Things haven't been going well. Not with Frantic Finch, with me personally. Although Finchy suffered abandonment from me being too distracted to give her the attention she deserves. My writing has reached the consistent and accurate pace homogeneous with the Department of Motor Vehicles. I try not to beat myself up. Who am I kidding? I beat myself up, but I am capable of finding a sliver of good in the beating - and here it is - I've written daily but posted nothing. So there it is - I start with a positive - end with a negative - which professionals would suggest that I need to sandwich the negative between two yummy positives so it tastes better. But I eat so I won't starve. I don't really taste anymore. Salty or sweet - hot/cold - doesn't matter. It's just food....but I'm grateful to have it - there are millions without it. But hunger is not what I'm writing about - I'm drawing attention to my inadequacies as a blogger by admitting that in order to blog you have to post but my stories need development, complexity, editing and most importantly - endings. I pour out my words and then run dry. I cannot get there. I cannot find The End.
There are several in the works. I type notes in ByWord, when I have my iPad with me which looks like a laptop when it's connected to the keyboard. The notes are in various forms of "Untitled." Untitled 1, Untitled 2, Etc.. If I'm waiting in the car, I have my notebook or my phone to rough out some ideas. I keep a notepad by my bed and sometimes in those moments where I'm arguing with my brain to go the hell to sleep, my insomnia will create a theme and I'll dutifully jot a note so I can remember the next day. To be honest, most of the time, the notes by the bed are non-sensical. But one day something great may come from it. <------See, look...ending with a positive. *shrugs*
Not long ago, I dared writing a coming of age piece which was challenging because I was asking my mind to go over the details of a memory so uncomfortable it generated heat under my skin and a smell mixed with alcohol and stale cologne. The effort explored a critical age when you discover not everyone has your best interest at heart. I have another piece about isolation, loneliness and being ignored even when surrounded by friends, family and coworkers. I started a decent couple of paragraphs about social media and how we should consider sharing some of our bad and not only our good because we're human and we are missing the deep connections of empathy. I believe I am an empath. That's why people always tried to belittle me and say - "Oh you're too sensitive!" I didn't know this word "empath" until about a year ago when a friend on Facebook determined that's who I was. It's funny how other people see you clearly and when you look inside of yourself you see nothing but rough dirt. "No diamond here but thanks for sifting through this life!" Another writing I've been working on is about this time in my life (like 4 days ago) where I had this strong feeling that God's universe spoke to me three times in the same day using different vessels. Same message. Different messengers. I wrote about it because I felt like you might appreciate the story and how it could apply to your life and if you ever received multiple messages in the same day.
But I haven't finished any of them. Not one. Just this one - that you're reading now. Honestly, so much stuff has happened on the personal *real* side of my life that Finchy found a bird bath and decided to chill. Her dictation will have to wait, because my life has been a bruiser lately. But then a few nights ago, I had a dream.
The main person in my dream is someone I respect on several levels. She's articulate, independent and has her own mixed media art business. She's talented, friendly and well-connected. In my dream, she was hosting a creative workshop and I was in attendance. It was set up like a college classroom with semi-circle layered levels of flooring so everyone could see and hear her innovative lecture. At some point, she passed out bifold note cards to each student and asked us to leave them face down on our desk. I don't remember any of her lecture. I cannot remember at what point the auditorium and my desk fell away, but I can clearly see my hands holding the note. The notecard was blank on the outside, but when I opened it said.
I remember my gasp. I felt the swell in my chest billowing like fresh sheets hanging on the clothes line. The rush of emotions surging into my throat. The constrict in my neck was so tight that I began to cry. My eyes stung but there were no tears. I could not swallow. I was without words but my body was overcome with gratitude. *GOD* doesn't thank *me* I thank HIM. Unworthy but His, right? Given Grace but undeserving of it, right? I am a princess in His Kingdom but I fall on my knees in His presence. (I hope so.) God wrote a Thank You note to *me* and what this dream spoke into my heart was that He sees the good in me. He sees the effort. He sees the struggles and He sees my belief in Him has not wavered.
He saw what I gave away.
He saw what I sacrificed.
He sat with me as they drew blood out of my son's arm for more testing.
He knows the times when I supported and encouraged and I waited for my turn.
He counted each of my tears as they fell.
He's watched me fight depression with everything I had left.
God is there - with my husband, as he suffers a painful relationship that will never end as long as he's a parent - which of course, he will always be.
He sees it all. He feels everything with me. Jesus is the greatest, original empath.
You see, God isn't really *thanking* me - because it's Him that deserves all Glory - but He met me where I am. He came down to my level. He spoke to me with something that I would understand. He knows how much I love Thank You notes. I love writing them. I love getting them. But I don't get that many for being a mom, being a co-worker, being a friend or being a part of the family. God was giving the positive words of affirmation and gratitude that I desperately needed to see and feel.
Thank you, God.