Out of hope
My motivation changed
Out of desire
I formulated a plan
Out of love
The justification came
Out of pain
The words turned into action
Out of remorse
The barriers were removed
Out of Justice
Comes the Truth
Out of Truth
From the right and from the left the statement reads the same. The actions are different, the tone is different, and the results are different. Read with a pleasant voice and a sweet tone the words are filled with empathy and purity. This produces the solid and foundational base of actions that are the tales of the giants of faith, the story of the hero. The dramatic change comes when they are read from the perspective of the drained. Without hope yet demanded upon. Without love yet required to. Without remorse, there is no boundary to cross. This is the nuance of the English language.
Spoken in the proper tone, or listened to with the right expectation, we hear what we believe will heal and cast the remainder to the ash can of ignanimity. Within the safe confines of the world we have designed and reinforced, stands the bulwark of action and justification to support it with blocks of motive. The turmoil develops when the penetrating truth of the lie exposed, stands against the failure of the lie to deliver. When the unsupportable extension overburdens the foundation of the believed lie, the structure collapses. The failure is not if but when. This is the time of hope restored. The point of malleability is the desire of God. To make the changes lasting, there has to be a departure from the former to the current and then to the future. There can be no escape from the today. It is not required to stay long, only that you stay long enough. There is a difference.
The numbness of the pain, it always begins here, sets us on the path down. There can be additional problems that come with, but that numbness is real. When I was a youth and went to the dentist, I would get a shot to numb my mouth. The problem was that I would then chew on my cheek, since it too was numb, and I would not feel anything but the rubbery resistance. Of course, the problem was that the numbness would wear off and the cheek was now in pain due to the chewing. The same is for the one numbed in a relationship by pain, loss or abandonment for instance, and then in that stupor comes the affair or drugs or any number of vices. The reality of the pain from the initial event passes but the secondary events take a life of their own and become a pattern with consequences of their own. Because we are weak and flawed, we will blame the initial event, but that long since has passed. We don’t like to blame our own actions… seldom anyway. Mostly when confronted with no other option of escape. Like a 2yr old with a toy they should not have, they will grip all the more as you try to extract it. We are the same.
That gets us to an interesting parenting technique; the better alternative. The 2yr old will drop the toy the minute that a better option entices. Finding that better option is the tricky part. Finding the thing that satisfies the soul of the one that enjoys the addiction is a difficult thing, short of pain. To entice the addictive personality with but one more addictive thing is not success. To listen to their cries for acceptance is the issue, but the one in the midst of the firestorm also has numbing behaviors of their own, and the cries then get unheard. It is like the water wheel of the old mill, each bucket on the wheel gives what it gets… and none are satisfied.
Who changes the program? Who will stop the cycle, even for their own sanity? How will change be manifest in the lives of those we connect with? When Wilberforce began to push for an abolition of the trade of slaves there was much resistance, of course. But what came first was the keen awareness in his own life that he could be as the traders themselves, and that is what broke the pattern. Faced with the reality that he was flawed, he could then express to others that flawed-ness was a part of life that they too could confront. 30yrs went by until the thing was broken, but when it was done, the entirety of congress wept over it. For an hour there was sobbing at the release of the bondage and horror of the thing throughout the Empire. It had changed because one man had been changed. Out of Justice, Comes the Truth. Out of Truth, Came Life. From one, to one…
It is from you that the change will begin. You can express the worth that you desire when out of that pain comes the cry of the soul that you are worthy of the change. Out of Hope comes action. Starting is the expression of that hope on display. Now is a good time to begin.
Popular posts from this blog
In Times Like These “It was the best of times, it was the worst of times…” or so the poet says. Part of the problem that we confront is that we are new to this part of history, so it feels unknown and scary. When you are confronted with the “unknown” it is called chaos, and out of that comes truth and awareness that is new to you. It is found when a child is taken to meet a new friend and they are wary of all that is new. It isn’t new, really, though it may be to the child or to us. This may be the year of the internet millionaire or the Covid small business death, but it is your year. Alone in the way that it is yours, and yet collective in that many can tell the same story. It is the time of our lives. Your story is simply that, your own. From the beginning of your life through the teaching and experiences that brought you too today, it is specific. Good or bad, long or short. Well-seasoned, with history as perspective or simply the musings of the narcissist absorbed with you
Crucible Why is it always a surprise how hot things get and so quickly? Crisis builds slowly and then all of a sudden it is intense and endless. The story is always the same. Things are simply going the way things go, and then three separate decisions combine and all hell is raging and your hair is on fire. It comes as a surprise, or I would have been prepared. Why am I surprised, again? Friends suck, that is why it hurts. That is why you are not prepared. That is why you were guarded. How then did it happen again? What did you miss, that let them get past the barriers? The heat will not let up, this I know from the last time. Ok, the last several times… Here I am, in the vessel filled with the debris of many bad decisions. Good parts and bad. Broken and whole. The heat will melt it all into a soup that will easily pour into a new mold. First will come the flux that grabs what I thought was important and take it away. It has happened time and again and it is the same eve
On Divorce This is not a complete work, but a few observations. It is not all personal, but it is all true. It is about the parts that move, and the ones that don’t. The issue, at its core, is that of failure. Failure to listen, failure to tell. Failure to hear what is not said, and to do things that drive you to the edge of hope or fear. The church doesn’t know what to do with it. Society doesn’t know what to do with it. Those that are adamant about how correct they are, are the most afraid of it happening to them. Our friends are unclear about what to do with it when it happens. Most of the time it is only a trail of loss and the crumbs of our past strewn along as we go. The rending of the fabric of our relationships and lives is a sound you cannot not remember. You can imagine the lamb that has it's tail docked and has to re-orient its life and adapt to the new reality. No one wins, but some have hope of the pain stopping, and the possibility of
The music It sat there, in the corner. Hasn’t been moved in years. The man that used it is gone, but the memories are still resonating, vivid and clear. I watched him play the accordion and was in awe of the music that he made. The polkas, of course, and the many happy dance tunes. But at times, in the most incredible ways, the tune would become something that would penetrate deeply and with great soul and the curious mix of disconnection. You would wonder “how can that tune come from that machine?” The accordion is not generally a mournful and melancholic machine, and yet there it was. The sound that pulled you in rather than pushed you around the dance floor. The box is curious, and how it came to be is a quirk of history and need and serendipity. It was used on the ships in the days of sail, and languid winds, to pass the time. That version was small and quite limited, but the function was the same. A few buttons on one end, to change the pitch
Personal Pain The transformation of the pain in our life into something that can be processed is quite a challenge. The notion that it can be converted into a power source is not even a thought to most people and if mentioned is a laughable one at best. Pain is to be endured at the least and avoided if possible. Inoculation and hedging against future blows is the road most traveled… Personal pain is a reality of ownership. Not for everyone to know, these are items taken out of their own private box for a very select group. Sometimes it is a group of only one. This is the pain that is scary, sticky, and sometimes not yet congealed into a shape that can be corralled with adjectives. Real and very powerful, this is pain that is a “slow to heal wound”. Like a broken rib or shin splints, the pain is inside and in certain activities debilitating. But the knowledge that it cannot be shared is a wound just as real. This is the boomerang pain. Residual
The purpose of this blog is to send out a piece of writing from time to time, mostly each week. It is a path of randomness (the rabbit trail) and yet is connected to many other parts (the spiderweb). In this case the web is three dimensional (more random connections) and has at times been a place some people have gotten lost trying to follow the trail... I hope you will be fine with having to start over and see if you get the point. Most of these writings are personal, I have never published any, and are simply a framework for you to put your own story into. If you were to print them most are 2 pages or so, so they are a reasonable quick read. That doesn't mean they are simple, just short. While personal, they are not a diary, polemic, or a screed about some political high-horse issue, but then too, neither should the comments be that either. The best part of these is that if any particular one is of little value to you, I am fine with it. Simply come back and see if ther
In the Dark I wrote this as a description of people going through the process of recovery and starting again. We all move through that at our own pace, and can't know the cadence of another. Enjoy. There is a place underwater that the light stops penetrating. It is different depending on the part of the ocean that you go to, but the point of no light is still there. To go to this part of the dark water with a sub and turn on the lights you will find some creatures that thrive in these waters. The individual adaptations will be just that, individual. The types of actions are also very specific. The pictures of these creatures are amazing. To get to a place that is so deep that light is gone is quite of journey. The path to this level requires more than a casual step into a part of life that is not generally frequented. Mostly it is avoided. The parts of this depth that are different is that the pressures are truly phenomenal. The lack of plants and the nee