I Trust You With My Heart

Hold up!  Is this a coincidence or is the Universe trying to tell me something?  I subscribe to two online relationship newsletters, right?  Well, on yesterday I received the Finding Soulmate Success newsletter from Dr. Ronn Elmore, author of How To Love A Black Man and No-Nonsense Dating.  It was entitled "How To Start Trusting Again."  Then 15 minutes later, I received my routine email from Paige Parker, author of ebook Dating Without Drama.  The title of her newsletter?  "Why You Should Never Regret An Ex."

As you know, I broke up with my boyfriend.  Sunday will make two weeks.  During this time, I've been really grieving the loss.  I decided early on that I would not be stuck in anger or denial.  Might not be the case for others, but for me, anger is a way to avoid sadness and disappointment.  It keeps me from feeling vulnerable and weak.  And denial?  It's a way not to feel like a failure.  

Ours was a different story.  I was treated well.  I have no regrets.   I don't feel like a failure so I don't feel the need for anger or denial.  We were well aware of what bothered us about the other.  But as with other relationships, there was so much potential there that we felt it was worth it to try to work through our differences.  That takes time.  I learned that you cannot truly give a relationship a fighting chance if you aren't 100% in.  So I challenged myself to throw away my exit plan and I am soooo glad I did. 

Both newsletters were about moving on.  Paige's encouraged that you not cheat yourself of the experience by regretting the time you spent in the relationship.  Most powerful was her response to an email from one of her readers.  A young lady had been seriously dating this guy for 4 years and they broke up.  "I am so sorry to hear about the ending of your relationship," Paige writes.  "I suspect that there were problems you just couldn't overcome as a couple."  Simple answer to the why that I struggled with in the dark.

This next part of her response is a little lengthy, but it brought even more perspective:

When you met your ex, you were a different person than you are today. You had certain needs, expectations, beliefs and dreams that drew you toward him. The connection you formed was
based on his needs, expectations, beliefs and dreams as well. You met each other right where you were "at" and formed a bond based on that.

As your relationship progressed, you and your ex began to evolve, but not necessarily in the same ways. Some of your needs, expectations, beliefs and dreams changed, and his did as well.
You may have grown...he may have regressed.

Without me knowing the details of your breakup, suffice it to say that, eventually, you and your ex came to a crossroads and could not meet each other on this new level. You ceased to understand one another like you once did and found it impossible to relate in the ways that you used to.

So you see, at the time you and your ex met, he WAS 'the one' for you...THEN.  You wouldn't have been ready for anyone else - even if the man you're meant to marry was standing right in front of you,
you would have chosen your ex.

That relationship taught you the lessons you needed to learn at this time - and because of it you know more about who you are and what you want and deserve out of life.

You are more evolved now and soon you'll be ready for the next relationship that will challenge you to grow... and ...the relationships that last forever are the ones where two people challenge each other to learn and grow while constantly rising up to meet one another at their new level.

Aw, how rich is that! Although I never felt like my time with my ex was wasted - quite the contrary - I struggled with how it ended.  I struggled with why one day we were saying how much we loved each other and in a moment, we were agreeing that we needed to break up.  When you can answer that question to your own satisfaction, it brings relief.  Peace. Your heart needs nothing more from the past.  It's ready to let go and move on.

This is usually where I stop.  Isn't this where most of us stop?  You feel such relief to the point that you feel you're alright now.  It's all good, you tell yourself.  Truth is, it isn't.  Your heart has to learn to trust again.   If not, your heart will close.  Instead of approaching romantic relationships open, willing and confident, you block true intimacy.  "The truth is, after a break-up, hearts tend to heal slowly. Sometimes, very slowly. It can take more than a minute, but eventually you start feeling (mostly) like yourself again. Then a BIG question comes up that you know you must ask yourself, yet you find it quite difficult to answer: Will I ever be able to trust my judgment about men and love again?” 

I'll be honest.  As I sit here right this minute, this is the furtherest thing from my mind.  I'm so emotionally spent that I don't feel the energy to contemplate it.  It's hard enough to get out of the bed, get dressed for work and go about the day-to-day requirements of life.  I stayed in my jammies all day.  I just wanted to stay in my house, work, write, watch TV and eat. I didn't want to go anywhere where people expect me to put on a happy face. I didn't want to go to another dating site. I don't want to even think about getting into another relationship.

Your Challenge. Your Choice.

Dr. Ronn writes, "Trusting your own judgment, trusting the next man, and trusting love again may seem too complicated and improbable for you to count on ever happening. But, not only CAN you do it—you MUST— if you are ever going to move forward again, toward your relationship goal, instead of staying forever stuck at the crossroads of 'Yes, I can' and ‘No, I can’t.' ”

As I read these words from the good doctor's newsletter, I realize that in order for my heart to be restored, I have to deal with the distrust that is invariably a byproduct of a break up.  If I don't, fear and distrust will be my constant companions.     

Lord help me.  Right now, I find this overwhelming.  The whole idea of moving forward makes me shaky and scared.  Nevertheless, I trust you with the timing.  I trust you with my heart.

Remove the Splinter, Heal the Wound

I contemplated going but I just didn't want to go. I was told that in order to benefit from the group, the participants needed to come to at least 5 meetings. But the idea of being in the room with that facilitator and those people just filled my heart with dread. It's not that I think I'm better or something. It's not even that I minimize my need for intervention. It's just that everyone seemed almost zombie-like.

Does managing your anger mean you cease to have a pulse?  Most of the folks were on medication and boy, you could tell!  Those who participated spoke in monotone.  They didn't look each other in the eye.  And the group was sooooooo structured. They had to read from a book. And if they shared their experience with anger, they had to follow some structured way of presenting. Arggghhhhh!  How can I manage my anger when being with these folks made me want to run down the street screaming like a lunatic?!

I like my passion. I like my animation. I like my voice inflection. I like that I laugh loudly and have a sense of humor. I can't believe that getting control of my temper means I have to go into a coma. I remember thinking to myself, I prefer the other approach to anger that I read before coming to this meeting. "Managing anger does not work and 'trying' not to be angry often ultimately makes the situation worse." I had typed the words "anger issues" in Yahoo search and came upon this website called Divinely Designed. Their belief was that anger is not something to be managed. Instead, find the root cause and remove it.

I remember telling my then-boyfriend that I knew exactly what sets off my temper.  The anger management group called them triggers.  The website referred to them as splinters.  When I am talking and keep getting interrupted, that frustrates me. I even have physiological responses when someone pushes me to do something I don't want to do or when someone uses a condescending tone or goes off on me. I can feel the irritation start at my neck and tighten at the back of my head. If I feel that my feelings are being dismissed or minimized or when an expectation is unmet, I feel my heartbeat get faster and my face become flushed. If I'm lied to or deceived, I not only become angry, I launch a full-scale verbal attack. Nine times out of 10, that's when I'll either throw you out or I'll leave in a huff.

When I really think about this, I have to admit that my anger makes me feel powerful. It's a way to defend myself against some perceived threat to my human rights, honor, value or abilities. As I continued to scroll through the website, something else caught my attention. "While the splinter is still in my finger, that spot is very tender and easily hurt.  But once the splinter is removed, then healing can occur.  When healed, my finger no longer over-reacts to being touched (or poked). In a similar way, there is some wound inside you that causes you to spontaneously, emotionally, react when someone pokes you with a sharp stick. "

If it was simply an external wound caused by a splinter, I could get some tweezers and remove it. I could apply alcohol and in time, the affected area would heal. But when it's an internal wound, it requires a spiritual antidote.  My prayer is Lord show me what the splinters are.  Let your Love get to the root of them and remove them.  Help me to find my power in you.

When God Doesn't Make Sense

St. John Chapter 11 gives an account of Lazarus.  Having been inspired by a sermon some months ago, I have reread this account of what many think is the greatest miracle performed by Jesus.  Although the sermon was about being released for a purpose, I saw something I had never seen before in all my years of hearing this story.

"His [Lazarus] sisters, therefore, sent to him [Jesus], saying; Lord, behold, he whom thou lovest, is sick."  Jesus loved Lazarus.  There was a relationship there that was so close that it was a known fact.  So can you imagine how shocked and disillusioned Lazarus' sisters must have felt when Jesus delayed coming for two days.  Jesus was less than two miles away.  Pastor Stepney really made it plain in his sermon.  Jesus could have easily walked the two miles to see about his friend and returned back to what he was doing.  Yet, Jesus stays put.  His friend is suffering and He stays put.  Lazarus' state is getting worse and Jesus stays put.  His breathing becomes shallow.  Jesus stays put.  The systems of his body are shutting down. Jesus stays put.  Lazarus is pronounced dead.  Jesus stays put.  His body is wrapped and prepared for burial.  Jesus stays put.  They have the funeral. Jesus stays put.  Sunrise, sunset for 3 days, no Jesus.

What do you do when God doesn't make sense?  When I was a little girl, I was told that if I "got saved" my life would be better.  If I lived a holy life, God would bless me.  My prayers would be answered.  God's love would cause the sun to shine and dispel the most dark day.  If I prayed to Him for help, He would come.  I don't know about you, but I can remember praying until I was weak and hoarse but my situation did not change.  In fact, it got worse.  When that happens, we are inclined to ask what we are doing wrong and bargain with God.  You've heard it.  "If you do these things for me, I'll be so careful...."

"And Jesus hearing it, said to them; This sickness is not unto death, but for the glory of God: that the Son of God may be glorified by it."  Interestingly, Jesus says this in verse 4 of that same Chapter.  Yet in verse 14, Jesus says "Lazarus is dead."  What's up with that?  I'm sure the disciples exchanged puzzled glances.  First Jesus says Larzarus is not going to die and then turns around and says he's dead. 

Didn't I hear from God?  Let me have a show of hands of those who have asked this question.  Okay, okay, that would be all of us church folk who pride ourselves on hearing God tell us to do this or to do that.  You said God told you to marry that man, but the marriage ended.  You said God gave you that job, yet you got laid off.  Who was wrong?  Since God can't make a mistake it had to be you, right? Tell that to the disciples.  If God is faithful.  If God is all-knowing.  Why?  Why would there be inconsistent messages.  When I ponder this, I have to put myself in the disciples' place.  They didn't have the Bible to read.  They didn't know that God had a plan bigger than they could fathom.

Like Lazarus' sisters, I've prayed to a God I knew loved me and had my best interest at heart, but he didn't come.  More than once, I've made specific prayers, thought God answered them, but then the outcome was different from what I expected.  I know that the trial of my faith is more precious than gold, but come on!  What do you do when it doesn't make sense?  

I personally have no answer.  Nevetheless, when Pastor Stepney preached this, he made two points that I think apply really well here.  God wants to reveal himself to you was his first point.  In the story, God reveals himself as The Resurrection.  Death was of no consequence.  To the point, it might look like it's too late; but God's timing is perfect.  Not perfect to you, but perfect to Him.  His second point was God wants to be glorified on Earth.  In short, sometimes what's happening to you isn't for you at all.  It's so that someone else can witness the miracle and be encouraged.  Makes me look at what's happened in my life differently.

Related articles

• Oh God, Whys is This Happening to Me? - John 11:4 (dianneguthmuller.com)

I Am His Strength Made Perfect

Before I could open my eyes good, You were there to greet me. Good morning, God. "You are weak," You said. I had been trying not to deal with it. It wasn't that You called me weak, you were only reminding me what someone else said. And those words had been silently taunting me since they were spoken. Some things roll right off my shoulder but something about that opinion caused me pause. Am I weak? I pondered. What do you believe? You asked.

In times past when faced with these daunting questions about myself, I would automatically start sifting through relics from my past for answers. You know those boxes you keep in storage behind the Christmas tree ornaments and seasonal clothing: how I was parented, what my daddy said to me, my strict upbringing, relationships gone bad. Those were the normal bags I'd pull out of storage and go through. Ah yes, and those boxes closer to the front: what I dealt with in my marriage, post-empty nest singleness.  I call that my "now what" box.

Not this time. What I believe has to do with my now not my then. For I have grown into the Wiser me, much like a 2 year old foot grows into a size 10 shoe. Actually, my shoe size is a 6 1/2, but you get my point.  I've nurtured the wounded child, educated the naieve adult, de-stigmatized the divorcee and become comfortable in my own skin.  So instead, I look in my big gurl closet – the one in my bedroom - for the answer. I look among the clothes that I have hanging now. Yes, those Misses size 6's that fit me perfectly.

This garment is my favorite! When I hold this one up to me, I think I'm my most radiant. The parenting of my son. I raised a fine young man. And though my role has changed, my son still considers me a safe place.  Ummm, I love that Golden color.  Looks good against my skin.  Next outfit. Yes, my favorite work outfit. I have a great job. I work flexible hours, work from home 2 days out of the week and pretty much go and come when I please. It didn't just happen though. I was assertive and it paid off.  On this hanger is compassion. Feels like silk.  It was tested when a family member rejected me and said it was my fault.  I could have pointed out her faults in retaliation  Instead, my Silky Self recognized her pain and responded with empathy. 

Oh yeah, this sweater. As I run my fingers along its fabric, it is a little more coarse than the others. Not my favorite piece cause it doesn't feel very good. It's called admitting when I'm wrong. I don't like this one that much but I've had to wear it a few times. Humility. I put this garment on just this past Tuesday morning, in fact. I admitted that my temper gets the best of me sometimes.  Those hidden triggers that cause me to go on the attack. They've been there for a long time. I've minimized them, even thought I was better, cause normally I'm a pretty cool person. But ooh-we, when someone detonates one of those suckers, KABLAM! That is a problem.  My Wise Self knows that it needs to be dealt with now.  So, after I apologized, I found an anger management session in town and went that same night. 

Now I have to be honest.  When someone you love is critical, even if it's constructive, it doesn't feel good.  I use to take what someone said to me and defer to their opinion of me.  Not any more.  I've learned over the years to appeal to the Spirit of Truth, the Wise Counselor, the All-Knowing God who Created me and makes no mistakes.  What others say might be true, but only His opinion is The Truth. 

When I went to the endodontist and was silently struggling, my Creator sent his answer through two unlikely people.  I couldn't stop crying. I had gotten a needle in my gums and it was as if my heart resounded its pain in response.  It was then that the Asian dental assistant said to me "You cry. You have soft heart. That's good. So many woman trying to be so strong. Keep pain, hurt inside. Not good. Think crying is weakness. Tears are gift. Cleanse soul. Heal heart." She patted me and said, "cry and you will heal."  She wiped my tears. No one in the room but her and me. Then the endodontist came in to check to see if I was numb enough. During the root canal, he exclaimed, "You are a strong woman! With your tooth this inflamed, I don't see how you could have functioned as long as you did. A week? Most folks couldn't have done that." The dental assistant agreed. "You're a tough little cookie!," he said.

In the final analysis, it's the Truth of your words that speak the loudest.  And let's say, worst case scenario, I am weak.  Your strength is made perfect in my weakness.  That's Your answer even for that. Sooooo, I guess you could say I am your strength made perfect.  Perhaps even, this is my anger management: I don't have to retaliate. Simply stand in your strength.

Nothing But A Bag

"Sorrow and silence are strong, and patient endurance is godlike."(Henry Wadsworth Longfellow)

It was quarter of 12 noontime. There was a knock at the door. Your knock. I recognized it cause you knock like the police. I was tempted to joke with you about that like normal, but I had to remind myself nothing about this would be normal.  I had lost track of time. Startled yet expecting you to come, I got off the sofa and walked to the door. It's time. Reminded me of the knock on the door when it was time to get into the limousine and go to the church. Not for a wedding but for my dad's funeral. There's that jumpiness when you hear the words, "it's time."  It's like a jolt to your system.

There was finality to this knock. This would be the last time I'd see your face. This would be the last time I'd hear your voice. I opened the door and there you were, bag in hand, looking at me yet not looking at me. I couldn't look into your eyes. There was no entry. I was no longer welcomed. All I could do was take the bag you were holding. My things. My things all neatly placed with the utmost care in a bag.

It amazes me that it all comes down to a bag. A lifeless bag. What of all that we shared.  What of the laughter. What of the dancing. What of the long talks. What of the shared meals. What of our feet touching and legs intertwined.  What of our hopes, dreams for the future. What of the first time you sang to me. What of our first picnic. Our first walk in the park, sitting on the swings like little kids grinning at each other. Our first kiss. Our first of so many firsts that are ever so present in my heart. A bag cannot hold it all, yet this is all you have for me.

Like lifeless forms we stand here facing each other, going through the motions.  I take a look in the bag.  At the bottom, clothing folded neatly. In the middle, my key in a sealed envelope. Good luck written on it. On top of that, my toiletries gently placed in their own separate bag. You were so careful with my things. That's so like you. You were so careful to make sure you cooked enough so I had something to take with me to lunch the next day.  You were careful to make sure I got in the car okay and got home safely.  You were careful to make sure I didn't have to feel alone another day.  I never had to wonder where you were - until now. 

How are you feeling?  Are you hurting as much as I am? Do you want to touch me, hold me, kiss me one last time?  Can I touch you? 

Your manner was quiet as you gave this, my things, back to me. Your manner was so heavy.  You looked so tired. There was no joy in your face.  You didn't come pimping in, like usual, like you owned the place.  Talking junk.  I felt so fidgety as I searched underneath my sink for something to put your things in. Why didn't I already have it prepared? I knew you were coming. Maybe unconsciously I wanted to prolong our final moment.  Much like I did when I had them to open the casket one last time before they lowered my father into the ground, I needed to look at you, be around you just a little while longer. You stood there silently, patiently, barely moving. I thanked you. Without a word, you exited. Without a sigh. Without a look. You left me and the chill of that moment hit my face. I closed the door. Gosh, the sound of the lock turning sounded so loud. So final. I carried my neat bag and sat it on the floor near the kitchen. I fell to the floor. It hurts so bad.  My sobs fill the house and swurl around my head.  I'm heart broken.

It is over.  You are gone.  I am alone.

Attraversiamo

 

I am awake. My laptop monitor is shining in my face, but it seems like it's still night. I close it. I like this time of the morning. That time when day has not fully broken yet you know in a few minutes light is going to glow brighter and brighter outside your window. My body knew. So, rather than roll back over and go to sleep, I laid on my bed starring out into the darkness. "I don't want to do like I usually do," I whispered. "I just want to grieve. Not wondering what or if I could have done anything differently. Not brooding over why this had to end. Rather, I just want to grieve the loss of something that I held dear."

I remember the first day I met him. He was rounding a corner about a block ahead. I was immediately struck by the pep in his step. A black man in jeans is all kinds of sexy. I moved closer thinking to myself that if he wasn't the one I was suppose to meet, would it be absolutely crass if I struck up a conversation and got his number. I started walking a little faster and noticed him slowing his gait and looking back. My heart raced. I so wanted to catch up with this distinguished looking gentleman, who had that Morgan Freeman sexy going for him. It's hard to believe that we've been together for nine months since that day.

Nine months. That's how long it takes to get pregnant, bring the baby to term and give birth. We've given birth to what's been growing underneath our clothes. In our hearts. Did we take care of it? Was its conception just the result of two lustful bodies going through the motions of love or was it conceived out of love? And once it happened, did we take care it? Did we take our prenatal vitamins, get enough sleep, get regular checkups? Did we hear its heart beat for the very first time and smile with excitement of the being we created together? Whether to keep it or not was not even a question or a thought. All the weight gain, morning sickness, fatigue, swollen ankles, back aches and awkwardness was simply what we had to go through to bring to term this being. This extension of you and me.

You think when you embark on a romantic adventure that it's about finding that special someone that your heart has longed for all your life. And truthfully, it is. Is it just me though who has with this encounter discovered that it was more than the happily ever after portrayal that we live for at the end of a good chick flick. Something has brought the couple to a moment of disenchantment. The arms that once held them are now the arms distancing one from the other. Yet some time passes – maybe a week, a month, a year – and fate brings them back together and….and…..the camera moves in for a close up of her eyes as they lock with his. It's obvious from those who have followed their story that there is something magical there but will they see it. Will they get past their differences? Can they get past their differences? Past the I don't like and I can't stand and this isn't working and realize that what they gave birth to is so much bigger than the two of them alone? Or will this be the Casablanca ending where Ingrid Bergman walks away in the fog without Humphrey Bogart? We sit with baited breath, wondering, hoping.

Attraversiamo! This was the word that the main character of the book EAT PRAY LOVE spent her whole journey to claim. At its start, while in Italy learning to rediscover the pleasures of simply eating of life without the usual politically correct restraints, she was asked by her new friends, "what's your word, Liz?" I can't for the life of me remember the context of the question. I've even just thumbed through the book hoping to find that place where in the movie this discussion of words came up in conversation. Nevertheless, at the end of the movie, Liz's bombshell of a lover, Felipe, invites her to attraversiamo with him. This shakes her to her core. For the idea of giving up something she fought so hard to find – her balance, her identity, her lost soul – and to risk it all by taking this man's hand filled her with terror. Like many of us, she ran. Fortunately though, she runs back to Ketut, her Wise Guide I call him. His words penetrated her confusion and got to the heart of the matter. "Losing your balance for love is getting your balance in life" he says. Nonetheless, as she grappled with do I hold on to me or do I hold on to us, Felipe looked her in the eyes and said to her with absolute clarify of heart, soul and spirit, "regardless to whether you come with me or not, I'm getting in this boat." The love they shared helped him to reclaim the part of himself that had been locked away for so long.

So as I lay staring at the ceiling in my bedroom. I know in my heart that life has extended its hand and invited me into its boat with a hearty attraversiamo. Regardless to whether you accept the invitation or not, I'm getting in this boat.

Oh, in case you're wondering what attraversiamo means. It means let's cross over.

At Least Preparation H Helps Undereye Puffiness

Help! Seems like something has taken over my body and wants to take it down! Okay, okay….a little less dramatic. Since turning 50, it seems ails that have been developing over time have crescendoed! I feel like a pure tee hypochondriac. I've gone to the doctor more times this year than EVER! And to think my biggest fear was getting that signature William Randolph under eye bulge. I've had an insidious toothache. My dentist hoped that with a little TLC and drugs, my tooth nerve would settle down. Nothing doing. My tooth has been in a rage ever since my dentist put a temporary crown on it. Since that time, over a week ago, food has not tasted as good. I've felt bad at work. And I've cried almost every night due to fatigue and discomfort.

As if that wasn't enough, I've also had a upsurgence of acid reflux. But get this, it's not the typical GERD. It's raised its game to silent reflux. Yes, silent reflux. I didn't even know that existed. My feelings of a thick throat, coughing, hoarseness and feeling like my esophagus barely had enough room for the pills I continued to swallow prompted me to visit an E-N-T specialist. He sprayed some anesthetic in my nostrils and stuck a long tube down my nose so he could see clear back to my voice box. Unpleasant is an understatement. Silent reflux is what he called my condition. It's when the fluid that refluxes constantly irritates the throat area. It's also called silent because people might not have heartburn with it. It has been absolutely MISERABLE! So, in addition to pain relievers and Amoxicillin, I've been taking Nexium twice a day and intermittently popping Antacids. Seems my silent reflux ain't so silent cause I have had pain in my chest. Now I realize that along with pulled chest muscles, I have heartburn!

Oh, I'm not through. I've also had hand pain. My ulnar nerve is irritated – has shortened, the neurologist said – and as a result my pinky fingers tend to go numb and I have stabbing pain in the middle of my palms. This, they say, happens when you tend to lean your elbows on the table. Since I don't do that, they said that skinny people have this happen more often than others because we don't have enough fat to cushion it. Oh bother!

And the cu-de-gra, at my recent annual physical, I was told I am pre-diabetic! Pre-diabetic? I can't believe it! Me. The person who isn't a health nut, but am a mindful eater. The person who isn't a smoker or a drinker. Me! I am just more than puzzled by this. So, my doctor told me I needed to eat less carbs and up my fruits and veggies. Hopefully, if I raise my game, I can reverse this. So, pray for me y'all. I just didn't expect all this to happen my 50^th year.

I guess there is a bright side. Preparation H does wonders for under eye puffiness.