day she presented this card to her three older brothers, I was so surprised!

Image © Madelynn Retzlaff

     I don't care for the word "hate" and try to disuade my children from using it unless they really, really, really thought it through and still mean it (usually reserved for non-human subjects like "I hate violence").
     I looked at her sweet face smiling up at her big brothers and saw the chuckles they released. When they passed the card to me, I was surprised into silence followed by roaring laughter. For some reason, I found it to be the funniest card evah!
     Perhaps it is her innocent age and nature lacking the full understanding of what she wrote. Perhaps it was her genuine loving delivery of the card. Perhaps it was her unguarded honesty! Whatever the reason, the card ended in love so it's all good!

Step Fearlessly

(To break the captivating spell of a melancholy mood, sometimes all one needs to do is play!)

Sadness presses hard against my back.

A dark cloud.

A familiar shroud.

Life’s big questions going unanswered.

I stop, stare, see nothing but darkness ahead

peering from the crevices of the unknown.

Nearby shadows mock my mood

whispering and beckoning me forward to more of the same.

As I move ahead, pulled to darkness, a reflection on the wall stops me in my tracks.

The source of light?

Angels wings.

They sing their choral splendor of faith, their voices familiar and safe.

A feeling of grace washes over me.

The cloak becomes weightless, floating away, carried by the beauty of the natural world.

No longer seeing doom in the darkness,

I move forward planting firm foot to ground and step willingly into my life.

Author Unknown

I found the following story on the internet this morning but was unable to find the author. To the person who wrote this, thank you.

“Why are you crying?”, a young boy asked his Mom.

“Because I’m a woman,” she told him. “I don’t understand,” he said.

His Mom just hugged him and said, “And you never will, but that’s O.K.”… Later the little boy asked his father, “Why does Mom seem to cry for no reason?”. “All women cry for no reason,” was all his Dad could say… The little boy grew up and became a man, still wondering why women cry.

Finally he put in a call to God and when God got back to him, he asked “God, why do women cry so easily?”

GOD answered…

When I made woman, I decided she had to be special. I made her shoulders strong enough to carry the weight of the world, yet, made her arms gentle enough to give comfort…I gave her the inner strength to endure childbirth and the rejection that many times will come even from her own children.

I gave her a hardness that allows her to keep going and take care of her family and friends, even when everyone else gives up, through sickness and fatigue without complaining…I gave her the sensitivity to love her children under any and all circumstances. Even when her child has hurt her badly…

She has the very special power to make a child’s boo-boo feel better and to quell a teenager’s anxieties and fears…I gave her strength to care for her husband, despite faults and I fashioned her from his rib to protect his heart…I gave her wisdom to know that a good husband never hurts his wife, but sometimes tests her strengths and her resolve to stand beside him unfalteringly.

For all of this hard work, I also gave her a tear to shed. It is hers to use whenever needed and it is her only weakness.

When you see her cry, tell her how much you love her, and all she does for everyone, and even though she may still cry, you will have made her 

heart feel good.

© Lynn Retzlaff

Being Real

 I have been sitting at the computer for over a half an hour writing and re-writing this post.

Part of me wants to dump a long story on the page.

Part of me wants to hide my struggle.

The part of me that won is the part of me that likes to keep things simple and real.

This is me.

Simple

and

Real

Flaws and all.

 I was standing outside of my vehicle talking to an acquaintance this past weekend.

One of my kids, waiting inside, grabbed my camera and (unbeknownst to me) snapped this shot.

A few days later, I uploaded the weekend photos to my computer. I found this picture.

My hand instantly went to the delete button.

Common practice. I am the one behind the camera. Not the one in the pictures.

I see this picture and I see a dirty window, a wrinkled face, a goofy expression.

I see myself and I judge and criticize and condemn (over and over and over).

I see others and I love and embrace and accept.

Why am I so hard on myself? Why do I find it hard to look at myself?

~ ~ ~

This picture is taken of me as seen through my child's eyes.

This person is who my children unconditionally love.

They don't judge me, criticize me, tear me down.

This is the same person who my friends lift up and love.

What do they see that I don't? 

Perhaps a better question would be, why don't I see what they do?

On the surface I do a fairly good job of self-acceptance (for the most part), flaws and all.

Laugh it off, toughen up, nobody's perfect. Right?

Deep down it's a different story. When I get to the core, I don't let anything go.

I condemn myself and judge myself to the harshest degree.

I have been digging deep lately and have realized that my harshest self-punishment

has been the condemnation of my young self. I was severely mistreated and I blamed myself.

All these years I have held onto the self-hate and loathing.

The sick feeling that it was my fault. That I deserved it. That I was worthless, expendable.

Why was I so weak? Why did I allow it? I blamed myself.

Why has it always been so much easier to accept and forgive others?

Even those who have hurt or betrayed me?

Perhaps because I never saw myself the way I see others. As a person. Someone who matters.

Seeing myself through my child's eyes has created a change in perspective for me.

I am really looking at myself (possibly) for the first time.

My eyes have opened WIDE. I want forgiveness.

I want to learn to forgive myself and ask God to forgive and heal me.

Body, mind, soul.

 

Looking again at my children, I now see the youth in me.

If my children were ever as scared or injured as I was when I was young, would I condemn them?

Judge them? Blame them? Continuously punish them?

Never!

I would love them, hold them, heal them.

If they didn't know how to protect themselves, to fight back, to not be a victim,

would I lay continuous guilt on them?

No! I would empower them and teach them and embrace them.

If their reaction, retaliation and coping mechanisms to the pain were not pretty,

were harmful, were wrong, would I brush them aside and let them continue to destroy themselves?

Again, the answer is no.

I would hold them tight, let them kick, scream and cry.

Let them get all the ugliness out and I would fill the space with love and light.

 Pardon me while I weep.

Lesson learned.

Time for the healing to begin.

I Choose

I've been through a lot in my life.

I have felt a lot of hurt.

More than anyone should ever know.

Recently, I hit my breaking point.

Every day has been grey.

I fear I may have been heading toward depression.

Dipping my toes in.

Testing the waters.

I slipped and fell and couldn't get up.

I wanted to drown.

To stop the pain.

A battle raged inside of me.

I lost my joy and wanted it back but the pain would not allow it.

I would fight and gain my footing only to have pain grab my ankle and pull me down once again.

Last night I took a shower and breathed and prayed and mediated and thought.

This is what came to me.

A morning ritual.

Every morning I will wake up.

I will state this truth,

"Today is a new day."

and this truth,

"Every day I have choices."

Then I will choose.

This morning, it looked like this...

Today is a new day.

Every day I have choices.

Today I choose to live.

Today I choose forgiveness.

Today I will leave the past in the past.

Today I choose love.

Today I choose happiness.

I repeated this over and over.

I'm not perfect. 

I've already slipped.

This time, I got right back up and chose again.

Today is a new day. What do you choose?

What will you choose for tomorrow?

Been A While

Hello Blog Land.

It's been a while.

Sorry for my absence.

~~~

Have you ever experienced something in life that turned your world upside down?

Have you ever had a time where you felt as if you were drowning?

No matter how hard you fought to reach the surface, you just couldn't catch your breath?

That's how it's been for me lately.

It's been hard.

~~~

I've been trying to learn from this experience.

I have been trying to remember to breathe.

Mostly, I have been soul searching through tears.

~~~

I am in the process of healing my heart,

cleansing my soul and clearing my mind.

I have had trouble visiting this page.

What do I write?

I don't have sunshine and happiness to share.

I don't have wise words and silly stories.

I'm feeling much better and starting to smile again.

Still, how do I transition back to the page?

The words have been fighting me.

~~~

I have come to this space time and time again looking at the blank page.

The blank page just stares back at me.

Today I offer up this honest bit for what it's worth.

Not much to say.

No sense to make.

Just me, trying to find the words once again.

~~~

Step One.

Post something.

Anything.

The following are photos of a wind chime I made recently. A little art therapy.

Every centimeter of this wind chime has personal meaning.

When the wind comes along, it plays a healing reminder.

If you're here in this space, blessings to you for hanging in there with me.

If you're experiencing your own personal pain, prayers of healing to you.

One of THOSE days

(NaNoWriMo Day 2)

spirit's low

money non-existent

word count lacking

body aching

chaos surrounds

covet others' brilliance addictively

lack action with self

 muse calls

pop pill

must

write

representation of my current state of mind

My Man

This is my man.

Scott Retzlaff - chainsaw artist - www.loraxcarving.com

He used to fear social situations.

Now he is one.

He used to hide his art.

Now he shows it.

He used to be a lost boy.

Now he's a grown man.

He used to dream.

Now he acts on those dreams.

I am so very proud of my man.

 

He amped up the wattage in my bulb from first encounter.

My bulb is still glowing hot for him.

I love my man.

I think I'll go tell him that right now.

Have you hugged your loved one today?

Go on. Tell 'em how you feel.

Let's make it an ooey gooey love fest Thursday.

SWAK!

the urge

body hot

breath short and labored

thighs burning hot

heart racing

one million miles per hour

feeling so strong

tears exit my eyes

faster

faster

faster i pump

knowing the end is near

fighting the urge

to quit

 ~~~

exercise

 ~~~

it's such a bitch!

Why? What were you thinking?

*wink*

mess of emotion

My journal today looks a mess.

There is significance in this.

I look at my journal and self-judge. 

I am no artist. I wish I was.

Bad, negative feelings.

Obviously stemming from deep within.

Perhaps partially due to a life of doubt.

Stemming from two addict parents.

I sit here trying to figure out how many years of my life

both parents were sober at the same time.
Guess how many I came up with?
None.

Not too many I'm afraid.

I have dealt with a lot of crisis

involving mom

involving dad

current crisis included.

It's a mixed up, messed up story

that would take a book to write.

The feelings (as I tried to portray on the right)

seem to blend and bleed and dump into a big black hole.

Luckily for me

I have learned how to separate (for the most part)

that aspect of my life from the rest.

I am extremely thankful for that!